Tears of Defeat, and Purpose
As I cried, bleeding out my pain of not belonging, I saw my my life being lived in a black hole just slipping further and further from view. It was tormenting, and there was no one there to pull me up. My husband had come home, and he was vaguely aware of what was going on.
After a good cry, I found another adoptee blog, called Bleatings of a Sacrificial Lamb. It was just what I needed to comfort me. I was losing trust in my ability to see reality, in the storm of other's thoughts of what my reality was. She tore into the core of my pain, by explaining the unfathomable pain of a young baby being saved from the tormenting thoughts of being aborted, to being born in a cold hospital and being snatched from her mother's arms, bleating endlessly but ignored. She had to disassociate from there on, when things just got worse in her "replacement" mother's care, shut out in a cold room abandoned once again. It crushed me, and I could not fathom the pain endured by such a little one.
The pain was endless. I never knew I could endure such hell. As I watched myself struggling, I became proud of who I was turning into- someone who could be honest and face reality. It suddenly dawned on me that life had a purpose- and that I mattered. Very much so to the world. There was SOMEONE there, waiting for me to turn to Him. It was G-d.
I remembered my accusers of being present with my child self telling me that I was unappreciative of G-d's gift to me- of having a beautiful plan B for me, because the plan A was messed up anyway. I thought, and said, well He made plan A happen, so it's still not an ideal way to come into the world. That should count for my feelings, shouldn't it? They shook their heads in disapproval, and insisted I didn't understand how bad it would have been for me had I stayed with my birth mother, she was neglectful, etc. But the pain of losing her, regardless of her mental state, was still hard for my baby heart to comprehend. And it still hasn't, by the way. I still don't understand how a baby can live through losing his mother at such a vulnerable state, and not have anyone care enough to respect his grief needs. Or the birth mother who was snatched of her very part of herself was expected to be grateful that someone is taking care of her children that she should not expect so much as visits from them when they get older.
As my tears flowed, I imagined G-d watching me, and an enormous relief washed over me and I lifted my arms as if to accept His loving hug. Suddenly, everything made sense, and the pain I was going through was extremely worthwhile. It was beautiful, and I could not imagine life without it. It made me love myself more, seeing how strong I was. I cried more, but this time for release and joy. I felt free. Free to love myself, and my challenges. I was sure that it was worth it, and there would be great joy for it's endurance.
It may hurt like hell, but the aftermath is a beautiful, whole picture. Right now, I only have the pieces, but I trust that there is a full picture.
Love,
An Adoptee Heart
After a good cry, I found another adoptee blog, called Bleatings of a Sacrificial Lamb. It was just what I needed to comfort me. I was losing trust in my ability to see reality, in the storm of other's thoughts of what my reality was. She tore into the core of my pain, by explaining the unfathomable pain of a young baby being saved from the tormenting thoughts of being aborted, to being born in a cold hospital and being snatched from her mother's arms, bleating endlessly but ignored. She had to disassociate from there on, when things just got worse in her "replacement" mother's care, shut out in a cold room abandoned once again. It crushed me, and I could not fathom the pain endured by such a little one.
The pain was endless. I never knew I could endure such hell. As I watched myself struggling, I became proud of who I was turning into- someone who could be honest and face reality. It suddenly dawned on me that life had a purpose- and that I mattered. Very much so to the world. There was SOMEONE there, waiting for me to turn to Him. It was G-d.
I remembered my accusers of being present with my child self telling me that I was unappreciative of G-d's gift to me- of having a beautiful plan B for me, because the plan A was messed up anyway. I thought, and said, well He made plan A happen, so it's still not an ideal way to come into the world. That should count for my feelings, shouldn't it? They shook their heads in disapproval, and insisted I didn't understand how bad it would have been for me had I stayed with my birth mother, she was neglectful, etc. But the pain of losing her, regardless of her mental state, was still hard for my baby heart to comprehend. And it still hasn't, by the way. I still don't understand how a baby can live through losing his mother at such a vulnerable state, and not have anyone care enough to respect his grief needs. Or the birth mother who was snatched of her very part of herself was expected to be grateful that someone is taking care of her children that she should not expect so much as visits from them when they get older.
As my tears flowed, I imagined G-d watching me, and an enormous relief washed over me and I lifted my arms as if to accept His loving hug. Suddenly, everything made sense, and the pain I was going through was extremely worthwhile. It was beautiful, and I could not imagine life without it. It made me love myself more, seeing how strong I was. I cried more, but this time for release and joy. I felt free. Free to love myself, and my challenges. I was sure that it was worth it, and there would be great joy for it's endurance.
It may hurt like hell, but the aftermath is a beautiful, whole picture. Right now, I only have the pieces, but I trust that there is a full picture.
Love,
An Adoptee Heart
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