This is how I feel when we speak on the phone.

I am not sure if what is happening is a search gone bad kind of thing or a simple personality clash, irrelevant of the search. I imagine the relationship/non-relationship must be a large part of this clash. I can’t manage to get a sentence out without being interrupted with some sort of challenge, as if I am uttering some untruth. I can say “it’s raining” and get “NO, it’s not” in that sort of jumping (as in, on me), snappy tone, as if I have been caught in some lie.

I cannot even handle a phone call these days. I want to scream NO, I am NOT lying, it IS raining here.

Everything I say is suspect. Most often the challenge comes as a result of misunderstanding or not listening to what I am saying. As in, “the mailman, who is a friend of Jane, told her that he has a pink poodle…” which is then interrupted with “WHY would the mailman tell YOU he has a pink poodle? There is NO SUCH THING as a pink poodle.” She comes at me with all caps, bold and italic, accusatory and loaded with contempt. Everything begins with NO…  NO, it is not raining. NO, that is not how your ____ is, NO, you did not do that, and so on. NONONONONO. It’s a tiresome refrain.

Maybe I am Satan.

I patiently explain that the mailman told Jane that he has a pink poodle and I don’t personally know him, but am merely relating an amusing story. No matter. Even the aforementioned weather is not a safe topic. She is an authority on all things, including the weather in my very own backyard. Why? Is it me?

I don’t lie. I have no reason to lie. What would be the point of lying about the weather, of all things? What is the point, or origin, of such auto-contentious responses to everything I say? Where does this anger come from? It must be me. I do see that she is generally an authority on everything and that her own family gets the same treatment to a degree, yet that which is hurled at me seems multiplied, amplified, fueled by anger.I also see that I just wrote “her own family”, because I am not a real or accepted part of that, which is ok with me. That that is ok with me might be fueling some of the anger. I seem to be expected to jump into full membership with all the responsibilities – and not the rights and respects – afforded thereof. My independence infuriates her, as I can tell from things she has snapped at me. She told me once that I am strong, as if that were a bad thing.

My boyfriend says I am not Satan.

My best guess is that I am failing to tow some sort of line and/or fulfill some sort of expectations. Perhaps she is angry because I am not how she might have made me, yet I dare say anyone can actually make anyone be any sort of way. She might have influenced me yet she could never have molded my life. Perhaps she is angry because she feels guilt for having given me up. I have done my best to assure her that I do not feel any regret. Now, more than ever, I am happy with the way things turned out and how I was raised. I am starting to wish I had never done this search. I now have a person in my life who makes me afraid to state my haircolor or what I am wearing, lest it be challenged. I sigh a lot.

The holiday gift, which I had been told repeatedly would be XXX, even though I protested that I did not need it and begged them to not feel the need to give me, and which I had then been told, “We have your XXX and we already gave the other kids their XXX so we want to give you your XXX.” arrived as an XX in actuality. I never wanted it. It does not matter. But that I was penalized by an X for having made my own holiday choices, is a mindfuck I do not deserve. I refuse to allow emotional warfare to exist in my life. My flight instinct is revving up, ready to go.

There is a talk coming; it is necessary and thus, imminent. I find myself resenting that there even needs to be a talk. If people would all take a minute from their own view to consider another, such talks would not be necessary. It is January 18 and I find that I am still steaming from the unwanted gift of an imposed Christmas guilt trip and, since this trip I have been sent on (for it’s a gift you can refuse but one which resonates for its unwantedness and unmerited origin) my feelings toward others have changed.

What I want to ask is, “Have I done that thing?

Have I ever made you feel guilty for dropping me at the orphanage?

No.

It seems that not only have I not done that, I have bent over backwards to ensure that you will not, for a minute, feel any guilt, for I do not want you to feel anything negative, ever. that is my way in this world. Empathy and respect and only positive output.

That’s how people treat others if they love them. Actually I am grateful for the upbringing that I have had, sometimes perhaps more so, given this game. So, if I have not ever made you feel that oh-s0-common guilt, I do not expect, and actually resent, attempts to make me feel guilty.

I told you several times that I had made other plans for Christmas. I was exceedingly clear. I chose how to spend my holiday. I have that right. But for you to demand, when we first spoke after the holidays, “Where were YOU? We waited ALL DAY for you, and FINALLY decided to go ahead and have dinner”, was so wrong.

