Thank... God

This is a add-on post from “Mother, Father, Mom, Dad”.

My high hopes for communicating with my birth mother went down the drain, it seems, as she continued on telling me the complicated stories of her journey to keep me close to her and escape from her abusive father, who seemingly forced my adoption upon her, even when I requested that we please move on and that the past was the past. I kept getting mixed stories from others, contradicting things she said herself, while she didn’t let up. It was, so-and-so this, and, so-and-so that, never giving me the chance to express how this roller coaster ride was making ME feel.

I created countless videos, pouring my life’s story out to her (a very hard thing for an adopted individual to do, I might add), attempting to make some sort of connection. Even a montage in honor of the feelings I held for her, and a video of myself reading a poem to her children, one I meant to read to my future child. Yet, she neglected to watch them until people pressured her to. To this day, I don’t know if she’s seen the heartfelt montage, or the poem, or even the rest of my story. I give her the benefit of the doubt, dealing with so much emotions and hard aftermath of finally hearing from her daughter of 17 years, so this isn’t my biggest worry. From my interpretation, she felt my parents were a simple addition on my life’s legacy, and that she deserved much more credit than I believe (and I say I believe very strongly) she should be allowed.

So, here’s the credit I am willing to give: Yes, mother, you gave birth to me. You endured hours of incredible pain, and the aftermath of your jiggly belly fat and getting back into shape. Yes, you held me and cared for me when supplies were scarce and at a loss, after your abusive father neglected to care for either one of us that well. Yes, you did have to endure the hateful remarks of your father’s racial beliefs, and rebuild your life after he forced you into adoption. But, I know inside you knew that was what was best for me. Your little baby, looking up at you with her big brown eyes, wondering if she would ever receive a innocent life, away from this abuse. She did, and it is her mom and dad by law that raised her, cried with her, shared the joyous moments with her, and boy did they so deserve a child of their own. You should be extremely grateful.

But, she seemingly isn’t, and contradicts my parents’ parenting, when she hasn’t seen even half of the videos I sent her explaining how much they had been there for me. It’s like I wasn’t even heard out. No parent is perfect, and by all means, she should understand that from having to raise five kids herself, and what she had to endure as a child. Would she rather I was spanked, even worse: beaten, every day? Would she rather I have endured the trauma she had as a young woman? I doubt it. But, it still seems like she wishes negativity upon my life, when in her heart she means good.

Apparently I’m a no-good teenager, trying to connect with the birth mother I never had a chance to know. And, apparently it’s off limits to ask her about her life and expect decent answers, and what can I do but respect that? I do assume I will stay in contact with my birth family, and relate to my aunt, grandmother, and would-be step father for days to come, but who really knows at this point. All I know is, she deserves someone to be on her side. I guess that myself wanting to know what was true from what was fake just wasn’t good enough. Not good enough that I dug out all the legal papers and tried to shed some light on what was buried in the past, the subject in which she seemed so intrigued to discuss. 

I showed active response in wanting to figure out who I was and where I came from, and, true, this entire encounter did just that. It made me realize how LUCKY I am to have the family I do. How lucky I am to have supportive and understanding Mom and Dad. How much material and emotional wealth they have shed upon me for 17 years, and how blessed I am from God to have that unconditional gift every day.

Either family would have been great in their own ways, but I do feel like this day sums up my long-held belief: Everything happens for a reason. As my biological grandmother says, I was supposed to be adopted, and was supposed to have these loving, active parents, or else I wouldn’t be who I am. Where I came from would have been answered from a relationship with my birth mom, but I already know who I am. I am a beautiful, yet flawed, young woman, enduring the road wherever it takes her. I may not know it all, or many of the details to life, even, but most women would love their daughter to hold such a strong sense of self, and maybe my birth mother appreciates it, but it’s not obvious on the surface quite yet.

I know numerous individuals who have grown up to write novels and autobiographical books about this sort of situation, and I may do just that in my later years, but I felt the need to share this piece of news with my real family here in Washington, my loyal readers and YouTube viewers from all over the world, who have all supported me with consistency and admiration for the work I do, both online and offline, regardless of how morally corrupt publishing this on the Internet may be (and no matter how short of a autobiography this is).

I understand my birth mother has access to this web page, and if she is reading, I just want to say: I love you. I love everything you provided for me, before and after we reconnected. Thank you for reconnecting me with my soul’s deepest needs and for reassuring that everything I have done to get to this point where I am today has been correct, with the guidance of God. We all make mistakes and we all say harsh things, but in case you didn’t know, I’m the type of person that no matter what, gives forgiveness out like lollipops—and sincerely. Maybe it’s a flaw, but it will let me move on from this hurtful, confusing experience with ease and reassurance that life is beautiful, and that God rewards those with good hearts. Thank you for that lesson, and I wish you luck, wealth and happiness until whenever we meet again. XOX