I have been away from this and all other blogs for a while. I wasn't sure exactly why until I read what my daughter wrote. I realized that what she has been going through plays into every evil fog hangover insecurity I have. I have been feeling quite useless. The last time I was out trolling around the adoption blogs I came up on one of the best BSE mother articles I have ever read (of course I can't remember where it was and how I got there). Whoever wrote it was saying everything I would if I were half as articulate. I felt like I had been kidding myself. Everything I have to say has already been said. What do I have to add to this. I can't make anything better. So that relates exactly how to what your daughter wrote, you say. Easy answer, what she describes makes me feel like nothing I do or say can make her feel any better and many times I think I just make it worse.
Here is where the insecurities relly come in to play. The 'best for the child' lie is based on the idea that you (the mother) are incapable of giving your child what she needs. I absolutely believed that. What kind of an idiot could possibly think that a child wouldn't be much better off in a stable home with a mother AND a father. What child wouldn't be better off being raised in a home with economic stability and the chance for a good education. So it follows that I have nothing good to give to my daughter. I cannot make her life better only worse. Yes I am out of the fog but I have one hell of a hangover on that one. I want her to feel secure and know she is loved. I want her to understand how important she is to me. If she doesn't feel loved and secure then I have failed her. I really need to get past this hangover. I act weird when I feel insecure. I send out all kinds of mixed signals and ping around. This behavior is not helpful. I know it makes her feel like she has done something bad by comming into my life. That is the farthest thing from the truth. When I told her I don't trust emotions this is what I was talking about. I know that adoption has hurt both of us. I know that her hurt goes to the very center of how she feels about herself. I know that it made me feel completely inadequate to be a mother (yes I am one of those who never had any other children). I don't want to let that crap control me. It is past time for me to get over myself and let myself enjoy all the good things she gives to me starting with how incredible it is that she actually loves me despite my bouts of bullshit. Hey, even my grandson loves me and he is a very cool kid. Sure reunions hard hard and very emotional. They are also wonderful. I think I need to remember the wonderful more often and remind her of it. Reunions may not solve everything but I know that it has brought two very exceptional people into my life that I love more than they imagine. I hope she can come to feel the same way.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Security and Emotional Distance
About a week and a half ago, I went "home" to my adoptive parents' house. It is not the house I grew up in, since they retired and moved out of state, but in a sense it still feels like "home" to me. I am surrounded by the things I was surrounded with growing up. That beloved Mozart statuette, some of my stuffed animals, my old television. I have my own room and my own bathroom with my own toiletries, my own set of towels that simply gather dust until the next visit. I have not been able to stay in my parents' home overnight for many years, because they don't like having my son spend the night as well and he is usually with me. (I guess he is too noisy for their tastes.)
Those of you that have read this blog have probably figured out that I have a rather distant, strained relationship with my adoptive parents, especially my mother. They have distanced themselves from me, and everyone else in their lives, by their own choosing. They want a simple, quiet existence in their own universe with their own rules. There is not much emotional connection there. On my last visit, I got up in the morning, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat at the silent breakfast table with a crossword puzzle and a few words mumbled while I did the crossword puzzles and they watched CNN. In fact, CNN was on TV all day long, except when we would go out to get lunch or dinner. Afternoons were nap time for them and hike time for me. Otherwise, it was all about my adoptive mother's rules, and me following them. No snacks after 4pm are allowed. I am not allowed to eat anywhere but at the kitchen table. We only talk about what she wants to talk about and only when she wants to speak. The house is....quiet.
It is a rather lonely existence, isn't it? So much like it was when I was growing up, yet even quieter now than it was back then.
Oddly, however, that emotional distance feels.....secure? Dare I say it? Here I was, surrounded by little tokens of my childhood (down to "my" coffee cup that I used in the morning), and I felt like I was "home", or at least in a safe zone, even though a psychologist would probably call this house a dysfunctional, toxic environment on so many levels. Perhaps dysfunctional and toxic have become "normal" and "safe" for me.