I call bullshit.

It’s not fair to make it seem like I kept people waiting and ruined any holiday spirit for not showing up where I was NEVER expected.

I have never done that to anyone and never will. Do you ever try to see things from my point of view? Do you ever wonder how it feels in this situation in which it is all of you and me? Maybe can you see how it is perhaps difficult and uncomfortable to join an entire family as the sole outsider? The Secret? Have I imposed any expectations on you, or tried to get you to do life my way or join in my habitual plans? I think not. Then why, oh why, would you do this to me?

Do you not see how some members of your family do not entirely accept me?

I do. Have I ever complained about this or even mentioned it? Do you not see how your husband has acted out in small passive-aggressive ways to force you to choose, “situationally”, between me and him? Remember that time he “accidentally” sabotaged that party for me? I do not blame him, for I don’t expect others to be any more human than I am. But that this sabotage even happened – and you did notice, even if you are in denial over it – was hurtful. I still care for him. I do not condemn. But it made me feel uncomfortable and embarrassed to have this action taken against me. And I know it’s me personally but that I represent a relationship with another man; one about which you have said he was always jealous, though they never overlapped. That the same event was sabotaged two more times by both of your other children (of whom he is the biological father) was again hurtful. It’s beyong coincidence and thus obvious. I expect no more or less than that, for I expect noting from you all, and do not know how I would react had my mother suddenly turned up with another child, a secret, that was not my father’s. But I am no fool and could not help but notice this, this thing which you’d have to be clueless to not notice yourself, and it does make me uncomfortable for I am also human. I give myself the same credit that I extend to others. Fair is fair.

I am a grown up.

I have had a whole life before meeting you. I choose to retain that life and my own family. I am most comfortable with that family and that life. If I choose to spend my holidays with those with whom I feel most comfortable and joyful; if I choose to put myself and my own well-being first, then how dare you not only scold me for that but go so far as to twist that into a lie, and into one in which I have behaved badly and insensitively. For it is a huge and blatant lie to pretend that you waited all day for me at Christmas when I could not have been clearer that I had other plans and would be out of town and NEVER said I would be there.

I heard from another family member that no waiting occurred. I was never expected. No dinner was delayed. Not for a single honest minute. That other person got my message without confusion – the same message I sent to you repeatedly.

I do not respect lying. I do not respect disregard for others’ feelings.

I do not respect fake martyrdom. I will not be a false martyr and happily do what is asked of me over what I want to do, over what is enjoyable to me, in order to do what you want me to do. Martyrs are not selfless, they are foolish sufferers. It is enough that I am there a lot, and do a lot for you and give you things that are precious to me and would actually rather keep. I do not have to give up the holidays that I so cherish. I can understand disappointment. I do not understand demands, deceit and condemnation. And then, rather than discuss this painful scolding you had just unloaded on me, you suddenly had to go, “bye!, you said, and hung up. You knew you’d stepped over a pretty important line. You had to control the conversation and would not allow any further discussion. undiscussed things like this fester and get infected. It’s not an admirable tactic.

You actually refused me the right to discuss this.

That’s also not fair. AT ALL.

I cannot have this. I cannot be expected to put my life aside. I can share it, but I cannot put it aside or deny myself any of what I have built for myself in favor of your wishes. I will put myself first. You gave up the right to dictate terms to me when you dropped me off at the orphanage. I have no issues with that decision and understand it and know it must have been painful and have sympathy for what you must have gone through. But I expect some consideration as well. It cannot be undone, but I am happy to make it easy to move past that. I will not go through a second childhood with you. i will not be molded into something new and form-fitting; I will not be made into a compliant, controlled half-being.

I am respectful, considerate, kind, thoughtful and empathetic.

That is a fact. It is why the people who love me do so with such abandon. It is how I treat you. Show me some of that in return.

We can have a relationship and we can be friends and I can even love you, unless you refuse to even try to learn to see things from any view other than your own, your desired outcome. That’s not fair or reciprocal. It is one-way thinking. I adhere to the Do Unto Others edict and will never allow you to feel guilty and will go to great ends to see to that. I don’t want you to feel pain or guilt.

So why are you trying to do this to me?

