With all of the emotion I was feeling yesterday, I composed a poem I wanted to share.
Swallowed by the emptiness of your presence,
my subconscious leads me on a mission to fill a void.
Not knowing I'm merely searching for acceptance,
on a path you long before destroyed.
In every waking moment of my life,
I fight my way through this toxic environment.
Poisoned with an inherent belief of unworthiness,
I blame myself for my abandonment.
My inner child screams for love and affection,
but instead is cradled in shame and doubt.
Rejected and heart broke, she silences her cries,
losing her in the repetition day in and day out.
Hope becomes not a dream, but a fallacy,
as the only way I can be soothed is to become numb.
I shut down and watch this life happen around me,
feeling helpless, believing that their nothing more to come.
Like the ocean erases footprints from the sand,
you've moved on without a trace of me.
But as the sand holds on to the faint indentation,
I know you can't erase ideas of what I once could see.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Father's Day
Well it's a little out of character for me to write two entries in one day, but when have I ever cared about staying in character?
This day is filled with so much emotion and confusion for me. It is quite possibly the hardest day of the year for me. As you may have gathered from earlier posts (or if this is your first read) I do not know my biological father. I was adopted at age 7 by the man whom married my mother, as some would say "step-dad."
I LOATHE the word, step-dad. At least in my case.
I call the man who adopted me, "dad." (Quick note: The biological father will always be referenced as, "bio-dad.") I believe the word dad means much more than genetics and paternal obligations. I supposed if you asked my bio-dad, he would too considering he feels 0 paternal obligations to me. A dad is simply someone who provides unconditional love to a child, as well as commits to protect and provide for that child and put their best interests ahead of his own. While most men either plan or fall into the assumed title of "dad;" my dad had a choice to take on this role and for that I will be forever grateful.
With all of that prefaced, it has not been an easy road to accepting the fact my bio-dad wants nothing to do with me. At age 15, my kidney had completely calcified itself and I was believed to need a blood transfusion and possible kidney, obviously meaning I needed a donor. With no one in my family the same blood type as me, my mom reached out to my bio-dad and asked for his help.
His response. Silence. Followed by the fact he terminated his paternal commitment to me and did not owe me anything.
15 years old. I don't even care if you are related to the person... If you were the best shot at saving a child's life, how could you say no without remorse?
That man, if you can even call him that, 50 percent responsible for my creation would have been OK if I had died in the hospital that day. My parents - including my real dad (who adopted me), were beside themselves as they would have done anything to help me. If you say you don't believe in miracles, I will challenge that theory. After the bio-dad emotionlessly turned down my best chance for survival, my kidney miraculously came back to life and I no longer needed emergency surgery. Final report results read: Inclusive.
Anyway, that story is only one of many stories regarding my bio-dad that are sure to make any decent person's stomach twist. The truth is, I didn't really understand the concept of a "dad" when I was little. I knew the word and knew the kids at school would have their "dad" come and pick them up. I often wondered why I didn't have a dad. I thought a dad was similar to adopting a pet from the shelter, you just picked one out and I hadn't had the chance to yet. One year I even sat on Santa's lap in crowded mall and asked him to bring me a dad. After all, the north pole only makes the finest gifts.
As I grew older, I started to realized I should have had a dad. That was normal. Two of my favorite words: should and normal. When my mom started dating the man I now refer to as dad, I was just as excited about it as she was. He Was SO COOL. Let me play with his German Shepherd, took me horse-back riding. He would pick me up and carry me around for no reason. I remember thinking after seeing him a few times, this is why my friends have dads.
Oh, the innocence of a child.
Before he officially adopted me, I was really concerned at what adoption meant. I remember asking if I would still be able to use the same toothpaste and sleep in the same bed. Instead of my parents being understanding of a child's normal fears, I was scolded and sent to my room for asking such questions. I still remember the way my tears tasted as I cried myself to sleep, half bent over on my bed, wrapped in a blanket - truly not knowing what I had done wrong.
A few years after the adoption, when I was comfortably calling him Dad, I started to wonder about my bio-dad. I had friends who had "step-dads" because they knew and had relationships with their bio-dads.
Why didn't I? Did I do something wrong?
I spent the better part of my childhood, and if I'm being honest, the better part of my life, truly believing it was my fault he didn't want me. Nothing else made any sense. Maybe if I was a better kid, he would have wanted to see me. Maybe he wanted a son. Maybe if I was smarter, more talented, more anything... The saddest part is, I was convinced if I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough the subconscious part of myself could be awakened and I could become someone else. I would be lying if I said I didn't practice this theory almost every day, hoping to one day open my eyes to someone else my bio-dad would want.
