A Gift in an Ugly Package

I wrote this several months ago, and didn't publish it for some reason. It gives some insight into how I've been dealing with the family stuff.
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For two years straight I attended therapy.  Once a week or every two weeks, occasionally once a month.  I didn't think it was going to take two years when I walked into Therapist's office as  a new mom struggling to figure out why everything was so hard a year into parenting.  I figured that I just was having trouble with the adjustment into parenthood having gotten past the first year of survival mode and major transitions.  Settling down into the routine of parenting X, instead of feeling calming, made me crazy.  Vacations weren't that fun.  My brother's wedding was not fun.  A weekend away with S at my friend's wedding wasn't fun.  I started getting irritated and short with people at work, to the point of actually getting in trouble over one incident because the much older guy was so offended by my putting him in his place that he threatened to lodge a formal complaint against me to the Civil Rights/EEO office.  Things would either briefly ok,  then I would sink into a funk blaming myself for everything that was going wrong.  A friendship imploded prior to walking through that door, and I struggled to recognize that it wasn't my fault.  The only constant positive influences in my life were S and X.  S tried to be there for me as I raged and sunk lower, and was happy when I managed to get my head above water for brief periods of time.  I was drowning.

Part 1:  Figuring Out it's Clinical Depression
While Therapist is not a psychiatrist, and I didn't see a psychiatrist, she is gifted in ferreting out the root of the problem.  Four or five visits with her turned into a suggestion that I go on medication.  It was a suggestion with a little push.  I demurred for a couple weeks, then realized that I wanted to get this all sorted out more than I wanted to avoid medication.  Since then I've been on a half dose of cele.xa, and whether it's placebo effect, homoeopathic effects, or literally the amount I need, I've noticed my mood swings have dramatically smoothed out.  I get low, and G-d knows I've been through the wringer over the last year emotionally, but I haven't bottomed out like I used to.

Part 2:  Rebuild My Ego Strength
I had some self-esteem, that's how I was able to manage to make myself successful.  I had enough self-esteem to recognize one long-term boyfriend was a cad, and maybe that guy I didn't think was too exciting at first should be given a chance (good thing, because that was S).  There was enough there that I made good choices and could stand up for myself when needed.  But not all the time.  I never saw myself as a kind/good/successful person.  I saw myself as constantly failing to live up to my so-called potential.  I'm not a workaholic by any means.  I treasure my play-time/down-time/bad tv watching time way more than I want to climb the ladder.  But, I constantly beat myself up over not being engaged enough at my job.  What I had to realize during this part of my therapy was that I am engaged enough at my job.  Despite the kerfuffle with one person in my office, I've done nothing but get better performance reviews throughout the last several years and managed to get myself promoted in the middle of the sh*tstorm that is building my family.  All while being depressed and fighting through some serious emotional issues.  The one area I didn't feel shaky in was parenting.  It really seems odd if you think about it, because not being able to juggle all the facets of my life was what drove me to therapy.  It was really everything surrounding parenting, not the actual parenting that was becoming magnified. 

This part of my therapy dragged on a bit longer than it probably needed to because while I was working through all this stuff several setbacks occurred.  My therapist got pregnant and took maternity leave.  It wasn't long, but I had several weeks without an appointment.  I could've seen someone else, but I didn't really want to discuss my issues with someone who didn't know me, and I did pretty good during that time anyway.  My relationship with my parents tanked.  I had several fights with my parents that seemingly came out of nowhere and learned that I can't rely on my own mother to take my side or be empathetic when I'm going through a tough time.  The match with Baby A failed and we had to turn him over to cradle care three days after taking him home.  Despite all these setbacks, I finally got the point where I was ready to address the root of all my emotional problems.

Part 3:  No, Really?  My mom isn't a narcissist, is she? 
She is.  Being in any emotionally abusive relationship carries a special burden, and this one is mine.  I danced around this issue from the first month that I entered therapy.  The first major fight with my parents led to the revelation that my parents were having trouble with one of my brothers.  He apparently accused my mom of being a narcissist and the first thing I did was defend her.  How could she be a narcissist when she does a), b), c) for everyone around her? Ultimately, I attributed the fact that my dad yelled at me at the top of his lungs in front of my child, to the stress my brother had put on my parents with some of his more dramatic declarations.  It still wasn't ok that it happened, and I was beyond furious with being treated like a little kid.  But, I found a way to explain it away so that it wasn't them, it was something else.