Is it more important to you that people think I have dropped everything and everyone I know to spend holidays with you simple because you want it? Or do you really care about my happiness? Why can’t I be happy and comfortable? Why do I have to be the ONLY one to acknowledge how the rest of your family feels about me? Denial is a band-aid and not a cure. I am big enough to understand that I am an outsdier and that my presence is not much apprecaited by all, and am not much bothered by it. You can deny it all you like, but you’d do better to try for a minute to see how it might be uncomfortable for me. I do not complain of it and I do not let it stop me from coming around. I cheerfully ignore it and am polite and considerate of your entire family, regardless. I make no mention of it to you. But I want some iota of that same empathetic consideration for myself. I do not condemn them for not accepting me and will still visit with them from time to time.

But have any of you ever considered how it must feel from my point of view, to be the perpetual outsider?

I think not. Keep it up, and we’ll inevitably become like those other reunion stories in which the people ultimately drift apart. Because, I’ll not continue to put up with this. I will not give up my peace and happiness to play out a pipe dream. If it does not change – this expecting me to walk all the way over the line and into your expectations and demands – it will not last. I have bent, beyond nice, and empathetic, and understanding, and have met you FAR more than halfway. Don’t take advantage of that. Think of me for a minute. Stop making demands.

I have feelings. If they hurt too much, I will protect them at any cost.

I will flee. I have to live with them. I am sensitive. You are not being sensitive of the feelings in this situation which are not your own. Try to be sensitive of all feelings in this situation.

Take a cue from me.

The psychic looks at my left palm; the one which depicts where I have been, which bears little resemblance to my right palm, which is where I am, and am going.  He says, “Can I be frank?” I nod in an of course manner and consciously decline to utilize the obvious, “I thought your name was Henry?” joke, because I do not much ROFL over recycled humor. Cerebral humor is more my style; a mind-chuckle being more enjoyable than the mind [rhymes-with-part-of-the-word-chuck(le)] that was my childhood.

He says, “Your childhood was really convoluted.” Finally! The most succinct poetic ode to my childhood. A tidy one word summary. It is such the perfect word. I still have it. And it works. And, as long as we are being succint, if I had to sum myself up in one word I’d say I was an italic. And that my life has been in constant pursuit of the appropriate life-saving em dash. Maybe I am a Convolute.

I sometimes hesitantly suspect that I might be a dangling particle. But in reality, I am not entirely positive just what a dangling participle is and cannot immediately identify one. I mean I know, but I am not 100% certain, therefor I am one, because that would explain my confusion about who I am, in a metaphorically grammatical way.

I think about such things all the time because I am very confused. I was raised by one family; I have another family now and I am getting to know them. But I wonder how much they are getting to know me. I don’t think either family really knows me. I think both families have tried to shape me. Why are we not all merely seen for who we are and not for what me might be? My bmom does not listen. I can hear her thinking of what she is going to say next rather than simply listening. Mostly in our conversations I just listen. I hear. I don’t really think much that she hears what I am saying but rather, hears what she wants. Hence The Guilt Trip.

I keep thinking of the whole journey as akin to the myth of Pandora’s Box, which was really a jar and only became known as a box due to a mistranslation of the Greek Pithos for “jar”, which became “box” when translated into Latin.  Pithos sounds like pathos, and is one of the three modes of persuasion, in Aristotle’s philosophies in rhetoric so it’s all Greek to me, and all tied together and convoluted.

Events of Pathos, or, Pathetic events, in a plot “are also not to be confused with tragic events. In a tragedy, the character brings about his or her own demise, whereas those invoking pathos often occur to innocent characters, invoking unmerited grief.” - wikipedia

Interesting, that jar/box thing – a mistranslation or mis-communication that changes the meaning of a thing forever. Pandora opened that jar out of curiosity and when she saw what was in it, she quickly closed it. In opening it she unleashed burden and evil, but ultimately what she unleashed became hope. A metaphor for the adoption search perhaps.

My way is tentative, my words are offerings and not avowals of fact. My thoughts, in sentence form, begin with “Perhaps” and end with question marks. I do not believe I am often right. I do not think in terms of being right or being wrong. I do not make abrupt judgments and say “that’s wrong” when people say things. Or, “Shut up!”, which seems a common (oh so common) term to express disbelief. That’s pretty pedestrian, I think.