Meeting my biological family was very different. They have many of the same quiet, unemotional tendencies that my adoptive family has, but they seem genuinely interested in me, my life, and my son. My biological mother and I have these really crazy, deep, emotional conversations that make me feel so wonderful. The more she opens up to me, the more I love it...especially because she is not that way by nature, at least around other members of the family. It made me feel accepted and "special".
What I realized this week is that it also makes me feel insecure.
I used to laugh at my biological mother when she would say she doesn't trust emotion. Now I think I understand it.
Emotion isn't the foundation upon which the bricks of security are laid. Emotion is shaky. It fluctuates. My mother says she loves me. My adoptive mother used to say she loved me too, but I haven't heard those words in a long time. Just as easily as those words are said, they can be taken away.
When I grew up, my adoptive parents were always physically present. Someone was home every day when I went to school and when I came home. I was rarely in an empty house. My parents may not have been emotionally present very often, but man, they were THERE.
My biological mother? She is not "there". She is a voice or an email. She is usually emotionally present, unlike my adoptive parents. But she is not "there". I see her once in a while, when we can manage it. We both have busy lives, other commitments, other people that come first. That's just reality. I am learning to live with that. I take what I can get and what others feel I am entitled to.
I really hate that I can't feel secure with my biological mother. I really hate that no matter how comfortable she and her family try to make me feel, I can't feel it. I really hate that I am more comfortable in a dysfunctional, emotionless household with all my old stuff.
When I searched, I wasn't just searching for genetic similarities or medical information or other socially acceptable stuff that falls into the category of mild curiosity. I was looking for unconditional love. I thought it would make me feel grounded. I thought it would make my biological family feel grounded too.
Well, it doesn't. It ain't about love, I guess.
I was so, so, so wrong.
Those of you that have read this blog have probably figured out that I have a rather distant, strained relationship with my adoptive parents, especially my mother. They have distanced themselves from me, and everyone else in their lives, by their own choosing. They want a simple, quiet existence in their own universe with their own rules. There is not much emotional connection there. On my last visit, I got up in the morning, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sat at the silent breakfast table with a crossword puzzle and a few words mumbled while I did the crossword puzzles and they watched CNN. In fact, CNN was on TV all day long, except when we would go out to get lunch or dinner. Afternoons were nap time for them and hike time for me. Otherwise, it was all about my adoptive mother's rules, and me following them. No snacks after 4pm are allowed. I am not allowed to eat anywhere but at the kitchen table. We only talk about what she wants to talk about and only when she wants to speak. The house is....quiet.
It is a rather lonely existence, isn't it? So much like it was when I was growing up, yet even quieter now than it was back then.
Oddly, however, that emotional distance feels.....secure? Dare I say it? Here I was, surrounded by little tokens of my childhood (down to "my" coffee cup that I used in the morning), and I felt like I was "home", or at least in a safe zone, even though a psychologist would probably call this house a dysfunctional, toxic environment on so many levels. Perhaps dysfunctional and toxic have become "normal" and "safe" for me.
Meeting my biological family was very different. They have many of the same quiet, unemotional tendencies that my adoptive family has, but they seem genuinely interested in me, my life, and my son. My biological mother and I have these really crazy, deep, emotional conversations that make me feel so wonderful. The more she opens up to me, the more I love it...especially because she is not that way by nature, at least around other members of the family. It made me feel accepted and "special".
What I realized this week is that it also makes me feel insecure.
I used to laugh at my biological mother when she would say she doesn't trust emotion. Now I think I understand it.
Emotion isn't the foundation upon which the bricks of security are laid. Emotion is shaky. It fluctuates. My mother says she loves me. My adoptive mother used to say she loved me too, but I haven't heard those words in a long time. Just as easily as those words are said, they can be taken away.