Imagine my chagrin when I finally realized that my brother is right.   Once I admitted that this must be what has been wrong for 39 years, I was able to start healing.  I think I've grieved the loss of a mother my entire life, because she never was there for me emotionally.  There is some more to work through, and some disbelief that this is really my relationship with my mother before I can move to learning how to limit interactions in order to keep my now-healthy ego intact.

Here's the thing about narcissists, they are so fragile on the inside that they can only feel good about themselves when they get external validation.  They take and they take and they take, they're are excessively needy.  For example, I get random texts that obviously are fishing for compliments.  These days, I ignore them.  Almost every weekend, I'll get a text asking if they can drop by, or watch X while I run errands.  Seemingly innocent texts, but they are incessant, even when I reply that I'll let her know when I need babysitting.  I never get a simple "I love you".  I get "I love you so much, you know that?  Or, "I love you too much to have this conversation right now", or "You and S are the best parents ever, X is so lucky to have you".  None of those are unconditional.  It's always conditional. 

It is not up to me to fill my mother's emotional cup at the expense of draining mine.  

It's really hard to undo 39 years of learned behavior.  Especially because Therapist identified me as very likely the so-called golden child of the narcissist.  I look awesome on paper.  She can brag about me non-stop to everyone around her and they tell her she's an awesome mom.  Ironically,  I accomplished all this in spite of my mom.  Now, the thing that has really brought all this to bear at this precise moment in time is my infertility and adoption journey.  All of the sudden, I am not her perfect child.  I hurt, and she can't take it because it makes me less than perfect.  I'm open about adoption, and she buried mine.  

Three books are helping to identify what's been going down my entire life:  Will I Ever Be Good Enough? , Disarming the Narcissist  and Toxic Parents.

I am an Imposter.  That's my main identifier as the daughter of a narcissist, and likely the Golden Child since I look amazing on paper and I'm bragged about to everyone who will listen.

Consider:

• I was in the top 10% of my high school graduating class, but felt it wasn't good enough.
• I graduated from one of the most difficult engineering schools in the country. But my GPA fell just short of 3.0.  I must not be a good engineer.
•  I got my master's degree while working full time.  I was pissed that I didn't get straight A's and I "only" worked 40-50 hours per week.  I must not be a good engineer or student.
•  I have never read the final copy of my master's thesis.  I'm embarrassed by it.
• It took me 4 tries to pass the Fundamentals of Engineering Exam.  I felt like an abject failure after each one.  There was relief when I finally passed, but it wasn't much.
• I passed the Professional Engineering Exam on the first try.  In my mind, that meant it must have been "easy".  Forget the months of studying and review classes I took.
•  I live in constant fear of my supervisor figuring out how much I've been slacking lately.  Except that I'm actively moving projects forward and generally doing a good job.  It's OK to not be on my A game right now.  But, I don't give myself that kind of leeway.

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I wrote this part while waiting for Baby Z's arrival

August 10, 2014
My parents have plans to go see my brother's white coat ceremony for Pharmacy school, and to see my other brother in Oregon at the end of the month.  Because the baby is due at the end of August, Mom is willing to cancel all plans "just to be here" because "I want to, it's important to me".  Except, it's more important to me that she not leave L hanging with a 3 week single parenting stint, especially because he asked for them to come out months and months ago knowing that his wife would have a residency rotation out of town in August.  They've been blowing him off ever since.  Now, she's going to blow him off because the baby's due date is Aug. 31.  I'm not pregnant, I have nothing to recover from, the baby will likely come early, and even if my parents aren't here, we can figure out something for X for one or two nights while we are in the hospital.  S's parents aren't changing their vacation plans, and they shouldn't.  This isn't a typical pregnancy timeline, this is adoption timeline.  It can happen at anytime.  For us, it could have happened at any time for months.  In fact, we spent 5 days in the hospital with another baby who wasn't ours and my parents didn't know about it until after everything fell apart.  We can handle it just fine.