This is one of the ways in which my birth mother and I differ. I do not disagree, but rather offer up my viewpoint on a topic as if begging for consideration of a view that might be formed differently. I say, “Well, maybe…?”, or, “Could it be possible that…?”. Often I get “No!, that’s not it… take my word” in response. Then I change the subject.

That I do not instantly agree with her at all times on all things can elicit a stanza or two of contrariness. I do not mean to disagree. I often offer no opinion at all and distractedly murmur assent. I do a lot of listening and daydreaming. Maybe she is trying to teach me. Maybe, like my adoptive parents, she wishes to mold me. I am not moldable. I am also not firm, never rude or argumentative, and do not debate. I am mostly inquisitively middle or neutral ground. Somehow this is often annoying. But I do not believe I have all the facts and so I am not quick to judge and will still honor my own thoughts and observations in that meantime.  I change subjects a lot. Her husband has noticed this. He says, “I have noticed that when someone says something and you have a different opinion you will say, “Well, maybe it’s like this…?” and then if the person persists you will change the subject.

They do not make a distinction between an opinion and a point of view. I often wonder if I should stop trying and just always agree. But then I’d not be me. Does she really just want me to always agree, to take her word over my own thoughts and observations without even pondering it? Does she not want to know the real me? Had I been raised by her would I have learned by now to just always agree? Would I also always be right? And then who would I be? How can you stop that from spilling into and somehow tainting who you really are? Why do people need to be right? Why do people want you to be a way when it might not be your true way?

Being right is overrated. I must have some small merit as I am. I must have value even if I am different. I think I deserve a ribbon or some such thing for not always being right, for simply being.

But I digress.

For being me I am giving myself a Convoluted Badge of Something.

But I have no delusions of grandeur or perfection and I approach life and its inhabitants with the utmost of respect, humility and empathy, carefully examining situations from all sides of things; inside-out, outside-in, vertically and horizontally, upside down and rightside up, and perhaps I just wish for some of that from the other side. I just want to be who I am and never allow myself to be affected by the wants of another for that is not being true.

Truth is the most precious gift, to be handled with care and packed in bubble wrap at all times.  And my rant below is truthfully about the unnecessary cancer of a guilt that was imposed on me for a crime I had never, and would never, commit. No one among us should ever distort the facts as a means of alleviating other, perhaps hardly related or deeply rooted guilts, for doing so is to risk irrevocably damaging a precious relationship. I am not Ms. Righteous FancyPants. I do not judge. I merely react. I try too hard and offer too much respect to be slapped with guilt.

All that you have is your soul.

IT’S A PARKING LOT WITHOUT LINES

Oh, the holidays. What loaded fun. What complicated, charged, bloated, booby-trapped, commercial, expensive, meaningful, non-meaningful, joy! Good thing the big one is only once a year. This is not to say that I am against holidays or don’t like them but rather an acknowledgment of the emotional brew bubbling beneath the surface. No matter how I might try, if I do what I want – what is comfortable and meaningful, and peaceful and happy for me - I get in trouble. I am starting to resent that. And I refuse to continue to always put myself second to others, which is be a huge shift from the last few decades of subservient merry-making and everyday life.

Since beginning my search I have spent a lot of time thinking. Thinking and thinking all day long. Some times in all capital letters, sometimes in italics, often cluttered with colons and semi colons, brackets, asterisks and pound signs. Especially asterisks. I am an Asterisk. Actually, I am a Spasterisk. To illustrate that I am making the quotation mark sign in spastically rapid motions as I say “Spasterisk” as if I am paraphrasing myself. I should have named this blog My Life as a Spasterisk. Shit, always the best ideas are a day late, a dollar short, and then freely offered up for the next person to use. If I see a blog named that I am going to scream. today is a very rare anger day for me. It’s been brewing.

I had thought and thought about the impact my search might have on my birth mother and for years was unwilling to take that risk, to possibly disrupt her life in a painful or negative way. Since meeting her I have tried to use what my friends determine is my immense capacity for empathy to weigh her feelings and possible perspective into my decisions and quite often made decisions to do things that I’d not wanted to do; to spend more time together than I was as of yet comfortable with. I have always tried to meet in the middle give or take a few miles, but the middle can start to shift farther and farther away till I need binoculars to see from whence I came.

