Working my way through Nancy Verrier's "Coming Home to Self." Naturally, lots to think about and work on, and in the midst of it, an epiphany. The thing that has struck me is this thought, phrased quite simply- "I can't believe I've lived without a mother like this, and for so long. How did I even do it?!"
I'm putting down the book to reflect on this for a few days.
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Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Coming Home to Self
Each evening during the Adoption Crossroads conference (this past month), conference organizer Joe Soll hosted an informal hospitality suite which, wonderfully, was attended by several of the conference presenters. Attending a social hour amidst those guests (such as authors) who have been so influential for me felt strange at first- a little like being amongst celebrities or superheroes or something. But the reality of where I was quickly revealed itself. I was amongst a group of strong individuals of great tenderness. People who understand that the greatest courage is in allowing onesself to be vulnerable.
One evening it was my honor to introduce myself to Nancy Verrier, author of "The Primal Wound." Her book changed (or maybe even saved) my life, and while I knew she had probably heard that statement countless times, I had to tell her for myself. We visited and, like a sponge, I soaked in Nancy's gentle spirit and her empathic kindness.
Upon returning home from the conference it occured to me that for all of the adoption-related books I've read, I had not read Nancy's second book, "Coming Home to Self." I notice that I'm reading it differently than "The Primal Wound." The difference seems to have something to do with a heightened sense of "you are not being alone." I hadn't anticipated this at all, but it does make sense. Having met the author, the experience feels more interpersonal. A most unexpected gain from attending a conference.
One evening it was my honor to introduce myself to Nancy Verrier, author of "The Primal Wound." Her book changed (or maybe even saved) my life, and while I knew she had probably heard that statement countless times, I had to tell her for myself. We visited and, like a sponge, I soaked in Nancy's gentle spirit and her empathic kindness.
Upon returning home from the conference it occured to me that for all of the adoption-related books I've read, I had not read Nancy's second book, "Coming Home to Self." I notice that I'm reading it differently than "The Primal Wound." The difference seems to have something to do with a heightened sense of "you are not being alone." I hadn't anticipated this at all, but it does make sense. Having met the author, the experience feels more interpersonal. A most unexpected gain from attending a conference.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Against Adoption?
When I visit blogs on adoption and if I like the tone and the work of blog, I like to visit some of that blog's links. My most recent visit took me to "Adopters Against Adoption". The site entries date to 2003, and the organization may no longer exist. The existing entries are sobering. The site seems to be (or have been) an outlet for adoptive parents who have been traumatized by their adoptive parenting experiences. Whereas adoptive parents usually strive to identify, in their minds, their children as "their own," the Adopters Against Adoption are focused on the "not-mine-ness" of their families.
The "Adopters Against Adoption" are angry. They're angry because the facilitators of their children's adoptions did not provide them with complete information on the children's histories. Entries on the blog tell stories of adopted children having dire medical and emotional illness, or histories of sociopathic behavior. The adoptive parents are angry that they do not receive adequate financial, institutional, and/or emotional assistance in dealing with the children. In some cases, parents or others even need protection from the children. Some of the adoptive parents are frustrated that they can't return the children to the institutions from which they were adopted. Some adopters conclude that if they had to do it all over again, they wouldn't. For any adoptee who could understand such an adoptive parent's wish, it would be the ultimate indignity. Meanwhile, this scenario is RARE, and the "if I could do it over again" sentiment points to something very validating for those of us with losses resulting from adoption.
On the surface, the "Adopters" are, to a great extent, looking for an "out". The family that has been invented for them is grossly less than "satisfying". The coping mechanism of the "He/she's not really mine" could understandably protect these adoptive parents, psychologically. Though I didn't see that any of the "Adopters" wanted to renounce their children entirely from their lives, their awareness of adoptive status had much to do with their efforts toward receiving assistance and absolution. Debilitating illness became a defining factor in how the "family" was defined.
A family of nature can't escape facing severe mental/physical illness through the escape-valve of "it's not my fault", or it's not my problem". What happens when parents of nature reach a point of inability to cope with or answer to their offspring's health? Do some of them tear their clothes and renounce their relationships? If so, I imagine those parents would be within the vast minority. Likewise with the "Adopters Against Adoption," I suspect that a remote few make the "sold a bill of goods" thing any kind of focus. This blog did, however, raise some interesting points to think on.