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Since my initial post, which was right after I was discharged from therapy, there's been setbacks because of Baby Z. Since he has arrived, my mom has been laying it on thick with the "helping", and I've been keeping her at arms length. The problem is that she's figuring that out and now she's pushing even harder. I recognize now that it's given me a bit of setback as evidenced by my need to rant on my blog about the sh*t she's pulled lately. 

She seems to be reaching for straws with this news about having pictures of my bio-dad and some contact information. When I asked her straight up for the pictures, she got really mad at my brother, L, for telling me about them (triangulation). She stood there with tears in her eyes insisting that she's always on my side and re-writing history in her head. The conversation got heated, but I didn't lose it, so that's positive. I didn't even feel much of anything after it was done except that it felt like talking to a brick wall. She finally e-mailed the information to us including the scanned pictures, along with a long letter of self-pity and prostration. In the letter, I see a lot of shame. She says she didn't think that anyone needed to know her history, so what was the big deal. The big deal was that she didn't even want us to know our own story. She was ashamed of her perceived failure and still is not matter how much she insists it's ok that we search for family if we want to. Of course it's ok, because it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with us.

I've increased my cele.xa dose to the prescribed dose and so far am keeping reflux under control with pri.losec. That seems to be the worst side-effect I get besides this apparent weight gain that appeared over the last several months that isn't coming off despite the renewed dedication to MFP. Since I increased it just over a week ago, I'm not sure how much it's helping at this point, but I hope that it'll help me get through the holiday season and then I may consider finding another therapist. My therapist moved out of the country, but she chose one for me based on my family dynamic, so hopefully it's a good match. 

S asked how we are going to deal with this and is it going to get better. I don't think it is, and that's a hard truth to face. Unless my parents start to really own up to how they interact with me, it will never get better.  Funny, one of the things my dad falsely accused me of 2 years ago was threatening to keep my kids away from my parents. At that time, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind, and I don't know why he brought it up. I've done my best not to do that, but now, I wonder. 

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Why is all of this a gift? Well, I guess it's because I've become more self-actualized and sought help to become a better version of myself. I know what I don't want for my own family, and I know what I don't want for myself.  

#MicroblogMonday - Good Grief Edition

My mom has pictures of my biological father that she has kept all these years and never shared with me and my brother. Because we never asked questions and it was never a good time. 

She told my brother about said pictures as he was leaving to go home last week. Apparently that was the best time in the 4 days he was there in their house to tell them. She didn't give them to him.

She stopped by my house tonight and did not bring said pictures with her. Or the contact information for my bio-dad's brother (my uncle I suppose...). She wasn't sure if I would want them.

p.s. She verified that yes, my dad is ignoring me. Why? Because he feels like I don't talk to him. Oh, you mean like that time I walked in the house, said "Hi Dad" and he didn't answer? Jes.us, who is the parent here?

Don't know what #MicroblogMonday is? Check it out here

#flipthescript Makes Me Think

I’ve been following #flipthescript on Twitter these past weeks. It’s been eye-opening and uncomfortable knowing my kids’ stories. When we were placed with X, it was a time of learning but not fully understanding the implications for first-parents and adoptees. I believe 100 percent that X would have been placed for adoption whether we were in the picture or not. At play in his story are deep seated cultural values, a minor, and an unsupportive family environment. C didn’t want to place him. We know this. We do what we can to support her emotionally, although sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. Because our wish is to keep communication open between them, and to openly acknowledge her place as X’s mother, S and I have discussions around this at intervals.  If X was old enough to grasp the situation, what would he want to do? He doesn’t have a voice yet, and doesn’t even understand the concept of adoption. So, as his parents, what do we do to ensure the communication stays open, yet keep boundaries, because we are X’ parents, we are not C’s parents?

Z’s story is vastly different from X’s story, and I don’t know if we will be in an open adoption in the future. I like to think of it as an open-door adoption, to take a page from Lori’s book. J doesn’t want contact, but she wants letters and pictures. So, we will keep up letters and pictures through the agency, always providing contact information in them. Keeping our door open for the day she may decide she wants to meet A. The good thing about hospital placements, is that despite the whole “anonymity” thing, we have her last name. You can’t redact everything! So, we will keep that, for the future when A may want to search.

