A mobile toddler has dramatically changed my ‘free’ time and I have much less time to think, sit, and write in-depth posts on the various topics rattling around in my brain. Still, so much to say, so little time.
In these intervening weeks between posts, I turned forty-eight (48!). Setting aside the fact that my parents/aunts/uncle did not acknowledge my birthday, it was one of the best, yet. Not even in terms of what I did to celebrate (a fundraising party at a local gourmet foods store that donated 10% of the evenings sales to a charity of my choice), but in terms of who I am, what I know for sure about myself, and who I got to celebrate with (my husband at a scrumptious dinner out alone, my boys at breakfast out, and my friends (I went around the room introducing each person, how I knew them, and for how long and it was touching to see the group assembled). Ultimately, the entire weekend was a happy celebration.
I did speak with an adoption attorney who is also a friend regarding any legal grounds to compel my birth mother to reveal my birth father’s name (I’ve heard nothing from her and at this point don’t expect to). He said that there was loose precedence established by birth fathers whose parental rights had been terminated without their knowledge, back in the day, who successfully sued the adoption agencies for interfering with their parental relationship and thereby were awarded the names of their birth children. Not quite the same thing, and would be a stretch and likely a costly one. So, instead we focused on what motivates her (privacy, secrecy, decorum) and how might we tap into that to compel her. We had many ideas but they all boiled down to confronting her (either an investigator telling her that I’m about to go to the local press in the hopes that someone in the town knows something about my birth father or a reality TV producer telling her that I’ve signed on to a show in the hopes of finding my birth father and that production was about to descend upon the town or even sending her a letter ostensibly from an attorney indicating that I’m about to file suit) and if, instead, she supplied his name, then nothing proceeds.
I know many are thinking that I should drop it, get over it, let it go, come to terms with never knowing 50% of my familial history. But, if you know me, you know that I am NOT wired that way. I am in pursuit of something that I believe to be rightfully mine. I want nothing more from my birth mother and what I do or learn in pursuit of my birth father is mutually exclusive of her. By her not revealing his name to me, it makes me wonder if the story she told the adoption agency is even true or if there is some despicable reason she doesn’t want me to know who he is.
I want to be clear, here, that there is NO circumstance under which I wouldn’t want to know. NONE. The worst scenario I can conjure is that she was raped by her brother or father. And, I whole-heartedly do not believe that either is true, but even if it is, I’d still want to know.
If someone questions my motives or doesn’t understand why this is SO important to me, especially given the circumstances of my life, then there is no way that I can explain it. I am not going to let it go, even if she dies. I do not like being forced between a rock and a hard place or having my back pushed up against a wall. I will ALWAYS come out swinging. That is what survivors do. I did not survive the accident that killed my brother, recover from my physical and emotional injuries, overcome the childhood I had and the estrangement I’m now living with, to be thwarted by a woman I don’t even know. There is nothing about this that is fun for me. I do not like having to consider ways to force her to give me his name. I don’t even like having to engage with her knowing that she’d rather I not. I am not that kind of person. But, my compassion for her does not dilute my need or right to know.
Baby Toddler G turned 17 months. He is into everything. He is the sweetest, happiest, most joyful kid. He’s inquisitive, amiable, easily redirected, sensitive, funny, and such a light in our lives. He does not say any discernible words and it is something I hope will develop over the next months. There is so much I could say, deserving of its own post. My heart and life as a mother are full and complete.
A meeting with my RE has been rescheduled twice and is now on the calendar for next week. I am going to propose one of three roles for myself at the clinic. Even if it doesn’t pan out, I am looking at other opportunities and know that something is in my not too distant future work wise.
My weight has remained stable (in spite of myriad attempts to move the scale) since February. I now only weigh myself once/week and measure myself once/month. I’m not content to remain at this weight, but I also refuse to beat myself up over it. I don’t like the way I look, but I am fit and strong and have energy and have cleaned up my eating and my relationship to and with food considerably. There are many converging factors that make it difficult for me to lose weight and I’m actually not sure how I will proceed or when, but, for now, enough with the self-flagellating.
My husband has been away on business and returns this evening. I did not fall to pieces. In fact, it felt quite normal to me for him to be gone while I managed the house and both kids. It has been more than manageable. That’s not to say that I and we don’t miss him because we do, but it is to say that I have come a long way in my recovery from PPD and feel mentally and emotionally fit.
In 5 days my older son’s first grade year will come to an end. He will be a second grader, people!
Oh, and I’m about to FINALLY attempt to address my debilitating fear of flying by using a technique called EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing). You can read more about it here. My therapist is certified in it.