When I grew up, my adoptive parents were always physically present. Someone was home every day when I went to school and when I came home. I was rarely in an empty house. My parents may not have been emotionally present very often, but man, they were THERE.
My biological mother? She is not "there". She is a voice or an email. She is usually emotionally present, unlike my adoptive parents. But she is not "there". I see her once in a while, when we can manage it. We both have busy lives, other commitments, other people that come first. That's just reality. I am learning to live with that. I take what I can get and what others feel I am entitled to.
I really hate that I can't feel secure with my biological mother. I really hate that no matter how comfortable she and her family try to make me feel, I can't feel it. I really hate that I am more comfortable in a dysfunctional, emotionless household with all my old stuff.
When I searched, I wasn't just searching for genetic similarities or medical information or other socially acceptable stuff that falls into the category of mild curiosity. I was looking for unconditional love. I thought it would make me feel grounded. I thought it would make my biological family feel grounded too.
Well, it doesn't. It ain't about love, I guess.
I was so, so, so wrong.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Discoveries
It has been a really rough month. I'm sure those of you who read this blog have figured out that my daughter and I have been going through some bad times. I haven't been near this or any other site. It was all too raw and I felt very hurt, angry, and alone. I couldn't write because writing would make it real and I couldn't read because I was afraid of what was written. I was being pushed away and felt total rejection. I couldn't ask why because I was afraid of the answer. I had tried my best and I had failed at what was the most important thing in the world to me. I know when my daughter reads this that she will think I am exagerating. Not true but I understand why she would have a hard time believing it. It is much better now. We are talking again and have perhaps slain another couple of monsters. We both doubt ourselves and each other. We both fear rejection. We react differently but the underlying reasons are the same. A lot has come out of this and we will probably always have some monsters. I wish I could slay all of them, mine and hers. Maybe we will eventually or maybe we are slaying more than we think because we just keep trying. Whatever the problems, having her in my life is worth it.
I decided to write today about one huge revelation I had when talking to her yesterday. As a general rule I avoid thinking about what the adoption did to me. It seems rather petty compared to what it did to her. It semms rather like telling someone going in for brain surgery how scary it was to have your tonsils out. I have finally figured out that isn't too smart because it does come off like it was no big deal and I got through it just fine. Unpleasant but no lingering after effects. We uncovered a big one yesterday that has had a very real and understandable impact on her. I had no idea what she was talking about when she said I kept my guard up and would pull away from her. Examples of this were how I would always pull away first if we hugged each other. Rather like I maxed out on hugs after a couple minutes. I would also always want to get to the airport early whether it was me leaving her or vice versa. I I thought she was just being over-sensitive. I always get to airports early and I don't come from a demonstrative family. Her problem, not mine. WRONG! Yesterday we had a long talk and I had a flashback/moment of clarity/something. I always remembered being in the hospital and holding her. I was so sure that I was doing the best thing for her by reliquishing but I wanted her to stay with me so badly (just hormones of course but they seem to have lasted 39 years). I remebered the last time I was holding her and everything I was feeling. I knew what time the nurse would come and get her. I kept staring at the clock wanting time to stand still. I wanted to hold her so tight they could never take her away. I wanted to scream. I knew if I held on to her I would hurt her. I was afraid that I would be stupid and make a scene and start screaming at people. I kept telling myself that I would get through it. It was horrible watching that damn clock and knowing this was the last time I would ever see her. So I excercised every bit of control I had and did what I believed I had to do. Now I know why I get stff after a few minutes. Now I know why I can't stand to to prolong the agony of leaving. I hope that knowing will keep me from doing this. Even writing about it brings on a panic attack. Its a lot better though knowing why.
