I know I said that this was coming soon a while ago & for the time it has taken, I apologize.
The issue is that I have to be in the right headspace.
It is hard to revisit something that caused pain & hurt, & then to write about it.
So here I am, thinking I am ready......
When you are born, you have no say in what or how you have come into the world.
I was born to a young teenage mother, who decided that it would be best for me to be given to a couple that could not have children.
My teen Birth-Mom, requested that I go to a Catholic set of parents.
That was her only request.
Back then it was all shrouded in secrecy.
No meeting families that desired to have a child.
No meeting the Birth-Mom to see if it all was going to be a good fit.
It was truly a well kept secret.
I was placed with 2 working middle class people.
They both had their careers carved out, a house & the ability to financially provide for a child.
On paper must have looked amazing.
They were Catholic as was requested.
They were ideal for the Social Services that handled Adoption.
From my memory of the story:
They got a call that there was a baby girl ready for them.
Off they went, drove to a different City & picked me up.
Brought me home to their little home, & they tried to love me.
I was 14 day old when this transaction took place.
My now Mother (Adoptive) was scheduled for surgery a couple of weeks after I came to them & therefore could not carry me, hold me & adore me for a few weeks after.
My Aunts all took turns helping her out with my care, & as it was back then, Fathers went to work & came home to dinner made.
I am pretty confident that my Father assisted in my care. But as to the extent of it, I can not comment.
I think with my mother having surgery, was a start to the relationship that we have had over the years. She was unable (& I understand it) to fall in love with me as mothers do when they have a child. She was physically restricted in developing the bond.
As I grew into a toddler & a preschooler, there is very little I remember.
I recall being taken to my Maternal Grandparents place every week to spend a 'childcare' day with them. My Grandfather was the most important person in my life back then. He LOVED me!
We went for walks, to sit on our bench overlooking the river, we saw the cat on the roof, & we sat in his swing in the backyard. He sang me songs, he taught me the alphabet (or tried too).
He was the perfect Grandparent.
My Grandmother was wonderful too. However, even though there are great memories like playing hide the cereal in my favorite stuffed bear, there was more of a protective coat around her. She was a little more withdrawn or standoff-ish. She loved me, I was not hesitant about that, but she was not as willing to show it as my Grandfather who was like a warm blanket every time I saw him.
There are a few other things I can recall..
I remember the other couple who was my other 'childcare'.
They were not related to us, but were my Aunt & Uncle.
They were also amazing people with 2 children of their own who were in high school.
I loved my Aunt & Uncle, they were kind hearted people who were generous with their love.
I don't remember much of our day to day together, but I do remember their bird & how much I loved it.
I still think about my one friend who whacked my head with a toy saw & sliced open my forehead.
He & I were wonderful playmates.
Good thing his father was a Doctor.
I often recall the preschool I went to in a church basement.
The stuff I learned, the coloring, the dancing, the songs.
I remember that too.
Although most of my memories that I can recall are vague, I do have one that I can clearly feel & recapture.
I was around 3 years old.
I was a tomboy through & through.
I like wearing pants, playing with sand, sports & running around.
But there was this one day.....
My Mother wanted to get 'nice' girly pictures of me.
She put me in this dress that was blue velvet & white lace.
I remember the lace being extremely itchy & it covered my whole arms.
The rest of the dress was velvet & it went to my ankles.
Keeping in mind I hated wearing dresses (in fact I still do), this was a per-cursor to my mood.
She then went ahead & decided to curl my long bowl cut hair.
In turn she burnt my forehead. I know it wasn't intentional, but she did!
Her words after the burn though were my fault.
If I had sat still.
If I would just do what she was telling me to do.
If I had just been happy about these pictures.
All my fault & as a child I felt them. I felt the words of failure & of how I was letting her down.
At this point with a mad, crying from the pain child would you not stop?
The answer to this is NO!
She continued to go forward cause we had to get these pictures.
We headed outside, to where it was quite windy & proceeded to 'try' to get these pictures done.
'Look this way. Don't move like that. Stop crying. Just smile.'
All of these I can still hear in my head.
I didn't want to smile.
I didn't want to do what she wanted me to do.
This is a moment I look back on & see the type of parent she was, & the type of child I was becoming.
The control she showed that day.
She clearly was the most powerful.
The memory sticks like glue, as this was the first & not the last of how I could not be a submissive child, & she was the authoritative parent.
Years & Years later sitting in therapy.
My therapist & I talked about these memories, & the thoughts came back into my mind.
I was always going to be forced to be a child with no say, no rights & to only be 'told' what to do & how to do it.
I was meant to be seen & not heard.
I was never going to be what she wanted in a child.
I was a disappointment that day in the blue velvet & white lace dress.
She made sure I felt her anger & frustration.
Her words were not kind.
I can still feel it to this day.
I was a failure.
I still battle those feelings left by her.
I did not get a say into the world I was born into.
But I do get a say as to the world I live in now.
And now I get to write about it.
I get to heal with words.
The Hard Truth (series) is about my life, my thoughts & my encouragement to all.
It is life on where we have gone wrong & what we have done right.
It is something that we all have had some sort of experience in.
We are not alone.
Someone is suffering like you.
Your tale is no different from someone else's, but your journey is your own.