When I realized that theory was far-fetched, or that it just wasn't working - I started to keep a journal addressed to him. I was convinced at some point in his life he would want me and he would want to know me. Maybe he did and I just didn't know because my parents wouldn't tell me. Imagination of a child has endless variations of why. So I would write in this journal every night, documenting every minute detail of my day. From what I wore to what route we took on the bus. I tried to capture EVERY possible second, so when the chance came to share it with him it would have been like he was there the whole time.
This entire time I hid how I was feeling from my parents. I knew I needed to be grateful for what I had, and at this point and time, let's just say my parents were not in a place where they could be understanding of what I was going through. Didn't help they were fighting all of the time either. On several occasions my dad would storm out of the house and be gone for days and sometimes weeks.
Naturally, every time he left I blamed myself. I had already been rejected by my bio-dad, so if my real dad left too, it had to be my fault. What other reason could there have been? At least, that's what I thought.
I spent time searching for my bio-dad when I was 14. I knew his name and the state he resided in. I would spend my lunch period scouring the internet for any details that I could find. I remember I once found a man I believed to be him. I called and left a voice message. When I didn't get a response I tried again. A kind woman, with a calming voice answered the phone, "Is this Robyn?" she asked rhetorically.
When I let out a sigh because truthfully I thought I had found him and didn't know what to say, she told me her husband was not my bio-dad. She asked what had happened and I poured my heart out to her. They say it's easier to talk to a stranger, I think in my case it was easier to talk to someone who wanted to know. At the end of the conversation she brought her husband on the line too and they both wished me the best of luck and that was it. Back to square one.
When my parents found out I was searching for my bio-dad they went behind my back (or so it felt) and paid for a report that provided all of his information. They wanted to warn him, I was trying to find him.
After my bio-dad abandoned me. After the fighting and feeling all alone for years... My parents wanted to warn him. Talk about priorities.
When I found out what my parents did I was even more hurt and felt more betrayed than I ever had before. I also started stalking the phone bill, because back in these days the calls were made on a landline phone and the bill provided all of the numbers that were called. Just as I planned, I found that California number way too easily.
I snuck on the phone during my first period (forgetting about the time difference between East and West Coast) and dialed the number I had copied down. I have never shaken so much in my life. As the first ring buzzed in my hear, my heart started to jump or stop or change, I thought I was going to pass out. When the man on the other end of the phone, barely whispered hello, all I could say was, "Dad?"
"No. And don't call here again." Click.
I dropped the phone and started balling. Excused myself to the bathroom. I blocked the rest of that day out, too painful. I just remember thinking no one understood and how could they? I was all alone.
Ironically, when all of the health issues transpired with my kidneys, the reason my parents even had my bio-dad's contact information is because of that incidence. Full circle, if you will.
Fortunately, for me. I have a good relationship with my dad now. He and my mom have completely changed, and I am sure I will be writing a lot more on all of it. I am currently working on dealing with all of my "dad" issues, we'll call them and look forward to one day being able to accept myself and know (and truly believe) nothing relating to either my bio-dad abandoning me or other problems with my dad, were my fault.
I know how easy it is to look at this situation and say, of course it wasn't my fault. I have told myself this 100 times. However, I know when I accept myself for who I am, believe I am worthy of anything I desire (relationship, love, etc.) that my feelings will coincide with what I know.
This is part of my path in finding this authentic version of myself and being able to share this with anyone willing to read this now mini-novel, is the greatest peace I have experience with it so far.
This day is filled with so much emotion and confusion for me. It is quite possibly the hardest day of the year for me. As you may have gathered from earlier posts (or if this is your first read) I do not know my biological father. I was adopted at age 7 by the man whom married my mother, as some would say "step-dad."
I LOATHE the word, step-dad. At least in my case.
I call the man who adopted me, "dad." (Quick note: The biological father will always be referenced as, "bio-dad.") I believe the word dad means much more than genetics and paternal obligations. I supposed if you asked my bio-dad, he would too considering he feels 0 paternal obligations to me. A dad is simply someone who provides unconditional love to a child, as well as commits to protect and provide for that child and put their best interests ahead of his own. While most men either plan or fall into the assumed title of "dad;" my dad had a choice to take on this role and for that I will be forever grateful.
