Happy 17th Birthday to Me...

Through my teenage years I would wonder about who my birth parents were, especially my birth mom. I tried to fill their voids with fantasies of whoever I wanted them to be. In my mind, my birth mom was gorgeous and kind. She was easy to talk to. She listened and offered loving wisdom. She was incredibly proud of me. She longed for me... On my seventeenth birthday I had what felt like a bit of a meltdown. I was in my room, and I was hysterical. On that very day, I wanted to know did my birth mother think of me. Did she miss me? Did she long for me? Did she even remember that it was my birthday? I sat on my bed, and through the blurriness of my tears, I wrote her a letter. In that letter, I poured out my heart. I asked her everything that I said previously in this post and more. I had an angry pen. There was so much hurt, anger, and somehow a tiny sliver was left for love. When I was finished writing, I flopped over on my bed in an exhausted heap of a sobbing teen. "Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to meeEEEE. Happy Birthday to me."

"What the F*** is going on?!" (A tidbit form Survivor's Remorse)

"Survivor's Remorse" is really hitting home with me this season. While Cam and Mary Charles know who their mother is, Mary Charles is in the dark as to who her biological father is. These screen shots describe exactly how an adoptee, or a person who does not know one of their biological parents feels. There is a huge chunk of your beginning missing. It's like someone ripped the prologue out of your book. You're left wondering "What is REALLY going on?!" It's an ache that gnaws at your heart and mind. You want to know your truth.  And so the the search begins. The spark is ignited into a full on fire that burns within you to find out where you come from.

Matthew West - Family Tree (lyrics)

This beautiful song describes my story, my hopes, my heart. I look back at my family tree, my roots, and I see such brokenness. By God's amazing Love, the "chains of mental bondage, and the continual loops of defects"(Robert Sibley) are being broken. Peace.

A Shocking Secret: Bill Griffeth Speaks on the Today Show

This morning special guest Bill Griffeth appeared on the Today Show. He is the author of the book "The Stranger In My Genes". In his book he shares the results to a DNA test that his cousin convinces him to take. Shockingly he finds out that the man that he grew up knowing as his father was not his biological father. He describes getting a phone call from his cousin that rocked his world. It altered his reality. Bill said that the news left him feeling as though he were floating. His heart started racing and he just couldn't gather himself. From that point. he began to traverse the stages of grief. And four years later, he is at acceptance. Bill's journey led him to speak candidly with his, then 94 year-old, mother. She admitted that she'd had a fling. It blew Bill's mind, to say the least. At this time, Bill discovered that his biological father was deceased. And the grief deepened. All opportunities had been lost. I bawled as Bill explained his wide range of juxtaposed emotions. My heart was wrung out in the midst of my living room. He'd just openly and publicly explained a lot of what I've been feeling in this time of meeting and reunion. I understood exactly what he was saying when he talked about what a gift this was for his children and their children. He needed to know...

Growing Up Adopted

Honestly, I always felt out of place. I was the cliche' square peg in a round hole. I didn't look like my adoptive parents, and my temperament was so different from theirs. Differences weren't encouraged or welcomed. They were not accepted or embraced. Don't get me wrong, I was financially provided for. I was materially rich in my young eyes. But, something so much deeper was missing. From the outside, my family looked wonderful. Often people admired us. They wanted to be a part of our four person front. Some even aligned themselves as "godchildren" of my adoptive parents. We appeared put together. But the inside of our home was a war zone. A battlefield covered in slain self-esteem, shattered identities, and wounded souls. I was a body with a fragmented soul. I didn't know who I was. The person that I felt true to being and becoming was seen as weird, goofy, and often called "queer". I was broken and lost. No anchor. No roots. Often floating. I wanted to love being in a family. I wanted to know what it was like to be unconditionally loved. I wanted to know where I came from. Who were my biological parents? Where were they, especially when I was hurting. Why had they given me up for adoption? I just didn't understand. My reflection in the mirror was foreign to me. I didn't recognize myself, because I could not see myself in anyone around me. I hated family tree projects. I would construct a family tree using my adoptive family's ancestors. Those ancestors did not belong to me. It was not my history. These were not my roots. It felt like an empty and meaningless task. The project would be completed, but I had huge inward holes. Chapters ripped from the beginning of my story. Missing chunks of knowledge of self. Just endless questions that scrolled on and on...