The "Adopters Against Adoption" are angry. They're angry because the facilitators of their children's adoptions did not provide them with complete information on the children's histories. Entries on the blog tell stories of adopted children having dire medical and emotional illness, or histories of sociopathic behavior. The adoptive parents are angry that they do not receive adequate financial, institutional, and/or emotional assistance in dealing with the children. In some cases, parents or others even need protection from the children. Some of the adoptive parents are frustrated that they can't return the children to the institutions from which they were adopted. Some adopters conclude that if they had to do it all over again, they wouldn't. For any adoptee who could understand such an adoptive parent's wish, it would be the ultimate indignity. Meanwhile, this scenario is RARE, and the "if I could do it over again" sentiment points to something very validating for those of us with losses resulting from adoption.
On the surface, the "Adopters" are, to a great extent, looking for an "out". The family that has been invented for them is grossly less than "satisfying". The coping mechanism of the "He/she's not really mine" could understandably protect these adoptive parents, psychologically. Though I didn't see that any of the "Adopters" wanted to renounce their children entirely from their lives, their awareness of adoptive status had much to do with their efforts toward receiving assistance and absolution. Debilitating illness became a defining factor in how the "family" was defined.
A family of nature can't escape facing severe mental/physical illness through the escape-valve of "it's not my fault", or it's not my problem". What happens when parents of nature reach a point of inability to cope with or answer to their offspring's health? Do some of them tear their clothes and renounce their relationships? If so, I imagine those parents would be within the vast minority. Likewise with the "Adopters Against Adoption," I suspect that a remote few make the "sold a bill of goods" thing any kind of focus. This blog did, however, raise some interesting points to think on.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Why do you go?
Two days after the Adoption Crossroads conference I was talking with a friend and said how much pain I was having following the experience. (Mistakenly) I engaged in some Q&A with her about "adoption" and soon found myself crying, desperate and frustrated. At that point she asked, "Why do you keep going to these if it makes you so upset?"
I heard the answer in my mind but I didn't speak it. I apologized for my meltdown and said goodnight. I heard myself replying about how if I didn't face and take ownership of my abandonment experience, it would continue to own me... how people say there is hope and there is healing, and how I hate to bring it up but although my name is Joy, I'm not at all joyful or content.
That's how it went 5 days ago. Now, as I experience a level of pain that I'm not sure I can tolerate, the irony is that I'm finding myself seriously asking, "Why do I keep going if it makes me so upset?"
I heard the answer in my mind but I didn't speak it. I apologized for my meltdown and said goodnight. I heard myself replying about how if I didn't face and take ownership of my abandonment experience, it would continue to own me... how people say there is hope and there is healing, and how I hate to bring it up but although my name is Joy, I'm not at all joyful or content.
That's how it went 5 days ago. Now, as I experience a level of pain that I'm not sure I can tolerate, the irony is that I'm finding myself seriously asking, "Why do I keep going if it makes me so upset?"
Friday, October 1, 2010
Everywhere You Go
I'm very awkward about (the mere existence of?) my blog and website on adoption when it comes to the "outside world". When I met with a web guy the other day, I found myself warding off feelings of shame. I was trained as an artist which, in academia today, sadly, means that (a)anything that can be associated with sentimentality is a negative, and (b)anything that directly reveals itself as personal (as opposed to intellectualized or quantified) is a negative. Add to that the idea that "outsiders" might consider an adoption site to be self-help for something that isn't even real-- I can be left feeling really icky. It's hard work to shake it off.
But back to my meeting. We had been talking about the website for about 20 minutes when the consultant said, "My wife is adopted, so I'm familiar with this." He talked about how they were well in to their relationship when she told him she was adopted, how working through related issues helped them, and how he was relieved to know that she was adopted. (Evidently it convinced him that there was a definitive distinction between her and her not-so-very-sane adoptive family.)
So, the meeting was a reminder that everywhere we go, we're bumping in to one another (adoptees, moms) and we don't even know it. I think I'll do an intentional meditation on that as I move through a day, encountering people and meeting their eyes, and wondering what kind of weights they carry. We forget that we all are carrying something.
But back to my meeting. We had been talking about the website for about 20 minutes when the consultant said, "My wife is adopted, so I'm familiar with this." He talked about how they were well in to their relationship when she told him she was adopted, how working through related issues helped them, and how he was relieved to know that she was adopted. (Evidently it convinced him that there was a definitive distinction between her and her not-so-very-sane adoptive family.)
So, the meeting was a reminder that everywhere we go, we're bumping in to one another (adoptees, moms) and we don't even know it. I think I'll do an intentional meditation on that as I move through a day, encountering people and meeting their eyes, and wondering what kind of weights they carry. We forget that we all are carrying something.
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