I decided to write today about one huge revelation I had when talking to her yesterday. As a general rule I avoid thinking about what the adoption did to me. It seems rather petty compared to what it did to her. It semms rather like telling someone going in for brain surgery how scary it was to have your tonsils out. I have finally figured out that isn't too smart because it does come off like it was no big deal and I got through it just fine. Unpleasant but no lingering after effects. We uncovered a big one yesterday that has had a very real and understandable impact on her. I had no idea what she was talking about when she said I kept my guard up and would pull away from her. Examples of this were how I would always pull away first if we hugged each other. Rather like I maxed out on hugs after a couple minutes. I would also always want to get to the airport early whether it was me leaving her or vice versa. I I thought she was just being over-sensitive. I always get to airports early and I don't come from a demonstrative family. Her problem, not mine. WRONG! Yesterday we had a long talk and I had a flashback/moment of clarity/something. I always remembered being in the hospital and holding her. I was so sure that I was doing the best thing for her by reliquishing but I wanted her to stay with me so badly (just hormones of course but they seem to have lasted 39 years). I remebered the last time I was holding her and everything I was feeling. I knew what time the nurse would come and get her. I kept staring at the clock wanting time to stand still. I wanted to hold her so tight they could never take her away. I wanted to scream. I knew if I held on to her I would hurt her. I was afraid that I would be stupid and make a scene and start screaming at people. I kept telling myself that I would get through it. It was horrible watching that damn clock and knowing this was the last time I would ever see her. So I excercised every bit of control I had and did what I believed I had to do. Now I know why I get stff after a few minutes. Now I know why I can't stand to to prolong the agony of leaving. I hope that knowing will keep me from doing this. Even writing about it brings on a panic attack. Its a lot better though knowing why.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Search Is Over
I've been looking for my natural father for 20 years. Tonight, a very nice man called me because he received my letter. He was the last one on the list. I've eliminated every single man with his name in the nation...except for him.
And it wasn't him.
We spent a good half hour on the phone. He relayed a wonderful story about how the letter wound up in the hands of his daughter and her husband, who live in he and his wife's old house. She saved the letter and gave it to him and his wife over dinner when they came down to visit. She said, "Dad, are you SURE it's not you?" She was so sad that it wasn't. She always wanted a sister. And he said they would have welcomed me into the family.
He even gave me history on his uncommon family name. Where the family came from, the rare papers he's acquired, stories from their family lineage. Because the last name is so uncommon, we probably ARE related somehow.
He COULD still be part of "my people"...distantly.
He wished me the best of luck. Said he was sorry.
It's over. My search is finally over.
And I'm a fucking wreck. I need a few bottles of wine to dull the pain.
But...oh yeah. I have a job interview in the morning. Time to suck it up and be a responsible adult.
But I miss my father. And I will never know him.
And it wasn't him.
We spent a good half hour on the phone. He relayed a wonderful story about how the letter wound up in the hands of his daughter and her husband, who live in he and his wife's old house. She saved the letter and gave it to him and his wife over dinner when they came down to visit. She said, "Dad, are you SURE it's not you?" She was so sad that it wasn't. She always wanted a sister. And he said they would have welcomed me into the family.
He even gave me history on his uncommon family name. Where the family came from, the rare papers he's acquired, stories from their family lineage. Because the last name is so uncommon, we probably ARE related somehow.
He COULD still be part of "my people"...distantly.
He wished me the best of luck. Said he was sorry.
It's over. My search is finally over.
And I'm a fucking wreck. I need a few bottles of wine to dull the pain.
But...oh yeah. I have a job interview in the morning. Time to suck it up and be a responsible adult.
But I miss my father. And I will never know him.
Grayness
I've been quiet lately.
I think I've hit one of those moments in life again - one of those moments when the adoption bug has bit me big time.
It's that bug that causes me to resign, that lets me believe I have no purpose.
My people-pleasing mode is in full force. The problem is, I don't please anyone.
I'm aging. I found a bunch of gray hairs. My eyes are sunken and sallow. I lost 5 pounds this week. Food generally tastes like cardboard. I've stopped writing and playing music, because it just doesn't matter much when no one is listening, does it?