I realize that my own quasi-adoption story is one that many people would not recognize as adoption. After all, my mother was with me throughout, and I was not taken from my family of origin. So, yes, it’s absolutely different and I don’t understand the adoptee who was taken from their family, placed in another family and grew up always wondering where they fit. I know where I fit. I know the maternal half of my biological family and extended family. What I can understand is the feeling of helplessness when it comes to my own story. I understand the feeling of being told to “just be grateful” when I tried to express my emotions around not knowing anything about my biological father. Sound familiar? I understand the secrecy that feels wrong, because I am the one affected, yet I can’t talk about it. I understand the damage that’s done to a child’s psyche and how that affects the child as an adult when parents refuse to acknowledge feelings or talk about this big huge thing that happened to them. I did not have a say when my stepfather adopted me and my brother. I may have been asked if it was ok, but I was a teenager, compliant, and knew that whatever I said wouldn’t matter. I hadn’t yet found my voice in regards to my family situation, so why would I care?   I am finding my voice now. I obtained my original birth certificate, because I too have a fake one. For me, this is more about owning the facts. I don’t necessarily need to find my biological father’s family, but I have name and age information if I want to. My mother has some contact information, but as is her way, she said she was going to give it to me and my brother and then never followed through.

Now that I’m an adoptive parent, I can draw from my own experiences of being shut down and vow to never shut down my kids. I can learn from adoptees and first-parents whose voices should be just as loud as adoptive parents and who need to be heard. I can advocate on behalf of my kids and teach them the tools to advocate for themselves. I can help them find their voice as they grow. I can normalize adoption as a thing that happened to them, a thing that may define them, or may not. If it defines them and they need to speak out on adoption someday, then it’s up to me to put aside my own emotions and recognize that what they speak out about may not reflect on me as a parent. Or maybe it does. Because raising a child who feels empowered to speak their mind is my goal. The secrecy stops with me. No more secrets. No more lies. No more quashing.

Birth Certificate

If you missed it...read here for background.

I received my original birth certificate  a few months ago.  It turns out that I barely made the cutoff to simply fill out a form, have it notarized and write a check.  My brother, on the other hand, is stuck in limbo.  If he wants his original birth certificate, he has to obtain a court order. Thanks a lot big-huge-church that has a giant lobby and who happens to be in a neighboring state, where accusations of coercion abound making it more difficult for the rest of us who like to do things ethically and in the best interests of everyone in the triad.  *ahem*

Anyway, a few things were revealed just by receiving my birth certificate.  One, my mom kept her maiden name (or wasn't married, not sure).  Second, she hyphenated my last name.  Third, having my bio-father's full name and age turns out to be not as helpful as I would have hoped.  My mom never sent on the information to my brother, and he has since dropped the whole thing like a hot potato.  Anyway, I'm not particularly motivated to really search for my bio-dad.

I'm shocked by the hyphenation and my mom keeping her last name, however, and would be interested to know what my brother's birth certificate looks like.  Why am I shocked, you ask?  Well, my mother has always turned her nose up at hyphenation or women keeping their last name, to the point of making it sound like a stupid thing to do.  It created a conundrum for me, because I am decidedly more feminist and really struggled with what to do with my name when I got married.  She pushed me to take S's name and drop my maiden name, but I wasn't sold.  What I ended up with is a hyphenated name that isn't hyphenated, and all kinds of problems since then.  Because I didn't just own it and stick that stupid hyphen in there when I filled out SS paperwork, I'm stuck with two last names and the morons of the world don't get it (literally, I have gotten a "that's weird" more than once). Maybe I'm lazy, or maybe I don't want to spend the time and money, but I don't think it's worth getting a court order for a hyphen, IMO.

