I Have Met the Enemy, and She is Me

I started this blog with the idea that I wanted to inspire and educate. Tonight I came to the realization that the person I most wanted to inspire and educate was me. The rest of you are welcome to join in and enjoy the ride with me—if you come out of it with any additional insight or self-understanding, you are more than welcome to it.

But in the beginning, middle, and end of it all, the purpose of Ten Thousand Soapboxes is my journey of self-discovery, my standing on all those soapboxes that matter to me and speaking my truth. If nobody but me and the Universe hears that truth, so be it. I will still have spoken it.

Facing the Darkness

Anger is an insidious thing. It can lurk in the bones and flesh for decades, lifetimes, eating at you and altering your perceptions. The most dangerous form of anger is the kind that renders itself invisible. I have had an invisible anger inside of me for my entire life, and I only began to recognize it tonight.

About forty-five years ago, a woman in Louisiana got pregnant out of wedlock. She had two children from a marriage that was not fully dissolved at the time off her pregnancy, and the father of her third child was not her estranged husband. Faced with the choice of losing the two children she already had or giving up the child not yet born, the woman decided to give her daughter up for adoption. Although she came from a large family—she was one of ten children—she bore her burden (the child) in silence. Only a sister and a grandmother knew about the pregnancy, and they were undoubtedly sworn to secrecy. The child was born in a hospital, named Denise, then released to the Sisters at St. Vincent Children’s Home. An orphanage.

That woman was my mother. That child was me.

Fortunately, I was raised in an environment where my parents felt it important to share the truth about our adoption with me and my siblings (all adopted) from the very start. There was no big reveal of The Secret; we all just accepted it as the way things were. We were a family–these were my parents and these were my siblings and this was life. I was very lucky, and I know that and am grateful for it.

While I always knew and accepted the fact that I was adopted, I didn’t know the story of my entrance into this world until my late 20s. I still do not know the identity of my birth mother or half-siblings. However, from the moment I could truly understand such things, I knew on a soul level that I had been sacrificed so that others could have a better life. And I internalized this, also on a soul level, believing somehow that my life had less value and meaning than others. I look back at so many of my decisions, and I realize I made them because I thought I deserved less, meant less, was less than those people around me.

Many Roads, Same Destination (and Vice Versa)

One lesson I’ve been trying to teach Fey (and myself) is that we are all going to wind up at the same destination. The choice of how we get there is our own, as is the choice of how we enjoy the ride. Whether we choose a smooth and steady course or a free-wheeling thrill ride, we still wind up in the same place eventually.

For so many years, I’ve felt a vacuum where my heritage should be. I am strongly cognizant of the fact that we all are the summation of our genetic and cultural heritages, and I have mourned the fact that I don’t know where my blood comes from. Tonight, however, I realized in a most profound way that the lesson I’ve been trying to teach Fey is the lesson I should have been teaching myself, only in reverse.

All life, all consciousness, started with a single thought. That thought became light, then matter, then the universe, then life itself. Through the eons following that single, brilliant thought that became Everything, life has trickled through the universe like raindrops on a window-pane. We all came from the same place, but each path was unique. No path is better than another, just different.

No one lacks a heritage. No one is adrift. Some of us are lucky enough to see backwards a few generations, to know the family stories, the histories, the prides and shames. Some choose to blind themselves to their histories, thinking themselves singular and distinct from their origins. Others, like me, have their histories rendered invisible and spend much of their lives wondering—who am I? Where did I come from? But the truth is, every single one of us can trace our ancestry back to the dawn of all things, back to that awesome, profound thought at the beginning of time. We are all family, every single molecule, every atom, every burst of energy.

My life came through a conduit, and I am grateful for that conduit. My life followed a path separate from the person who gave me life, and I am grateful for that. I would not trade my life, my sisters and brother and parents and cousins, for anything. Everything I have experienced along the path of my life has contributed to this person I’m becoming.

Releasing the Anger

My birth mother faced an impossible decision for any parent—sacrifice one child, or lose them all. This is the kind of decision one normally associates with sadists and Nazis, not a kind and loving Universe.

Had she chosen the path of abortion, I would have respected that. My soul simply would have reentered the Stream, and I would have found another expression. Had she taken the risk and kept me despite the fear, I would have respected that. What creature is more noble than a mother risking everything for her children?

But she chose to sacrifice me so that she could provide safety and security for the children she already had in hopes that I would be adopted into a loving family. And I respect that. My soul chose the role of the child who would be sacrificed, and I thank my birth mother for her role in my journey. Everyone in my life, adopted or blood or choice by love, plays a part in my journey, just as I play a part in theirs.

I’m not angry with her, no more than I am angry with myself for choosing this path. It’s a rivulet of water, a drop of rain running its course from the source to the destination, and it’s a wonderful, miraculous thing.

Peace to you,

Deb

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2 responses

  1. “I am here”… Horton hears a who???

  2. ” I had been sacrificed so that others could have a better life”.

    Not “others” but YOU. She wanted YOU to have a better life. And if she wouldn’t have choose life for you, what the heck would I have done growing up. Lick some strangers eye glasses???

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