I did go out to lunch with my best friend today. She took one look at me and about started crying. I guess the grayness of my life is starting to show.
When You're Gone
Cheryl Wheeler
I read the paper turn on the news
And wear the floors out wonderin' what to do
The sun is bright but it doesn't shine
I try to fight it but it happens every time
When you're gone day is night
When you're gone it's an uphill fight
When you're gone baby nothin' nothin's right
I'm goin' crazy sinkin' like a stone
My friends are calling sayin don't sit home alone but
It's not the same with anybody else
It won't be long 'till I'm talkin' to myself
So I watch that clock on the wall not movin' at all
Just frozen in time
And I don't mind letting you know I'm ready to go
Right out of my mind
The morning after the night before
It's hard to tell the difference anymore
Instead of growing stronger I'm just getting weak
Instead of killin' time I think it's killin' me
I think I've hit one of those moments in life again - one of those moments when the adoption bug has bit me big time.
It's that bug that causes me to resign, that lets me believe I have no purpose.
My people-pleasing mode is in full force. The problem is, I don't please anyone.
I'm aging. I found a bunch of gray hairs. My eyes are sunken and sallow. I lost 5 pounds this week. Food generally tastes like cardboard. I've stopped writing and playing music, because it just doesn't matter much when no one is listening, does it?
I did go out to lunch with my best friend today. She took one look at me and about started crying. I guess the grayness of my life is starting to show.
When You're Gone
Cheryl Wheeler
I read the paper turn on the news
And wear the floors out wonderin' what to do
The sun is bright but it doesn't shine
I try to fight it but it happens every time
When you're gone day is night
When you're gone it's an uphill fight
When you're gone baby nothin' nothin's right
I'm goin' crazy sinkin' like a stone
My friends are calling sayin don't sit home alone but
It's not the same with anybody else
It won't be long 'till I'm talkin' to myself
So I watch that clock on the wall not movin' at all
Just frozen in time
And I don't mind letting you know I'm ready to go
Right out of my mind
The morning after the night before
It's hard to tell the difference anymore
Instead of growing stronger I'm just getting weak
Instead of killin' time I think it's killin' me
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Our Reunion Is Like A Teenage Romance
Oh, those "like a..." statements are dangerous, aren't they? The minute you start comparing an "adoption reunion" to "like a..." anything, you can get yourself in big trouble. So my mother and I have been trying to not compare our relationship to anything. Mother/daughter rules don't really apply. She IS my mother - that's not lost on me by a long shot - but the parental role is not there. She's a lot like me, but she's not exactly like a twin sister, and she's not exactly just a friend. But today, my mother figured out that our relationship is kind of like a...teenage romance.
What the HELL? - was my first reaction to this. But really, she's not too far off.
Think back to your first puppy love crushes or whatever they were when you were a teenager. Oh, the drama. Oh, the agony. Oh, the inability to think of anything/anyone else at times. And of course, there's the mindreading factor...did s(he) look at me THAT way or did s(he) REALLY mean THIS or THAT...and there's the turning the most innocuous statements into OH GOD, S(HE) DOESN'T LOOOOVE ME ANYMORE.
Well, at least it's like that for us.
Many books talk about being stuck in the life cycle, regression, etc. and at first, I tried to equate the emotional immaturity of our relationship to these factors, but it's not exactly that. This dynamic has existed for over three years now, and the only evolutions that have occured are the realizations of what we are doing. It doesn't seem to change the behaviors, though...or at least, it hasn't yet.
I mean, some of the emails we write to each other sound like notes you would pass to your big crush in high school. Oh, I loooooove you, I miss you, have been thinking about you allllll day...all that's missing are the hearts and flowers drawn all over them and the creative origami-like folds in the paper.
Disgusting, isn't it?
I wonder if this strange, immature dynamic will ever stop. I admit, some of it is kind of fun. The highs are wonderful. The lows suck.
So are we the only ones with this odd dynamic?
