Upon my first re-reading of the letters from my pregnant self, the memories of both the feelings and the events sent me reeling. There was a serious number of shocking responses  based on all the things I had forgotten.

Adoption Truman Induced Amnesia

I was already aware that certain aspects of my adoption relinquishment experience had been “lost”. For instance, I had somehow forgotten that the minute I signed the adoption consent form, I could no longer revoke. Consent was irrevocable upon signature. I knew I had to wait 72 hours after birth by MA Adoption law, but really wondered how long my revoke period was.  I was shocked when many years later, I found out the truth, that I had no time to revoke my son’s adoption relinquishment. I had forgotten if I had any records of the fateful time in Boston and ended up demanding a copy from my adoption agency many years later. And from that, I already know that seeing the facts, the evidence of such a time is very shocking. It makes you, me, question so much.

How the Brain Remembers Trauma

I often wonder why some things I remember so clearly; the visions are burned into my head.  I could draw the layout of the house I lived in from memory right now. I can still feel the and see the texture and pattern of the sheets I slept in. Every second with my son is in the vault of my mind, catalogued, under glass protected, yet, apparently much more is gone than I had previously thought.

In recent years I have been very interested in how the human brain remembers events. I watched a great show once on scientists are looking into PTSD and trying to undo the damage caused by traumatic events. They have found that memories created while high levels of adrenalin are in one’s system are stored differently in the brain. The adrenalin is like a cement that makes the memory more vivid, more clear, more real, and not easily forgotten.

That would make sense for the obviously, like after child birth memories. But then, I should also have stronger recollections of signing the consent forms, too.

I wonder if perhaps, I was so determined to put so much of the unpleasantness behind me, that I willed myself to forget as I planned. Yet, I am frustrated that I cannot re-will myself to remember.

What I Now Know And How This Feels

I am now struggling with new anger towards my mother. I think here I choose to forgive and forget in later years and it has been compounded by my mother’s death almost 18 years ago. I think I willingly choose to forget based on the fact that I pretty much had to return home and make the best of it, so I did.  I do remember a big fight with my mother maybe a year after I returned home where I did demand that she admit that she did things to hurt me and she did. I don’t hold grudges. I forgave and forgot.

I remember now and I am seriously angry again. Oh granted, I have said that IF I had stayed home, that we would have somehow managed to work it out, but perhaps that is wishful thinking on my part. I question it now based on the level of both her cruelty and my hate and fear of the power my mother had.  I had forgotten the accusations, the narcissism, they betrayals. I  knew that we spent so much time focused on my mother in the “adoption counseling”, but I forgot why. I forgot how much it really hurt to be abandoned by her then.

Betrayed by My Mother

My mother failed me 25 years ago. While I can accept some of her behavior as  her own methods of coping with the impendent loss of her first grandchild, perhaps I have glorified that in some ways, given her more credit than deserved, wishful thinking tempered by love and forgiveness. I don’t feel badly towards myself for this, but rather am amazed at my own ability to forgive her for some of it, is actually rather unforgivable.

I understand that my mother had plenty of her own issues though I don’t think I will ever understand them any better than I do now. So much is guessing and relying on childhood instincts and bits of family lore, trying to distinguish what is her own lens and what is truth. Even now, I have trouble accepting a real malicious intent for I want to remember love instead, but I would be unfair to myself if I cannot say that my mother was damaged. My family functioned with a high degree of dysfunction. As much as I would like it to be untrue, much of my childhood was looking for the unconditional love and acceptance that all children need and deserve. I didn’t not have that. I am remembering again how that felt; my battles to be seen as me, the fights for my identity, rather than being an offshoot of my mother’s needs, made to fill what was lacking in her.

I know that much of my “wild ways” and “horrible rebellion” was a battle for this acceptance and personal identity. And I know now, like I also knew then, the more they refused me, the harder I fought, I think that has always been my way. Want to see me do something? Say that I cannot, that I will not and I will just to show you that I can. Demand me to do something and I will drag my feet and resent the demand. Is this personality or learned survival? I do not know.

I know that I am still very susceptible to acceptance issues. I actually avoid conflict terribly. I’m fine online, where I can think through my reactions and feel confident in my place, but in real life? No, I want everyone to be happy and not think bad thoughts.

I know that probably some of my parenting alienation has affected my life now as I have always been  somewhat too trusting of people that now fit into that parental role; mainly my bosses. I have become aware that I both believe too strongly that my direct supervisors are “looking out for me”, I have extremely loyalty towards people in that position, I go out of my way for their praise and admiration. And I have been deeply hurt and betrayed by them all. I have to remind myself, when I am in these “professional” relationships, that no matter what I want to feel, want to think, I am there for their needs, not for mine own and they don’t really care for me, rather for the work I do that makes them look better, or achieve my goals.  Leaving my last position was very hard for me, though I was , thankfully, aware of my issues and consider it a triumph that I did finally give up and leave. I know that I waited too long trying to “work it out” and gain that acceptance, and that my anger is more emotional than logical.

