Where Was She When I Cried?

Time is quickly approaching and I’m scared. My fear is based on the loss I experienced at a very young age. It is real. It is heavy. It is sad.

Whether adoptees want to, can, or should believe it, there is this primal wound we all experience. But the primal wound does not just effect the babies bonding with the mothers for 9 months, it affects the mother bonding with the baby for 9 months.

I’m pregnant; in my 8th month and Y is big. He is kicking up a storm. When he is upset, he lets me know by kicking my bladder, forcing me to react in a “time to go to the toilet” way. I take it seat on Jonny and it is during this time that I can reflect and think through my next step. He wants me to relax. He wants me to stop moving so much.

When he is happy, I usually get a kick to the top. I talk to him in the morning, at midday after lunch, and at bedtime. And guess what? He responds every time. He is alert. Hears my voice, responds to my questions.

He is connected.

He is breathing.

He is a live.

And I cry on the inside and on the outside because I have never been so close to someone in my entire life. This proximity, creation of a life, interpretation of what is to come next…it fills my heart with joy.

But also sometimes fear.

This fear often paralyzes me and it is not fair to Y. It is not fair that he has connected to someone so close but will have a kind of fear in his DNA.

Maybe he too will feel abandoned like my mother felt by God and those creating an existence for me that was not real.

My fear has been passed down to me by his grandmother’s fear; a woman he will never get to meet and yet, Y was in her collection long before we even knew.

I remember crying as a young child and no one could console me. No one knew or understood how I felt or where my emotions were coming from.

No one really cared to ask. They just created what they thought were the solutions; adopt more kids.

I promise you, that is not the answer. It was not the answer because no one asked the question.

Just like with infertile women adopting, I need you to know that adopting a child will not replace what you are truly searching for. Maybe you are not asking the right question.

But where was my mom when I cried? Where will I be when Y cries? Where will Y be when and if his child cries?

Crying too.

My mother never left me nor did she abandon me. Like so many adoptees, stories are told, lies are created, papers are fabricated in the name of a “better” life….but did we ask the right questions?

Better for whom?

My mother cried while I cried and sometimes she cried more. She cried more because my brain was molding and becoming someone she no longer knew and I never truly understand.

As I grew older, I cried differently. The primal wound was evident in everything I did. The disconnect allowed for vulnerability, anxiety, hate, fear, and that…..not asking the right questions.

In humanity, we like to think we have all the answers. We teach kids from a young age that adults know best.

We forget the questions though…we skip them. Then our solutions are wrong.

Unlike a complex math problem, the word problem can often have information that is not necessary. If you don’t pay close attention to the actual question, the problem will take you longer to solve.

But in adoption, the question is rarely in the problem (which is why many adoptive parents skip that part). In adoption, all of the information is necessary in order to even begin to dissect the notion of an answer to the question even being possible to stomach. The right question is rarely asked because adoptive parents rarely look at all the pieces as a complex puzzle. It takes too much time.

Energy.

Thought.

It takes too much heart to really communicate.

Most adoptive parents never adopted to connect with the heart. They try so hard to reverse the primal wound that in turn, ends up creating a new wound.

Now, instead of 1 main wound, the adoptee has to grapple with their adoptive parents pretending that they too are suffering from a primal wound that was never even there.

It’s all pretend.

A connection that was never there.

A relationship that was never there.

It was NOT meant to be but it became.

There was no bonding for 9 months but there was a disconnect for life.

When I cry, she cries. Now that she is dead, I cry louder so she can hear me better.

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