Meeting with my My Birth Parents - The "Forbidden" Self comes up

          Meeting my birth parents last night feels like a dream, one that feels real one moment and far off the next. I definitely feel a new sense of identity,  moving from my inauthentic, adapted self to the "forbidden self"- as BJ Lifton describes the adoptee's sense of who they'd have been had they not been adopted. It is a sense of limbo. I had to create all these fake emotions and ways of coping as an adoptee, and I saw it clearly when I was around my birth parents due to feeling like their child- an exhilarating feeling of having been born and real. The fake persona was sticking out more, like a peeling mask being beaten away by a cold slap of air, or reality. I was awkward, but not hiding anymore because I no longer needed to. These people know me.. And want to know the real me. Their daughter.. With no expectations. So here I was, years of broken dejection and pain etched in my body and soul, ready after 25 years to meet my parents in reclaiming. An awkward, unusual feat that was not understood by most, yet known deep down in all of our hearts that it was deeply valued. I saw it in their eyes when they told me it would be amazing if I moved, with no expectation or worry that it was not a mutual feeling. The feeling was there and did not have uncertainty. Everything we said felt like it had a place to land in the other, so strong was the yearning to be there with one another. It felt magical. My birth mother was doing her usual running around and prepping to be busy, yet she was My mother and it felt pleasant. She smiled at me when I mentioned my last meeting with my birth sister, their other daughter, and nodded in understanding when I told her about her personality. My father exclaimed that I looked beautiful, and could not seem to get over complimenting everything about me. I smiled awkwardly and tried to take it in, but did not worry about how I reacted. I felt I belonged and nothing I did would push them away.

        When we first got to her house we waiting calmly for my father to come after his work, and I accepted her gifts, finding the practical food items useful, and she enjoyed my drawings as a kid that I made copies of for them. I liked her crew-cut hairdo, it suited her, and I chatted with her roommate. She helped my husband with parking, and she brought him some water and ibuprofen for his headache. I admired her kind and charitable nature, and noted that I had the same outlook with helping strangers. My father bounded in and was so happy I was there, it made me feel warm inside. I appreciated his effort in being there for me. He showed me off to a client when we went to the restaurant. I was overwhelmed by them all sitting by the table, I excused myself internally to go to the side, and calm my nerves in order not to expect too much. They chatted happily, and when my mother brought over the wrong pizza for me, I declined eating to protect my pride at having been overlooked, and she visibly felt bad. It was okay because I did not want to focus on the food. I told them I was just happy to be with them. They asked me to eat and I said no thanks respectfully and checked in with myself to make sure I was okay. I was calm.

             It was surreal to see my husband getting along so well with my father. We discussed moving, and she said she would visit me twice a month if that was okay by me. I nodded. They enjoyed my daughter's antics of smiling shyly at them and eating some fries. We joked about who I looked like. My father offered me videos of his late father on tape. It was sweet to see them getting along. My mother seemed proud of my confidence and seemed genuine when we traded incidences. She laughed when I said I think I got her temper, but my husband had a bad one too.

           I noticed her withdrawal and sadness etched on her wrinkles and understood why. In the car, I offered them a copy of the chapter about Adult Adoptees In Crises from Lifton's book that my old therapist had given me to relate to 3 years ago where I highlighted some parts that applied to me, and I was thrilled that my father was willing to take it when my mother refused it at first. Then, my husband explained that adoption is seen by society as a privilege and it is not the case for the adoptee, as I grew up feeling pain and confusion about losing my birth parents, and she suddenly said she would take it. I was beyond happy, and gave it to her explaining that it was how I felt mostly 3 years ago and that I understood myself better from reading more on it. I said casually that maybe she would relate to the feelings as an adoptee, herself. My father agreed, and she said perhaps in her non-committing way. I see how we both have the same detachment from others that allows us to interact fleetingly yet never totally connected with others. I think she picked up on my shallow smiles,  yet intense inner brokenness that follows me around. It made me feel less isolated. She offered for us to meet her in her soup kitchen work for free lunch, but I declined politely. I did not feel up to it. We left them with a trusting bond that we'd see them soon.

           I felt the spell lift and a sense of losing the happy innocence of my inner abandoned baby. It was like a separation of mother to baby, the feeling of losing sense of safety and identity. I swallowed and sat in it. I knew I would find it soon and the move would help integrate me. I felt excitement over this new territory.

       Watching my daughter in the car, I knew how much she needed me and was astonished at how people seem to think a baby losing its mother would not be effective when it regains a new caregiver. I woke up in middle of the night with a thought of how people think babies can attach to everyone with the same attachment, and not acknowledge that they need a primary and steady one mother whom they are attached to from the get-go for stability. It shocked me as to how far adoptive parents could go in their denial when they need to have a baby to validate them as a person, and thus ignore the baby having real emotions. It seemed like a really backwards, cruel world that opposed true reality. I am lucky to have access to my soul and higher consciousness.. To have confidence in knowing that I am true to my emotions in a deep sense. I feel strange thinking about my adoptive mother and my birth mom's adoptive mother and how disconnected they are from their pain and sense of selves.