So, for Christmas I had made plans to go visit friends, childhood friends, a few hours away. I was firm on this. it was my wish. My bmom’s family was celebrating separately at the homes of her sons. I was invited to make the rounds to one of their homes (the other is a few arms lengths away still) but maintained that I had made plans. I really wanted to enjoy the holiday with my friends. This was important to me. And it is my wish to never get myself into a situation in which I am the ever-present and assumed guest at a certain place and on a certain date. I have always been very independent. I made my plans clear to my half-brother and to his wife. I was clear to everyone via phone 9repeatedly) email and etc.

The day after Christmas I called her and got, “WHERE were YOU? We waited and waited and wondered…. finally we just ate without you.”

WTF?

I am not signing for this package; this guilt trip. Return to Sender, thankyouvery[not]much. Then she was suddenly tired and had to hang up. End of conversation. I allowed myself to feel the anger – something I so rarely do, for healthier or worse – and I fumed for a bit. To pin some sort of guilt trip on me for not being where I said I would not be is a violation of my word, and my feelings and my autonomy and serves to discredit that what I say is what I mean. Yes, perhaps she really wanted me to spend the holidays with her. Yes, perhaps this would have made her so happy. Why couldn’t I do this one little thing for her?

Because, I have put myself through life and because I have earned the right to do as I please. Because I do pretty much what she asks of me. Because I go to extreme lengths to never lay a guilt trip on her. Because I do contortions to make sure she doesn’t go to that place of guilt for having given me up, which is all too easy to access. Because I merely ask the same consideration in return. Fairness and reciprocity over all.

Guilt trips are battery acid on a relationship. Guilt is flammable.

It’s not like she has done whatever I have asked, whenever I have asked. I don’t really ask anyway. There have been times she had to change plans. And in those instances I have graciously worked to alleviate any lingering guilt or regrets she night have had. I do not expect her to put me first and I do not even expect to be treated in equal measure to the manner in which she treats her sons; the ones who were there for her their whole lives. For there is that; there will always be that.

There is that underlying not having been there all along thing and there is that having been raised by strangers thing. There is undeniably the whole undercurrent of wondering how I might have been different had she raised me. I feel that. And I don’t even mind. It seems logical actually, for birds will not touch, or care for, a birdling (or whatever they are called) if it has fallen from the nest and been touched by human hands. I have no issues with this. I accept it without any residual conflict or whathaveyou.We are complicated creatures and only one of us is the Dalai Lama. It ain’t me, and it ain’t she. This is a rant I guess, because somehow I have been branded errant. Ooh, I do love my alliteration.

But then I think, what will I say to her when next we speak, when she is over being mad at me and that abrupt ending by which she exited the last call? What I want to say is, “Remember when you had to cancel the surprise party for my birthday (the first one we would have had together, and which I suspected from things she said was just that; a surprise party for my birthday, and for which I had changed firm plans) and then you had a conflict, after it was all planned? You accidentally had tickets to see that ventriloquist at that restaurant and so you canceled my surprise party? You made a choice. You made a choice between conflicting plans and as a result my birthday was canceled.

Was I mad? Did I allow you for one minute to feel guilt over that? Did I express the slightest disappointment or any emotion at all besides understanding and reassurance? No. I understood. I don’t place too much emphasis on days, and rituals. I went to great lengths to ensure that you felt no pain over that. I felt no pain, beyond the secret minor embarrassment for all the guests who had to be called and told the bizarre reason why it was being canceled. And in this case, this holiday, I had other plans and I was extremely clear about it. I did not simply pull a no-show and it is wrong to turn this into that sort of bad behavior. I did not behave badly. I never behave badly. I did not cancel. I made a choice and effectively communicated that.

Your sons were off the hook for not changing their plans to accommodate your wishes and be all together in one place. I want that same small consideration. I want the same consideration that I show you. I will not give up an ounce of my autonomy as admission to any tribe and I will never put myself last; not anymore, in this life. We can meet in the middle and that’s fair. But I have put myself through life and have earned this point that I have reached. And I will be there on some occasions and not others. I will not be there for all occasions without question. I will not be the dutiful expected guest at any and all functions. I do not ask of you anything remotely reminiscent of such obigatory behavior. It is simply not fair to demand that of me.I realize and appreciate your disappointment. I do not acknowledge or accept your indictment, which is only valid by manner of twisting the facts, distorting the truth.