With all of that prefaced, it has not been an easy road to accepting the fact my bio-dad wants nothing to do with me. At age 15, my kidney had completely calcified itself and I was believed to need a blood transfusion and possible kidney, obviously meaning I needed a donor. With no one in my family the same blood type as me, my mom reached out to my bio-dad and asked for his help.
His response. Silence. Followed by the fact he terminated his paternal commitment to me and did not owe me anything.
15 years old. I don't even care if you are related to the person... If you were the best shot at saving a child's life, how could you say no without remorse?
That man, if you can even call him that, 50 percent responsible for my creation would have been OK if I had died in the hospital that day. My parents - including my real dad (who adopted me), were beside themselves as they would have done anything to help me. If you say you don't believe in miracles, I will challenge that theory. After the bio-dad emotionlessly turned down my best chance for survival, my kidney miraculously came back to life and I no longer needed emergency surgery. Final report results read: Inclusive.
Anyway, that story is only one of many stories regarding my bio-dad that are sure to make any decent person's stomach twist. The truth is, I didn't really understand the concept of a "dad" when I was little. I knew the word and knew the kids at school would have their "dad" come and pick them up. I often wondered why I didn't have a dad. I thought a dad was similar to adopting a pet from the shelter, you just picked one out and I hadn't had the chance to yet. One year I even sat on Santa's lap in crowded mall and asked him to bring me a dad. After all, the north pole only makes the finest gifts.
As I grew older, I started to realized I should have had a dad. That was normal. Two of my favorite words: should and normal. When my mom started dating the man I now refer to as dad, I was just as excited about it as she was. He Was SO COOL. Let me play with his German Shepherd, took me horse-back riding. He would pick me up and carry me around for no reason. I remember thinking after seeing him a few times, this is why my friends have dads.
Oh, the innocence of a child.
Before he officially adopted me, I was really concerned at what adoption meant. I remember asking if I would still be able to use the same toothpaste and sleep in the same bed. Instead of my parents being understanding of a child's normal fears, I was scolded and sent to my room for asking such questions. I still remember the way my tears tasted as I cried myself to sleep, half bent over on my bed, wrapped in a blanket - truly not knowing what I had done wrong.
A few years after the adoption, when I was comfortably calling him Dad, I started to wonder about my bio-dad. I had friends who had "step-dads" because they knew and had relationships with their bio-dads.
Why didn't I? Did I do something wrong?
I spent the better part of my childhood, and if I'm being honest, the better part of my life, truly believing it was my fault he didn't want me. Nothing else made any sense. Maybe if I was a better kid, he would have wanted to see me. Maybe he wanted a son. Maybe if I was smarter, more talented, more anything... The saddest part is, I was convinced if I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough the subconscious part of myself could be awakened and I could become someone else. I would be lying if I said I didn't practice this theory almost every day, hoping to one day open my eyes to someone else my bio-dad would want.
When I realized that theory was far-fetched, or that it just wasn't working - I started to keep a journal addressed to him. I was convinced at some point in his life he would want me and he would want to know me. Maybe he did and I just didn't know because my parents wouldn't tell me. Imagination of a child has endless variations of why. So I would write in this journal every night, documenting every minute detail of my day. From what I wore to what route we took on the bus. I tried to capture EVERY possible second, so when the chance came to share it with him it would have been like he was there the whole time.
This entire time I hid how I was feeling from my parents. I knew I needed to be grateful for what I had, and at this point and time, let's just say my parents were not in a place where they could be understanding of what I was going through. Didn't help they were fighting all of the time either. On several occasions my dad would storm out of the house and be gone for days and sometimes weeks.
Naturally, every time he left I blamed myself. I had already been rejected by my bio-dad, so if my real dad left too, it had to be my fault. What other reason could there have been? At least, that's what I thought.
I spent time searching for my bio-dad when I was 14. I knew his name and the state he resided in. I would spend my lunch period scouring the internet for any details that I could find. I remember I once found a man I believed to be him. I called and left a voice message. When I didn't get a response I tried again. A kind woman, with a calming voice answered the phone, "Is this Robyn?" she asked rhetorically.
When I let out a sigh because truthfully I thought I had found him and didn't know what to say, she told me her husband was not my bio-dad. She asked what had happened and I poured my heart out to her. They say it's easier to talk to a stranger, I think in my case it was easier to talk to someone who wanted to know. At the end of the conversation she brought her husband on the line too and they both wished me the best of luck and that was it. Back to square one.
