My Story

Ok I know I haven't blogged much of late but I did write this last month; I meant to post it but just never got around to it. It's a bit of a rant so please bear in mind while you read this entry.




Sometimes people say to me I should be willing to give my birth mother another chance. They say people change, maybe she has changed. And I agree with them - people DO change and they can. Maybe she has changed or maybe if not today one day in the future she will.

But I won't allow her back into my life I tell them. She hasn't earned it.

And sometimes people say to me but she's your mother doesn't she deserve another chance? While that is all well & good I respectively tell them I will not give her another chance. I tell them there is a part of me that will also hope and want desperately to believe she has changed and she will be the mother to me she never was.

And then there is the rest of me. The rest of me that must mother myself, that must release the hurt, the pain, the anger, the rejection and obliteration she caused. And that part of me won't allow her another chance to enter my life. That part of me remembers the decades (nearly two) she had in which to change, in which to step up and become a true mother to me. Hell not even a mother just someone I knew and spent time with consistently.

That same part of me is angry when someone suggests I give her yet another chance. I think (and depending on who I'm speaking with) and say you didn't live through the first 19 years of my life. You didn't live through the years of abandonment, emotional neglect and rejection. You weren't there when she disappeared for years on end with not so much as a letter or phone call. You weren't there when she attempted on several occasions to legally disown me. You weren't there when I had countless terrifying dreams of being abandoned by everyone I love. You weren't there when I suffered debilitating separation anxiety. You weren't there when I sank into such a deep depression I barely had the energy to get out of bed. You weren't there when that depression threatened to suck me under into oblivion and the only thing that stopped it was the thought of losing my beloved brother and sister.

And then I watch their blank stare as they try to comprehend my pain and my loss. I think you don't know what it is like and I am glad you don't. But before I get carried away into self-righteousness I remember that my story is more than just the story of my pain, it is a story of loss, of true love for self, endurance and healing. It is in that moment, in that remembrance that I am grateful for my story and my ability to share it.