Something tells me we aren't...
What the HELL? - was my first reaction to this. But really, she's not too far off.
Think back to your first puppy love crushes or whatever they were when you were a teenager. Oh, the drama. Oh, the agony. Oh, the inability to think of anything/anyone else at times. And of course, there's the mindreading factor...did s(he) look at me THAT way or did s(he) REALLY mean THIS or THAT...and there's the turning the most innocuous statements into OH GOD, S(HE) DOESN'T LOOOOVE ME ANYMORE.
Well, at least it's like that for us.
Many books talk about being stuck in the life cycle, regression, etc. and at first, I tried to equate the emotional immaturity of our relationship to these factors, but it's not exactly that. This dynamic has existed for over three years now, and the only evolutions that have occured are the realizations of what we are doing. It doesn't seem to change the behaviors, though...or at least, it hasn't yet.
I mean, some of the emails we write to each other sound like notes you would pass to your big crush in high school. Oh, I loooooove you, I miss you, have been thinking about you allllll day...all that's missing are the hearts and flowers drawn all over them and the creative origami-like folds in the paper.
Disgusting, isn't it?
I wonder if this strange, immature dynamic will ever stop. I admit, some of it is kind of fun. The highs are wonderful. The lows suck.
So are we the only ones with this odd dynamic?
Something tells me we aren't...
Letting the Lie Control Me
As usual, after a long talk with my daughter I start thinking. We were talking about the barriers we put up in our relationship and why they are there. More importantly, how they effect how we behave with each other. Naturally, I immediatly thought of this as an adoptee "issue". It's not too hard to understand from an adoptee viewpoint, abandoned once it can happen again and probably will. OK, I can see that. After all what kind of a woman can walk away from her own child. I may get back to my diatribe on that question later in this post or maybe another one. Anyway I was busy this morning doing laundry and drying my hair. I looked in the mirror a saw a woman who was letting the lie control her behavior. This is not an "adoptee issue". It is a problem that occurs when you are outside the norms of society. There are a whole lot of people very eager to tell you how you should think, act, and feel. Everybody says that birth mothers/adoptees should...... Of course ask any three people to finish that statement and you will get four mutually exclusive answers. I started thinking just how much I have let all this influence my behavior.
I am not the type of person that is easily influenced by people's opinion of me. I know I don't like everyone and everyone won't like me. I am fine with that. I try to treat everyone respectfully whether or not I like them and expect the same. So why do I allow the lie and people's acceptance of it to control how I behave with my daughter? This comes out in so many ways. The most incidious is the belief that I don't deserve to have a real relationship with her. I am her mother but I didn't do the hard part, take care of her when she needed a mother. (mothers, ignore all the reasons, this isn't logical its emotional) Consequently, it is hard for me to accept she does love me and will continue to do so. Where do I fit in her life? How can I fit in her life? For the believers in the lie the answer is simple, nowhere except possibly as a source of genetic/medical information. No wonder I keep doing things like getting very close and then at the slightest hint that I have over-stepped my bounds go scurrying back into my corner. It is a safe corner where I can tell myself that I am treating her as an adult and allowing her to make adult decisions. What I am really doing is letting the lie control me. My behavior is at odds with how I feel and what I want. It is at odds with how I relate to other people. Why the hell should I care about what what the lie says? Why should I give a damn about anyone's opinion on our relationship except my daughter's. I send out so many mixed signals that it makes her dizzy. Most of the time I don't even know I am doing it. I need to look in the mirror more often. I want my relationship with my fdaughter to be one that we define free from what other people think it should be. To do that requires an honesty about what we want and what makes us happy. We are adults and have to make accomodations for the other people that are important to us. That doesn't mean that we have to let their opinion dictate how we behave with each other or how we feel about each other. I am sure I will still do an occassional retreat to my corner. Bad habits are hard to break. I hope I have enough sense the next time to pick up the phone and apologize for my bad behavior and tell her why I am feeling scared or hurt.