When my parents found out I was searching for my bio-dad they went behind my back (or so it felt) and paid for a report that provided all of his information. They wanted to warn him, I was trying to find him.
After my bio-dad abandoned me. After the fighting and feeling all alone for years... My parents wanted to warn him. Talk about priorities.
When I found out what my parents did I was even more hurt and felt more betrayed than I ever had before. I also started stalking the phone bill, because back in these days the calls were made on a landline phone and the bill provided all of the numbers that were called. Just as I planned, I found that California number way too easily.
I snuck on the phone during my first period (forgetting about the time difference between East and West Coast) and dialed the number I had copied down. I have never shaken so much in my life. As the first ring buzzed in my hear, my heart started to jump or stop or change, I thought I was going to pass out. When the man on the other end of the phone, barely whispered hello, all I could say was, "Dad?"
"No. And don't call here again." Click.
I dropped the phone and started balling. Excused myself to the bathroom. I blocked the rest of that day out, too painful. I just remember thinking no one understood and how could they? I was all alone.
Ironically, when all of the health issues transpired with my kidneys, the reason my parents even had my bio-dad's contact information is because of that incidence. Full circle, if you will.
Fortunately, for me. I have a good relationship with my dad now. He and my mom have completely changed, and I am sure I will be writing a lot more on all of it. I am currently working on dealing with all of my "dad" issues, we'll call them and look forward to one day being able to accept myself and know (and truly believe) nothing relating to either my bio-dad abandoning me or other problems with my dad, were my fault.
I know how easy it is to look at this situation and say, of course it wasn't my fault. I have told myself this 100 times. However, I know when I accept myself for who I am, believe I am worthy of anything I desire (relationship, love, etc.) that my feelings will coincide with what I know.
This is part of my path in finding this authentic version of myself and being able to share this with anyone willing to read this now mini-novel, is the greatest peace I have experience with it so far.
Let It Go... A Different Perspective than Frozen.
At some point or points in our lives we have either said or been told to, "Let it go." (Thanks to Disney and Idina Menzel, if you're reading this and can honestly say you have never been on the giving or receiving end of this simple advice... turn on your radio and you can listen to the song from Frozen).
When you stop and actually think about this concept though, what does it mean? How do you do it? Should you, actually, let it go?
For me at least, this phrase becomes popular when I start obsessing about God knows what. So, it's safe to assume this is a very popular phrase in my life. As I have been embarking on this journey to become an authentic version of myself, this phrase has started evolving. When I first set sail (if you will) I thought 'letting it go' was the point. If I can just let go of all of the "bad" things in my past then I will become the better version of myself.
Redirecting, I reminded myself my goal is to become authentic, not better. Then I started questioning how I could become authentic by letting go of the bad? That doesn't seem authentic, at all. Experiences, whether judged good or bad, shape our lives and make us who we are. So maybe we should stop trying to "let it go" and start accepting "it."
The key to accepting is experiencing. Honestly, I think we try and use the idea of "letting it go" as a scapegoat to avoid feeling and experiencing different situations. Once you've experienced something you can move on. Think about it this way...
So once or if you are able to own and acknowledge what you are feeling, why does the idea of "letting it go" sound so good? If you really experience it, no matter how sad, you have gone through it and helped yourself. Now you have this as an experience you can look back on and use help to guide you forward. How can you look back and utilize something that you have let go of? That'd be like catching a fish, throwing it back in the water and then trying to eat it for dinner. Doesn't work.
So clearly, I am not an expert at experiencing, or letting it go, for that matter. I do feel like once I am able to truly connect and experience events in my life I have otherwise avoided, I won't want to just "let those go." Mostly because I have been working on connecting and experiencing really hard and for a long time. Doing all of this work to just "Let it Go," seems silly. I also do not see how I can be the most authentic version of myself by letting parts of myself go.
When you stop and actually think about this concept though, what does it mean? How do you do it? Should you, actually, let it go?
For me at least, this phrase becomes popular when I start obsessing about God knows what. So, it's safe to assume this is a very popular phrase in my life. As I have been embarking on this journey to become an authentic version of myself, this phrase has started evolving. When I first set sail (if you will) I thought 'letting it go' was the point. If I can just let go of all of the "bad" things in my past then I will become the better version of myself.
Let us pause for a minute on that thought, as I hope I am not alone. The belief that letting go of bad things in my life will make me a better person, infers that I believe bad things that have happened in my life made me a worse person.That's a powerful belief to be aware of.
