Birth Father and Warmth
I spoke to my birth father tonight again after a couple of weeks of not calling. I was busy with my life. I decided to finally call, because I had thought often about him. I guess I didn't want to seem too eager, and wanted to take it slow. To avoid an awkward crash among-st all the desperate and unsure feelings on both sides. As I am not really sure of his interest of me.
I was not disappointed. He still cared, and I got a beautiful whiff of his love for me. I heard in his vice the intangible connection we had, and his need to hear from me. He sounded fully present, and invested in learning about me. It was a beautiful moment for me, and it hit me like a wave that this was what I needed all along. Behind all my desperate attempts to make myself feel important and good. I was missing a parent's unconditional love and admiration for me. And here it was, in the flesh and blood. I heard my ugly, seemingly whiny voice to my ears, and he suddenly told me that he loved hearing my voice and that I am good. I was shocked and in disbelief. I smiled wanly and tried to take the compliment. I knew it was real and true to him. I now allowed it to be true to me. Maybe it was not so disgusting, after all, to be so childish and needy. He was willing to love me with it. That's how all good parents feel about their kids. I realized that because he and my mother, as he told me, were not raised by their birth parents either, like me, we all felt something missing inside. I heard it in his uncertainty and need to hear his own voice and have his story told. I listened understandingly and patiently. Love makes you do that. Desperation for someone that you were missing all your life. I understood how he loved his mother despite her narcissistic behavior, solely because she brought him into the world. She was his. I agreed, and I said I loved them because they gave me who I was and I love me.
I now understand my love for my baby. It is out of genuine need to care for a part of me, because she is. My father expressed this to me in his caring tone when we spoke. And his desire to speak to me again whenever I can. I think my birth mother is less aware of her feelings towards me because she never received true motherly love at all, and I can hear it in her voice when she is ready to hang up hollowly every time we speak. I think the more aware of our feelings, the more we can recognize it in others. Thereby she does not recognize my pain.
All these opinions are solely my own interpretations and do not apply to everyone. I am just living how I deem fit for me.
I was not disappointed. He still cared, and I got a beautiful whiff of his love for me. I heard in his vice the intangible connection we had, and his need to hear from me. He sounded fully present, and invested in learning about me. It was a beautiful moment for me, and it hit me like a wave that this was what I needed all along. Behind all my desperate attempts to make myself feel important and good. I was missing a parent's unconditional love and admiration for me. And here it was, in the flesh and blood. I heard my ugly, seemingly whiny voice to my ears, and he suddenly told me that he loved hearing my voice and that I am good. I was shocked and in disbelief. I smiled wanly and tried to take the compliment. I knew it was real and true to him. I now allowed it to be true to me. Maybe it was not so disgusting, after all, to be so childish and needy. He was willing to love me with it. That's how all good parents feel about their kids. I realized that because he and my mother, as he told me, were not raised by their birth parents either, like me, we all felt something missing inside. I heard it in his uncertainty and need to hear his own voice and have his story told. I listened understandingly and patiently. Love makes you do that. Desperation for someone that you were missing all your life. I understood how he loved his mother despite her narcissistic behavior, solely because she brought him into the world. She was his. I agreed, and I said I loved them because they gave me who I was and I love me.
I now understand my love for my baby. It is out of genuine need to care for a part of me, because she is. My father expressed this to me in his caring tone when we spoke. And his desire to speak to me again whenever I can. I think my birth mother is less aware of her feelings towards me because she never received true motherly love at all, and I can hear it in her voice when she is ready to hang up hollowly every time we speak. I think the more aware of our feelings, the more we can recognize it in others. Thereby she does not recognize my pain.
All these opinions are solely my own interpretations and do not apply to everyone. I am just living how I deem fit for me.
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