Too Much the Pain

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Secrets breed a well worth path
Creating walls of scorn to even ask
The silence traps an innocent heart
Till the hidden pain and sorrow tore us apart
(Kerri)
When my mother and I first made contact I never knew what a minefield of emotions I was walking into or how incredibly hard it would be to navigate. My mother never wanted me to come out of the closet. She was happy to write to me but never wanted me to force the situation and meet her. She never openly made statements but resistance came in little waves, and always as a surprise. Nothing was ever honestly shared with me as an adult with an equal emotional stake. Like the issues surrounding my father’s identity or my extended family.
I knew my mother had suffered, having one child taken for adoption is traumatic enough. During her pregnancy, my mother had to constantly tell herself that I was not her baby, which was repeated by hospital staff. She had to completely shut off emotionally from me to cope with losing me. It was her way of surviving the adoption trauma. She has never been able to switch her emotions on again. They’re gone.
It took me more than twenty years to tell my mother that I had suffered terrible abuse at the hands of my adoptive family. I feared telling her in case it might crush her, that I might not be good enough for her as I was tainted goods. I was afraid of being rejected by my mother all over again, only to realise that I had never really been fully accepted in the first place.
I know my mother tried to have a relationship with me, but too much damage remains between us, and too many years without intervention has passed. Both of us needed help, because four visits and twenty-five years later the relationship is broken beyond repair.

 

Secrets breed a well worth path
Creating walls of scorn to even ask
The silence traps an innocent heart
Till the hidden pain and sorrow tore us apart