This year, 2023, we are at the beginning of our fifth year in reunion. It has been an incredible and amazing 4 years so far.
I am keenly aware that this is not the normal experience. I have been shocked, blown away, and humbled of how close we all have become. I consider our reunion a rare priceless and precious gem.
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Today is the second weekend of May. I do not have any expectations or demands of my son on this weekend.
Until reunion I used to work.
I welcomed the 3:00 a.m. shift on Sunday that would fry my little brain and I would sleep the rest of the day away after work. Most years I would focus on planting, gardening, and digging. Dirt therapy.
This weekend my plans are simply plant all the seedlings I've started. Spend the time out in the dirt doing something I love to do.
This morning while making scones before going back out into the flower gardens, I got a text from an adoptee friend. She wished me a happy mother's day and sent me the link to a podcast titled being adopted on mother's Day.
This is one of my friends, so I followed the link and it was a 20 minute podcast. I got as far as her saying today is national birth mother's day. I let my guard down and I was triggered like I haven't been triggered in a very very long time.
I stopped the podcast immediately and tried to resume making my scones, but I couldn't. I was angry I couldn't focus, could figure out what I was doing. I kept just walking back and forth in the kitchen.
Now that I am a therapist and certified for treating trauma it eventually dawned on me what was happening. Those few words triggered me so much that the logical part of my brain was completely gone and it was the emotional part that was taking over it was taking me back to those times with so much pain, so much hurt, so much confusion, so much betrayal, so much isolation that I couldn't even think. This is a PTSD response.
Once I was aware of what was happening I started using some of the coping skills I teach to other people to bring myself back to a less distressed state. All the while I stood there and cried and cried and cried. Then I wept. Then I groaned and wept bitterly. This went on the maybe an hour - just letting the pain out.
After quite a will Mr Cheerio came into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me and held me as I cried it out. I think it was his warm reassuring hug that helped me finally stop crying.
Although our reunion is so incredibly amazing and beautiful and has been a healing balm to my wounded soul, it doesn't erase or remove or take away all those years of struggle, of hurting, of feeling so so alone, of self-hate, of the unknown if I would ever see him again, of wondering if he hated me as much as I hated myself for what I did to him - to us - to all of us.
The Dreaded 2nd Weekend of May...I just want this he-- (no so much of a) holiday to just go away... Far far far away.