And then in reading this I realize that it represents far more anger than I have ever allowed myself to feel. I realize how precious is my autonomy, my freedom. And how much I resent threats to that autonomy. I wonder if we are engaging in a battle of wills, as mothers and daughters do during the contentious teen years. And I really really do not ever want to go through that again, for ANYbody. Once was enough. And I realize I cannot say this to her because she is not the sort to ponder my feelings and wonder how things look from my perspective or have a very open dialogue about such conceptual things such as boundaries and the like. So instead I will just reinforce those boundaries so as not to lose myself in this process, because losing yourself is a cancer on a relationship anyway. And that ain’t worth shit.

I am beginning to better understand the stories on the blogs I read about relationships with birth mothers running a course and then falling apart and away. Given the choice, I would have to choose myself. Cherish or perish. I have but one life to live… and all that.

It is a metaphorical a parking lot without lines. Navigation by assumption will cause accident or fatality.

And I hate that I know they will all be discussing this, me. It sometimes feels like “Me” and “Them” because of course it is, and they are only human, like me. “Me”. Who am I anyway? In this case -  perhaps always the outsider, always the guest – on guest manners. Or perhaps not. That chapter is not yet written, but for the perchance precarious prelude. They can’t take my alliteration away. ;-)

I mostly got through my childhood by pretending a lot and inventing things. Sometimes I would invent words, while sitting in my foamy bathtub office, and I’d call up the President of Words and tell him that I had a new one for him. I am reminded of this because last night I had a dream that I was working for the government – which wasn’t much like any existing government, but was a Utopian ideal – and my job was to explain things, in words. My first assignment was to explain how this one, single, 12 foot leap that had recently been made by a Ballerina on a stage, had catapulted her from relative obscurity to world fame and adoration and had thus caused a positive shift in world collective thought, much in keeping with the Butterfly Effect which theorizes, “If a butterfly flaps its wings in Thailand, it causes a Tsunami on the other side of the planet.”

And so I was really struggling to get this into words, to really explain so that everyone would get it, how this leap had made the planet a slightly better place, as the result of this Butterfly Effect. I toiled away but then the phone rang and they had a quick emergency assignment for me which was to explain something traumatic that had happened and the President needed to explain it to the people. So I put on some sort of mask to tackle this job and managed to finish it without getting any bacteria or infection from it and then could take off my mask and go back to the other assignment. And the words that came were like little packages with bows. And when I finished I knew I had accomplished my mission.

I think this is because I struggled so much as a child, and well into adulthood, to get my adopted family to understand me, to hear me, and to realize that, though I was not what they wanted and was not inclined to jump the societal hurdles to earn them the only sort of bragging rights they craved (marriage, children, big house, important job), that I was actually very special in my own way. And I have earned them some bragging rights in high profile ways that make other sorts of people very proud of me. But they could never see that.

And before I woke up from my dream, the President called me into a meeting and said, “I think you should examine why you connect all of your sentences by beginning them with the word “and”. It is ok to let one sentence end and another begin. You do not need that grammatical crutch, or, bridge perhaps. You can take that leap, if you will just try. And perhaps you do not need to always say perhaps. You know the truth and it is a certainty; it is not a perhaps. People will believe you. We have faith in you. Let go of the past.”

And in that space between sleeping and waking I had this feeling of my world being shaken up and all the emotional and psychological ephemera flying loose, as so much fake snow in a snow globe.

For my next trick I am going to make a secret post and see if anyone can figure it out.

If it works, and I get a few responses, I might make other polls. I am just curious about emographics (just made up that word and it’s the first invented word all day so I am awfully proud of it) of adoptees. If any of you birth moms have questions and send them to me, I’ll make that poll too. As soon as you finish the poll it will display the findings to date. Won’t this be fun? It’ll be like we are interacting with each other! If you want you can hold my imaginary hand and I will hum Kumbaya with you. Or I will not, as you wish.

This all came about because earlier a friend brought me this insanely delicious mint chocolate cheesecake with a present inside (the container, not the confection) which is a little Buddha. And, I bought a winning lottery ticket today and am going to bring all my friends to someplace exotic for the rest of winter, and can now afford all the italics I need. If it turns out to be true.

Here goes, (takes deep breath, thus realizing the need to brush teeth) Click to go to the Pollbooth: