Our family is immersed in a summer of transition. I recently realized that we seem to do that in a big way every so often. My husband recently completed his academic studies for his Master of Divinity. He retired from a 25-year career in an oil refinery and will begin internship as his last step toward ordination this fall. I published a book in the spring. That process was in and of itself much of a rebirth into a new existence. I am changing jobs when the school year resumes, moving from one school district to another. Our youngest daughter graduated from high school and is registered to begin college in the fall. Even our dog is changing. For her, it’s a change from youthfulness into full status as a senior dog as we are witnessing small ways that her body is beginning to fail her.
Change can be scary. It’s risky. It’s vulnerable. It’s also brave. Change often causes us to wade into unknown territory where we can’t control the outcome. Resisting change is hardwired into many people, especially those of us relinquished for adoption. Uncertainty can cause us to panic, because deep within us lives the memory of losing our mothers. It was the first significant change in our lives, and we had no voice in the matter. There was no one to orient us or explain to us the catastrophic event that every cell in our body was sounding the alarm over. Rewiring our traumatized bodies into seeing change as anything but sheer terror takes deliberate work. Messy work. Hard work, but work we are capable of doing, especially with good support systems in place.
I was able to attend my first big event with my biological family earlier this summer. We are four years into reunion, and this was the first milestone celebration in their family that I’ve been around for. My cousin’s wedding was beautiful! I’m not just talking about all the tangible things– the venue, the wedding party, the bride (stunning, by the way), the food. All of that was incredible! What was more beautiful for me was the moment I realized my presence in the midst of my DNA. I was surrounded by my people. That was what took my breath away and made my eyes fill with tears. I spent an entire evening swimming among my gene pool. And I danced and laughed with a joy that filled my soul to its brim. I was right where I was meant to be.
As much as that event grounded my being and gave me a solid sense of place in the world, within a few short weeks, my mind was questioning my place in another group. I spend two hours every week meeting virtually with other adoptees where we write, talk, and work our way through what impact adoption has had in our lives. I love these people. We are a collection of individuals that began gathering as strangers, and these beautiful souls have become an immeasurable source of support and encouragement in my life. One simple question by one of the facilitators sent me down a deep spiral, into the nothing place, where I questioned my right to be part of the group. It took me days to recover. But I did it. I crawled out from beneath the voices echoing in my being that were fighting to tell me I still don’t belong anywhere. When I electronically sent my resignation letter to work later that same week, and 24 hours passed before anyone even acknowledged I’d submitted anything, that my leaving would have any sort of impact, it didn’t become something I saw as my lack of value in the eyes of the employer. That is BIG change for me. I know I belong, that I have a right to exist in this world. But I need to be reminded, because the lost little girl inside of me still has a hard time believing it. She needs to be hugged and reassured that the bottom isn’t going to fall out of everything. She needs to feel secure. I am trying to teach her that living in the present moment is ok, it’s safe, and she doesn’t have to worry about what’s yet to come. I try to hold her hand and tell her we’re ok. Oy. Change is so hard.