Lately, I’ve been put in the position where it’s been necessary to explain my understanding of where my perfectionism comes from. It’s old and has it’s roots deep in my past of being an adopted child. I’m hesitant to every write about being an adopted child. Yes, I’m 36 years old and should probably “be over it by now.” When I write about it and my perspective, it is NOT a slam against my first mom or my (adoptive) parents. However, the institution of adoption damaged me. Logically, I know that I had the life I was meant to have. No, I wouldn’t have been better off being raised my a first mom without support and resources. I firmly believe that we have a societal responsibility to pregnant moms that support and resources are the only things keeping them from being able to parent. That’s another soap box post for another day. I am hesitant to alienate folks who may interpret that I am anti-adoption. Really, I wouldn’t describe myself that way. I believe that foster children should find a forever family through adoption. The shading baby brokering, trolling for infants and other BS that goes on, is not ok with me. Alas, I digress. There are other factors that play into my propensity for insecurity. None of them has as much weight as being told “your mother gave you away.” My parents didn’t tell me those words exactly. I’m sure they shared a beautiful story of love and sacrifice, rife with adult explanations about why my mother couldn’t raise me. Except I was very small when they told me and all my poor, little, immature brain could understand was “Your mother didn’t keep you. She gave you away.” Please don’t misunderstand, my parents did the right thing by telling me that I was adopted. Keeping it a secret would have been so much worse. I remember years of feeling like the odd one out. Looking back, I believe that I looked for differences between us, rather than look for similarities. I have had for many years, 20+, issues with my physical body and being dissatisfied with it. I go to therapy regularly to learn to live with the past hurt that follows me around. I am a work in constant progress. The more I hide my feelings, though, and try to pretend that all my adoption trauma is gone, the worse I feel. Still eager to please and wanting to be loved unconditionally and kept, I do not share my true self and express the hurt, so that I can protect my loved ones. I could go on and on… I’ll be back to say more later. Thanks for listening. With love and hugs, Rebecca
February 5, 2015
Adult reunited adoptee, mostly healed.
This entry was posted on Thursday, February 5th, 2015 at 6:12 am and tagged with adoption trauma, adult adoptee, insecurity, self-loathing and posted in adoptee. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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