Stories

We all have stories to tell.

I started this blog as a forum to journey through adoption reunion. It has become a venue to vent the opening and the closing of adoption records in Ontario. That is not quite what I had in mind when I sat to type my first entry. I really wanted the words to take me to places that my heart struggled with. I wanted it to be a place I could safely tell my story. Not just to those of you who would read it but to myself.

Over the past I have only allowed myself to hear small parts of the story. The story was always too painful to tell in its entirety. I would remember or tell myself small sections of it when I needed to. When that become too much I would stop. It is hard to capture not only the events but the tremendous emotions that hang on each of those events. I also needed a place to explore why the story needed to be told at all. Was it a record of history for me or my family? Was it simply a novel to entertain? Why was telling the story so important?



For many years only my closest friends would hear parts of the story. It was a secret story that I shared cautiously. When I felt I could trust that they would still accept me I would sit them down and start by saying, "I have something to tell you that you are going to be surprised at. I hope you will not think lesser of me." Then I would tell them the parts of the story that I felt I could trust them with. Once that particular part of the story was told, I felt bonded to that person.



Maybe the story became such a big deal to me because I had been treated like I was a secret and the story was a secret. Tied up in the story were the feelings and emotions of being not good enough, in fact of being down right bad. When does a child learn they are bad? What does it take to make a child feel that they are forever not good enough? When I received my first university degree all I could think about was am I acceptable now, am I good enough now?


As I watched my daughter-in-law feeding my granddaughter tonight at supper I marveled at what a good mother she was. My granddaughter took her food and mashed it in her hair and face. Her face had carrot and banana and cauliflower on it, her hair was shades of orange and white. She squished it all through her fingers. She was a fine mess! My daughter-in-law didn't scold her or pull her arms away or in anyway make her feel that she had done something wrong. She simply said that she knew somebody who was going to have a bath tonight. It made me think that this little girl was most fortunate to have a mom that did not make her feel bad. I am not sure if my self-esteem was worn down or just never built up in a postive sense. I am not sure if that happened before I became pregnant at 15 years of age or if it was after that when I was made to feel worthless. I have wondered where I would be today if my parents would have stood by me no matter what kind of mess I was in.

Over the past few years I have come to realize, especially on good days, that it is only myself that I really need acceptance from. Generally I do like myself and I am happy with where life has brought me. I think the path I took was difficult but I know beyond a doubt that I would not be the person I am today if I had traveled a different route. I hope as my story unfolds you will see for yourself too that we are who we are because of the journey. We are the people we are because we continue and don't give up. We are the best we can be! I have my children, the ones I raised and the one I didn't as well as my husband to thank today for that affirmation.