So, what do I do now? I'm waiting for my brother to want to try to search for family.  I don't feel that motivated because I'm afraid of what I might find.  As this was a divorce and abandonment, I don't know if it would be a good thing or not to try to find someone who didn't want me in the first place. I fully realize that my story is not a traditional adoption story, but it remains that throughout my life, I've had similar identity and behavioral issues, and have grown up with a healthy disgust for deceit. These experiences may have made it easier for me to embrace the idea of opening my heart and home to my child's first-family, as difficult as it can be. I didn't like growing up being silenced by my parents, and I am not going to silence Baby X or his sibling just because I might get uncomfortable. But maybe it won't be too bad because I already know what it's like to be told that all I'm doing is making someone else uncomfortable, when it's my life, not theirs. It's all speculation at this point, and only time will tell if I can be as open and supportive as I think I can be.

My Adoption Backstory and the Epiphany

In my haste to write the last post I forgot that I haven't really told my backstory much, except in a book tour, and possibly alluded to it now and then in other posts. 

So, to clear up all confusion, here it is.

My mother was married to a man before my Dad and he is my father.  I was very young when they divorced, and brother1 was a baby.  We moved  to another state with my mom's then boyfriend, and the man I grew up calling "Dad".  While my parents acknowledged that brother1 and I were not the product of the two of them, they insisted on never discussing the situation.  I always called my dad, Dad, and the fuzzy memories I have of bio-dad are just that, fuzzy.  I remember that he was around, yet I have no idea what he looks like since my mom destroyed all evidence of him.   Apparently, he showed no interest in us once we moved away.

Growing up, my parents acted like brother1 and I were biologically theirs, and squashed all my attempts at conversation.  The questioning became even more intense when my parents had children who do not look like me and my brother.  It's completely obvious that we don't share the same genetic makeup, but that was not discussed and we continued our charade.  In fact, bringing up the fact that me and brother1 look like my dad was done quite frequently.  I remember feeling proud of that fact when I was young, a little confused by it when I got older, and then downright annoyed by the time I was in college. 

When I was a teenager, my dad adopted us by reason of abandonment by our bio-dad.  It was treated like every other day, except we made a quick trip to the courthouse to go through the formality, and we were given very little notice of this event.  Honestly, I really didn't grasp the monumental step that this was, as I was always trying to please and so did everything my parents told me to without question.

By the time I reached adulthood, I just took it all and stuffed it into a neat little box after several attempts to express my discomfort at the charade.  I wasn't allowed to talk about how I felt about the situation, and in general felt like it was my fault that my parents would get mad at me for bringing it up.  What was the point in pursuing something that so obviously upset both of my parents?  Especially since it didn't matter (or wasn't supposed to matter?).  Forming lasting and trusting relationships has always been difficult for me, and was something I thought was either my fault or the other person being a class A jerk.

In the process of adopting a child myself, I've been forced to face the feelings I've had all my life.  Reading "The Primal Wound" by Nancy Verrier, started to gently shake the foundation upon I've lived as I identified with way too many of the characteristics she describes.  Reading adoptee memoirs has shaken the foundation just a bit more, creating hairline cracks, and with it, friction with my parents.  Facing the reality of being an adoptive mother and how we are treating our child's story further widened the cracks.  A year of therapy began to chisel away at the relationships I've developed in my life, forcing me to see them in a new light and to figure out how to navigate them.  All of these little steps have served to fracture my psyche, my perception of my childhood, my perception of myself.

...and then brother1 made two statements,"I don't even know if I look like him", and, "What if we have brothers and sisters?"  During our conversation, when he expressed an interest in searching, I made a snap decision.  If he wants to do it, we should both do it.  Even though I've spent a long time convincing myself that I don't need to, I should be there to support him, should he desire to take that journey.

On the long drive to the airport, as I mulled over the conversation, navigating the two lane highway, it hit me full force.  I'm staring at the opportunity to help myself become whole by acknowledging this other person, this half of my genetic makeup.  I'm 39 years old and have no idea if I look like my bio-dad.

My world broke open.

Cracked

I saw my brother (brother1) and his family this weekend.

We had a needed deep and uncomfortable conversation about our parents. 

We may be searching for our bio father/father's family in the near future. 

This is the first time in my life that I have identified as an adoptee. 

My first step is to try to get my original birth certificate. 

My second is to ask my mother for the information I know she has, but has not shared with us. 

I'm scared.