Tuesday, November 1, 2016

The Sense of "Belonging"

Going through the emotions, confusion, ups and downs of trying to find my place in this world, there is nothing more secure than that feeling of "BELONGING" not just with your loved ones and family, but feeling secure with who you are as a person. When one feels secure with who they are, they then have a true sense of belonging within their heart.

If I was given a dollar from every single person who wanted to know what it felt like to be adopted, raised by a family not by birth, but two individuals that I learned to call "Mom and Dad" I would be filthy rich. I believe at some point in time I could buy one of the apartments in Trump Towers and watch Donald Trump come out in his bathrobe to gather his morning paper.

Many people find it fascinating that I was adopted. I learned through this journey that admitting to strangers during the sixties that you had adopted a child meant admitting that there was something medically wrong with you, you as a woman could not produce an heir of her own to carry on the family name legitimately from your own DNA.

For many years I was growing up with a sense of wondering where I fit, where I belonged in society and still to this very day, I still wonder that. Now there are many out there that have also said to me;

"You should consider yourself lucky that you were adopted, obviously your birth mother was not able to keep you and raise you as her own. You could have been put in a terrible situation or lived a life far worse than what you were or are currently raised in." 

Everyone wants a sense of belonging no matter where they go or what they do. People want a sense of belonging at their job, they want to fit in, they want to be accepted, respected, and admired. When you move into a new house, you want to be accepted by your neighbors, liked, and when there is that neighborhood block party or barbecue, you want to be invited, you want people to talk to you, invite you to their home for dinner parties.

Do others feel that having that sense of "Belonging" one must show their vulnerable side? Is showing ones vulnerability make them weak? Or does it show character? What constitutes that sense of belonging and what does one actually feel like when they are accepted and belong within the crowd of who they run with?

Growing up I never had that sense of "Belonging" to my family. I always felt like an outcast no matter the countless hugs or the verbiage "I love you" came from the family that brought me home, I still felt a sense of not belonging with them. I always felt a desperate need to know who I was. You see, when one knows who they are, when they know their bloodlines, when they know about their family, their true blood family, they have the feeling of "Belonging" they can speak of their nationality, where family came from, who their relatives are.

I always and still feel like is it just me being paranoid, being so stubborn that I need to understand that I actually do belong to something so powerful or unbelievable that one might be jealous of my life from the past and currently? I do know and I am one hundred percent positive that my mom has this heavy weight of guilt from burning my life's history in the fireplace. The guilt is so much for her to bear that she has spent a life time trying to make it up to me.

Living a life of confusion is never easy. I had learned to be rebellious with my mom and dad and both my parents knew it was because I needed to know. But, with the hospital no longer around and now a residence of some family, no birth records it was all destroyed, no way to find any answers to anything left me feeling like an outcast.

When I was in my early thirties I was just a walking bomb. I was relentless to others feelings, I was horrible to be around, I had a mouth a sailor wanted and I just didn't care about myself or anyone that wanted to be around me. I far worse than that ever so popular saying, "A bull in a china shop" if I could find a reason to take someone out with my razor like tongue, I made it a point to be rude, nasty, and just ugly both inside and outside. I had put on so much weight that buying clothes was far harder in the plus size because they only make up to size twenty four and I was beyond that.

Then it happened, there came a point in my life that I will share what lead to seeking therapy to actually getting therapy by a woman who left the Sisterhood as a Nun to counseling individuals with sincere issues. It was court ordered to seek counseling and I rebelled on that. I refused to make any attempt to become a civilized person. I was content on being ugly. I was content on being nasty but this Sister/Nun could see through the pain, she had this uncanny ability to see me as a good person.

After weeks of therapy she finally got me to break. My anger flooded with tears and emotions came to surface. It was as if I was Mother Nature and I was going to take out an entire Island causing the greatest flood one has ever seen.

"So, its the adoption that has you so angry, its that sense of not belonging to the family that you currently have, the very family that gave you the reason to live. But your not angry with them, your angry with your birth mother. Your angry that she can carry you for nine months, feel you inside of her, then suddenly go through the emotions of giving birth and then walk away from you."

Deep within the pain I had pushed so deep into my soul, pain that consumed me, pain that controlled me, I wanted to stand up and bust every single rosary within her home. I wanted to pick one up and suddenly watch it catch fire I was filled with piss and vinegar and I didn't care who I hurt or what I said.

"Go home,"said the Sister/Nun, "write a letter to your birth mother and when your done, come back and read it to me, read it to me, read it to me."

I remember glaring at her as if she was just the stupidest person I had ever met.

"How in the hell do you want me to write a letter to someone I never met, how do you do that?" I asked her with such hatred in my voice. But she didn't care what I said, what cuss word came out of my mouth, she never flinched or showed any emotion towards my hurtful words to her.

"The door is over there, get out of my chair, your session is over, go home, write the letter and then call me when it's done. I will gladly schedule something with you once it's done. You want to see me again, fine, you don't that's fine. It's your court order not mine. You want to get back what's yours, then you will do it. You want to let it slip through your fingers, then you will."

Those words that she said seemed so cold and so uncaring. I thought she was going to help me not have me do some stupid exercise for someone I never met or came in close proximity of even knowing. Weeks had gone and I continued to call her and still it was the same questions each and every time.

"Did you write the letter?' And each and every time I told her NO! and right after that was said, she would hang up on me. Finally feeling defeated and just weak from anger, I gave in. I sat down on the floor of my living room and began my letter.

"Dear Mom,"