A comment was made on the Surviving Adopted Facebook Page that I should change the title to Thriving Adopted because surviving has such a negative connotation.
Here’s the difference:
Thrive – grow or develop vigorously. to prosper and flourish.
Survive – continue to live or exist in spite of danger or hardship, to remain alive, sustain oneself, pull through, hold on.
I’m in the portion of the story where I am telling the “nice” version on my life adopted and how I survived. It is not a woe is me pity party kinda story. It is a look what I survived and overcame and see all God has done in my life kinda story.
I began baton twirling at the age of three and entered my first competition at the age of five. My adopted mother was a baton twirling instructor. The ironic thing about this is the fact that she briefly worked with the majorettes at my birth mother’s high school back in the 1960’s during the time she was in high school and in the band.
I competed on the local, state, and regional level from age five through high school including a trip to the US Nationals in 1981. My weight was a big issue during those years….to my mother anyway….so it became a big deal to me. I was never quite thin enough for those costumes to suit her. My full fledge eating disorder actually began around the 7th or 8th grade. High School was quickly approaching and my mom’s worst nightmare was that I would be too fat to be a majorette. I ask you….was this girl too fat? She didn’t encourage me to eat healthy and be active. She encouraged me to eat as little as possible and only when necessary…when I just couldn’t take it anymore. The longest I could not eat was three days. Eating was considered a failure.
I remember one time in particular when I was so hungry I got on my bike one day when she wasn’t home and rode to a convenience store a few blocks away. I bought a package of Oreo cookies. Silly me. My mom was frequently in that store and went in shortly after I had been there. The clerk who knew us happened to mention I had just been there. My mom…furious…demanded to know what I had bought. I was hiding behind the garage eating my Oreos when I heard my mom’s car come flying in the driveway, car door slam, and her screaming my name. I hid the Oreos and went to face the music. She unleashed her rage on me and demanded to know where the Oreos were. She then proceeded to drag out the exercise bike, fill a two liter with water, and made me ride the exercise bike until I drank the entire two liter of water. The summer between 8th grade and my freshman year of high school was a nightmare. Actually, I’m pretty sure this incident happened during that summer. I was 5’7″ and had gotten down to about 140 pounds at this point. My body just never wanted to go much below that number. Looking back at pics I looked amazing. It makes me angry to look back and realize that.
My “debut” as high school majorette was quickly approaching. The pursuit of perfection was intensified that summer big time. She was frantic. It got so bad at one point I decided I would rather die than go on like this. One night I took an entire bottle of Tylenol and went to bed fully not expecting to ever wake up again. I couldn’t take it anymore. I just wanted the nightmare to end. I woke up sometime in the middle of the night sick as a dog throwing up. Of course when I was throwing up pills still in tact I had some explaining to do. She didn’t believe me when I said I was trying to kill myself. She was in total denial. For the next few days I was extremely sick. I was never taken to the doctor. I was never given any sort of help. Life went on like nothing ever happened.
By my sophomore year I was so sick and unhealthy. I remember being so weak that when I was marching across that football field I was practically staggering. The fasting ritual became harder and harder to keep up. It got to the point where I would fast as long as I could and then when I would cave in and eat I would stick my finger down my throat and make myself throw up. Thus the Bulimia began. It was great because suddenly I discovered I could EAT! I found a way to eat whatever I want, get rid of it, and keep the weight off. Problem is I couldn’t lose. For the most part I remained around 150 throughout high school. It wasn’t good enough for her. Eventually she found out about the Bulimia, She didn’t care. Whatever it took. One time we were on our way to a competition when we stopped at a nice restaurant for a meal. I had eaten more than I should of and felt bloated and miserable. I was on my way to perform. She “suggested” that I go in the bathroom and “take care of it” so I wouldn’t have a big belly in my costume.
I think the mind games were the worst part. One time she took me to a hypnotist to help with my “weight loss” because I just didn’t have enough will power. I will never forget leaving that place and her saying we would stop and get a coconut pie on the way home as one last cheat before I started.
I didn’t need any enemies. I had my mom. Was she for me or against me? She was obsessed about my appearance and yet she would do things like that to set me up to fail.
I can’t watch the TV program Toddlers and Tiaras. My mom was one of those mom’s. The first 18 years of my life my identity was totally wrapped up in my looks and weight. It defined who I was. The rest didn’t matter…..grades…the fact that I was a good kid….what goals I had for the future….baton twirling and dieting was my life.
Every adoptee has a different voice and experience to share. This was my adopted reality. I’ve never thrived. I’ve always just survived. Surviving Adopted is not negative because in the end I did survive. I’m a survivor, and overcomer, and quite proud of the fact.
Read at the Source: :