Redirecting, I reminded myself my goal is to become authentic, not better. Then I started questioning how I could become authentic by letting go of the bad? That doesn't seem authentic, at all. Experiences, whether judged good or bad, shape our lives and make us who we are. So maybe we should stop trying to "let it go" and start accepting "it."
The key to accepting is experiencing. Honestly, I think we try and use the idea of "letting it go" as a scapegoat to avoid feeling and experiencing different situations. Once you've experienced something you can move on. Think about it this way...
Replace a situation you want to "let go of" with this situation: you are told to spend a dollar you can only see but not have in your possession. How can you spend something you do not have?
You can try your hardest, but until you grab a hold of it and own it, there's nothing you can do with it but look and think about it. As you think about the dollar, it's easy to see how we can start story telling about "it" without experiencing it. The story would include talking about all of the things you can do with it, what you want to do with it and how you feel about it. Experiencing something isn't about how you would feel something, it's acknowledging what you feel about something. How could you know what you would feel about spending this dollar until you owned it and were able to spend it?
So once or if you are able to own and acknowledge what you are feeling, why does the idea of "letting it go" sound so good? If you really experience it, no matter how sad, you have gone through it and helped yourself. Now you have this as an experience you can look back on and use help to guide you forward. How can you look back and utilize something that you have let go of? That'd be like catching a fish, throwing it back in the water and then trying to eat it for dinner. Doesn't work.
So clearly, I am not an expert at experiencing, or letting it go, for that matter. I do feel like once I am able to truly connect and experience events in my life I have otherwise avoided, I won't want to just "let those go." Mostly because I have been working on connecting and experiencing really hard and for a long time. Doing all of this work to just "Let it Go," seems silly. I also do not see how I can be the most authentic version of myself by letting parts of myself go.
Friday, June 13, 2014
Better Version of Me
Consumed by thoughts of being skinner, prettier, healthier ... just better. I feel like every time I look into a mirror it's a quiz to see how many things are wrong with myself before I have to look away. Today it was my hair, cheeks, eye brows, bulge above my waist line - all before I blinked.
I can't seem to let go of this idea, that if I was just better, I would like myself. If I could just lose the weight, or more importantly fit into that shrink wrapped bag of skinny jeans, where the label might just as well read "hopeful." If I was smarter with my money and didn't spend so much on going out and starting investing. Why did I rack up all of this debt? Why haven't I paid off my car yet?
The self-destructive thoughts never stop.
As I drive to work... I should listen to something so less girly. How did I already forget the words to that song? I bet if I learned all of the words to this song I could impress people if I ever have the opportunity to show it off when I'm out.
Catch a glimpse of my hair and/or face in the rearview mirror. Game. Over.
Why is my hair so frizzy today? Why can't my hair have more volume? Why is my hair doing whatever it wants?! If my hair was just longer and prettier I bet more guys would notice me. Is that a zit on my forehead? I should have put on more make-up.
BREAK!!!
I am not sure what is worse; texting and driving or trying to point out all of my flaws in the 20 minute drive to work.
The worst part is when I start to think about guys. I have this inherent feeling that if I was thinner, particularly so my waist line matched up perfectly with my hips, a guy would truly like me. It's almost as if I don't deserve a guy until I can control my eating and workout habits so I can be the way I imagine. The way I used to be. Wear a size 4 without an issue. Hell I am only in a size 6 right now, and while some of my jeans are an 8 - I feel like if I ever get bigger than what I am now, I should probably just jump out a window.
When I am out in a crowd, doesn't matter where, I can ALWAYS spot a guy. He is usually wrapped around some girl who fits so comfortably inside his arms he can still flail them around when he speaks. If I was with him, he'd probably be lucky to just get them around me. Eh, that's not true. I am not that fat. Just more fat than I should be. If I just had more control and could eat right and make my workouts at the gym more effective, I could totally be that girl.
It's so exhausting and I do not how to stop. Love myself. Love yourself. That's an interesting concept. Love what? What can change... How is it possible to love myself as I am if there are so many things I want to change?
I'll love myself when I am a better version of me.
What a truly, sad thought. Sad thoughts, really. I can see the logic behind my madness and none of it makes sense. I have to find a way to love myself. To connect with myself, otherwise every day is going to be this miserable. I just feel like with every corner I turn there's a skinny model, or a gorgeous girl - just someone better than me. How am I ever going to find someone to love me, if there is always someone better?
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