Two gifts

Opening a Facebook message is so common, so typical, so....uneventful.

Imagine my surprise after nine months of waiting and hoping for a response from my birth mother to open a most unexpected message. (In this socially-networked world, of COURSE I would find her on Facebook. Of course.) But after carefully composing a thoughtful and sincere, hopeful but noncommittal, message and hitting send, I waited. And waited. And waited.

My mom and several of my friends suggested, “Maybe she’s not on Facebook that often.”

Several months passed as I accepted the fact that she must have her reasons for not wanting to communicate. 2012 became 2013 and I had come to terms with that. I was trying to be at peace with this reality. And then I opened Messenger to her response.

Jim was arguing with Comcast on his phone as I read her message. And read it again. Disbelief. A strange sort of relief welling up. The monumental nature of the moment disconnected from the commonplace manner of communication. Jim hung up and looked over, asked if I was ok.

“My birth mother wrote back,” I said, handing him the Chromebook with the opened message on screen.

The confirmation that she was, indeed, my birth mother, gave me a certain level of satisfaction that I always feel when I’m right (which is almost always...just ask anyone who knows me). :)

But it wasn’t until I called my mom and read her this part of my birth mother’s message that I broke down and spoke through tears and hitching voice, not realizing until that moment of vocalization of these words how desperately I’d needed to hear this:

“You need to know that I loved you sooo much and giving you up was the hardest decision I ever made. It literally broke my heart!! When I was told that you were getting adopted just before Christmas I felt they were getting the best present EVER!! I think about you all the time - wondering how you are, where you are, what you've done in your life, if your childhood was good. I'm so thankful that you indeed had a wonderful childhood and loving parents. It is wonderful to know how successful you are in all aspects of your life. That certainly gives me tremendous peace of mind!!. . . Thank you for contacting me, I've always hoped this would happen.”

Such straightforward sentiments shared with such openness and honesty. I wasn’t prepared for that which I desired most. All day, I periodically and spontaneously cried, sometimes so strongly that Jim wondered if this was really good news. I assured him it was.

I attempted explaining that this first contact had been my goal for so long that now that the moment was happening, it was just overwhelming. Exciting and joyful, but weighty, momentous, and overwhelming.

Something my dad said stuck to me like a wasp sting all day until I broke down once again around 11:30pm and I started articulating the frightening and relieving truth. My dad said, “Now you can lose that chip on your shoulder.”

Although it sounds really negative, there is some truth to this statement. I’ve been fighting against something my whole life; a phantom that I always feared would hold me back, make me less valuable and worthy and successful than my peers; a phantom that drove me to achieve, to push myself, to work hard, to accomplish much, sometimes to the detriment of personal relationships.

Personal relationships require a considerable level of vulnerability and ability to trust, neither of which were in my repertoire of skills. My walls were constructed well and people were always held at arm’s length. I couldn’t let anyone in, felt disconnected in deep ways from everyone around me, and didn’t trust anyone enough to let them see any weakness. It wasn’t until I went to Auburn that I truly forced myself to let people in, to allow myself to be vulnerable, to offer trust and attempt to form real bonds. I doubt that my Auburn girls will ever know how terrifying it was for me to open up, be vulnerable, be weak in moments in their presence. I don’t think they will ever understand how much they helped me heal. Because of the relationships and friendships I was honored to form in Auburn, I was much more open and willing to trust and truly give people a chance to see me once I got back to PA. This really has been a lifelong battle.

When I was in grad school, and even until recently, I know that some of my friends must wonder if I ever sleep because I’m constantly achieving something. There is no logic to this drive; it emanates from a fundamental fear that there is something about me that isn’t good enough. This is purely emotional and not at all true. Intellectually, I understand this thought is bunk. But practically? Well, those who know me know what I’ve done, what I’ve accomplished, how I’ve pushed myself.

When I got my current job and moved back to PA, I decided to try and slow down and just enjoy my life. I found love again and that has helped to slow my pace. But as I consider my birth mother’s response, I have come to the conclusion that she has given me two precious gifts.

Her first gift was giving me up so that I could have the life that I’ve had. Her second was responding and confirming that she did love me, want me, and has always thought about me; her words are a salve on my heart and a soothing wind on my spirit; her message brings with it permission to slow down, enjoy my life, and stop fighting because the phantom (while useful in many ways) was never really there.

And for that, no matter what transpires in the coming months, I thank her from the depths of my being.