MARY LORRAINE DANROTH
Jayne Askin quotes an individual:
"We are not separate or different than those born with a heritage they have always had knowledge of… and the freedom to investigate further if they so choose. Being denied information concerning myself that is not denied a non-adoptee is degrading and cruel… what an invasion of humanity… to close up a human life as a vault somewhere and say, “You may not know about yourself—you have not the right to even ask… your anxieties are neurotic, your curiosity unnatural.”
Of course I'm reading another book... This time pertaining to a First Mother's point of view. I would hope that if my first family ever read this post that they don't think I'm fantasizing about my First Family. I have come to the definite realization that this is not my reality...I am as unwanted now as I was then... And my world didn't end because of it...I still have 6 kids and 6 grandkids and a super tolerant husband.
Everyday I have an inner turmoil raging inside my mind and my guts...everyday I think about how much my first mother hates me for breaking her secret. It kills me because I can't forgive myself. Why should I be forgiven? What have I done to ease her pain? Nothing. I can do nothing. And because I can do nothing I have to live with the damages I created for other people.
I discovered Steve Maraboli by a simple search. It helps a little but then I have a song playing in my head that explains me and my life better.
how is one supposed to react when they know that their birth family is reading their blog... Are they supposed to sugar coat their posts or should they just keep on keeping on?
I know I am sometimes harsh and can be short with my emotions. But I feel like it's my turn to be allowed to write down my journey.
I do read what I write and then I read it before I hit the post button. I believe if I shut my mouth things will never change. Someone needs to keep letting the world know that some of us adoptees struggled all through our lives. I can't speak for all of us, but I know there were alot of us...
I'm sure everyone remembers when they went to school as a child and had to learn how to read and write. I struggle with these memories. When I was quite young I recall playing school with someone or something, of course I was the school teacher and the school was located under a 275 gallon oil tank. I would give anything to be able to remember more of this time in my life, I Bellerive it is key to my life of reading and writing. I know as I got older into grade 7 that I had a hard time putting a book down. I also used to practice and out do anyone that tried to make their cursive writing better than mine. Somewhere along the path of my journey I lost my love...I look back as best I can but I keep running into road blocks. It's like my brain doesn't want to put my body through anymore trauma.