Now that I am on a roll, I will give my answers about what kind of a woman can give up her baby. I really love this one. When you are unmarried and pregnant the answer is the unselfish kind who cares more for your child than for your own (hormone induced of course) needs. Thirty years later the answer is a self-indulgent bitch who didn't want to bother with taking responisiblity for her own child. Yep, you got it right. In the court of public opinion and the fog masters you really can't win. The real answer for what kind of woman is as diverse as the women who are in a situation where they need to even consider it. The beauty of it is that that the lie (BEST FOR THE CHILD for those of you that missed my analysis of the root of all evil) works for everyone. Is the child inconvienent? No problem you do whats best for the child and get on with your plans. No harm done. Are you scared that you aren't ready to be a mother? No problem, do what is best for the child. No harm done. Are you financially unable to provide a home? No problem, do what is best for the child. No harm done. Are you in a bad relationship/no relationship. Solve the problem by doing whats best for the child. No harm done. In other words, the lie is perfect and fits all occasions. It is the ultimate little black dress. So every woman has her own reason for wearing the little black dress.
I am not the type of person that is easily influenced by people's opinion of me. I know I don't like everyone and everyone won't like me. I am fine with that. I try to treat everyone respectfully whether or not I like them and expect the same. So why do I allow the lie and people's acceptance of it to control how I behave with my daughter? This comes out in so many ways. The most incidious is the belief that I don't deserve to have a real relationship with her. I am her mother but I didn't do the hard part, take care of her when she needed a mother. (mothers, ignore all the reasons, this isn't logical its emotional) Consequently, it is hard for me to accept she does love me and will continue to do so. Where do I fit in her life? How can I fit in her life? For the believers in the lie the answer is simple, nowhere except possibly as a source of genetic/medical information. No wonder I keep doing things like getting very close and then at the slightest hint that I have over-stepped my bounds go scurrying back into my corner. It is a safe corner where I can tell myself that I am treating her as an adult and allowing her to make adult decisions. What I am really doing is letting the lie control me. My behavior is at odds with how I feel and what I want. It is at odds with how I relate to other people. Why the hell should I care about what what the lie says? Why should I give a damn about anyone's opinion on our relationship except my daughter's. I send out so many mixed signals that it makes her dizzy. Most of the time I don't even know I am doing it. I need to look in the mirror more often. I want my relationship with my fdaughter to be one that we define free from what other people think it should be. To do that requires an honesty about what we want and what makes us happy. We are adults and have to make accomodations for the other people that are important to us. That doesn't mean that we have to let their opinion dictate how we behave with each other or how we feel about each other. I am sure I will still do an occassional retreat to my corner. Bad habits are hard to break. I hope I have enough sense the next time to pick up the phone and apologize for my bad behavior and tell her why I am feeling scared or hurt.
Now that I am on a roll, I will give my answers about what kind of a woman can give up her baby. I really love this one. When you are unmarried and pregnant the answer is the unselfish kind who cares more for your child than for your own (hormone induced of course) needs. Thirty years later the answer is a self-indulgent bitch who didn't want to bother with taking responisiblity for her own child. Yep, you got it right. In the court of public opinion and the fog masters you really can't win. The real answer for what kind of woman is as diverse as the women who are in a situation where they need to even consider it. The beauty of it is that that the lie (BEST FOR THE CHILD for those of you that missed my analysis of the root of all evil) works for everyone. Is the child inconvienent? No problem you do whats best for the child and get on with your plans. No harm done. Are you scared that you aren't ready to be a mother? No problem, do what is best for the child. No harm done. Are you financially unable to provide a home? No problem, do what is best for the child. No harm done. Are you in a bad relationship/no relationship. Solve the problem by doing whats best for the child. No harm done. In other words, the lie is perfect and fits all occasions. It is the ultimate little black dress. So every woman has her own reason for wearing the little black dress.
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