While I can say that my mother and I were “OK” and the relationship was improved after I returned home from relinquishment, I also know that is because I did what she wanted of me then. There were still conflicts, but I learned how to play my part better. I kept her happy with achievements that she could boast about and then, I moved 100 miles away. That made it all much easier as I could share with my mother what I choose to share and keep her opinions in check. I will also admit that as often as I miss my mother now, I can say that her death was very liberating. No father, no mother, no one to answer to; I can be who I am and not care who approves. Except that I recreate that emotional relationship with  my supervisors. So much for real liberation.

Take the Child, Leave the Mother

What strikes me now is that clearly, from the letters, one of my major concerns is what would I do afterwards, where would I go, how would I survive and that my mother’s home was an unsafe place for me to be. Like really, for my mental health, my mother was damaging to me and returning home after such a loss, I would be even more venerable, but yet.. they sent me back there after I had my baby.

They gladly took my child to protect him, but then left me right back here I was. How is this looking out for my best interests?

I don’t know if anyone from the agency actually talked to my mother like I in a letter that mentioned they might? I don’t know what was said by Marina to my mother that could have changed things. I don’t know if the lack of a “service plan” was a contributing factor to what I see as a bad idea to return me back to a clearly dysfunctional relationship.

Oh, I know I willingly went back, but clearly, I don’t think I had another choice. At least, I didn’t feel that I had a choice. I’m pretty sure that my “plan” was a continuation of what I learned in Boston; do what you must to get through. Redeem yourself for what you had done and make amends through your actions. So I went home, enrolled in school, got a job, and over achieved. My 3.94 GPA gained my acceptance and proved what I took away from Boston; I was smart, I was wise, I would be best, I would make them proud. I would never sink so low again.

But how would they have known that I could overcome? How dangerous was it to send an emotional vulnerable girl back to an unhealthy environment with no support, no understanding, and, truthful, to live with a raging bitch who was clearly identified as being damaged and with her own issues. I never had post relinquishing counseling. Not that I trust my memory 100%, but I don’t think I ever went back to my therapist in NYC.

Playing the Part; Accepting Life as Birthmother

Adoption was the best thing for my child. I was young, not ready, could possibly resent young motherhood, needed to finish school and get my act together. Yes, relinquishment was very hard, but I was strong and selfless and willing to do what I must. I did not regret it. I would not make another mistake again. I would show the world that I was worthy, I was good, I would prove it for the rest of my life. I would gain back the respect and trust to make good decisions. I would gain acceptance and love.

The truth now, as I see it, is very different.

Adoption was not necessarily for Max. I was young, but very good with children. I would not have resented motherhood any more than I am annoyed now when my kids need something or whatever. I have a degree that I don’t use and have always been very good at whatever I set my mind to. Relinquishment was the worst mistake of my life and I was trusting, foolish and naive. I do have many regrets. I made other mistakes afterwards, including additional “unplanned” pregnancies. I always was worth and I was always good and I shouldn’t have had to prove it by losing my child. They should have trusted me before. I should have been accepted. I should have been loved for me.

I so feared my mother and bringing my son back to that life was a major factor. I knew it was unhealthy and saved him the only way I knew how.  All these people claimed to have cared, but if they really did they would have tried to save me too. Instead they just took my baby and left me exactly where I started, but now with grief and mourning and shame around my neck. There should have been a plan for us both. The question should not have been “What should I name this baby” or “What I was going to do after I relinquished”, but how can this child and mother find a safe place to be together where they can both prosper. The sad part is that we probably could have found the means to create  that life together IF Max’s father had been informed, yet the agency was too happy to help me cut that avenue off.  They could have intervened more on my mother and other family members if they really cared about me. Yes, I was 19. Yes, I was an adult. But I was also very lost and so alone and really needed help. I trusted them to help and they fed off my fears. I was surrounded by people who were on the positive side of the adoption equation and carried that back with me. There was no true informed consent. There was only adoption smoke and mirrors. I did not even pick Max’s parents, but had my desires used to present me with the choices they wanted and I thought I needed.

And it as all such subtle coercion that I thanked them for it.

The letters from Boston have brought back more than memories, more than truth. I struggle now with these feelings of anger and sadness. I managed to put away all the feelings then, I willed myself to forget, but like Pandora’s box they are flying around me now, unfretted, nipping at me. Tears come now for the girl I was so lost and alone, begging for a visit, fearing my own future, willing to do the unthinkable to save my child.

I used to think that I was the enemy in this scenario. That I was what I needed to save Max from, but I could fight for my own survival, I worried about his. But I was my home that I feared. My mother who was the damaging influence. The agency that didn’t protect us. And everyone else that just let it happen rather than standing up for me. Yes, I know what I did, but it is even more clear to me now, I didn’t make a choice. I had no choice.

No, no one held a gun to my head. It was pointed to my heart and I did not dodge that bullet.