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LIFE IS CRAZY – AND INTENTION IS MEANINGLESS

A big part of foster classes is about attachment.  Children form healthy attachment through having needs and having the responsible adults in their life meet those needs; the most basic for new babies being: touch, changing diapers, food when hungry, etc.  Healthy children who have their needs, both physical and emotional, met in a healthy manner grow are then able to begin exploring the world from a safe and secure base.  In a healthy parent-child relationship, the child’s needs are fulfilled by the parent – not the other way around.

Every parent fucks this up sometimes – good news, you do not need to be the perfect parent and meet every need (not want) perfectly to give your child the ability to grow and be healthy!  But as a matter of practical common sense – the more chaos, need, poverty, depression, and despair in a household, the less those needs will likely be met.  Add in addiction, neglect, and/or abuse and you have children without the ability to have healthy attachment or boundaries – which affects us in every way moving forward (jobs, education, relationships, parenting, mental health).

Every child in foster care has a huge attachment hole – because regardless of anything else that is happening (and obviously something else is happening or they would not be in foster care), those children have been torn away from their primary care-giver; no, they are NOT happy to be out of that home. We are taught, and then I of course obsess and study, about negative signs of attachment disorders and what they might mean and how to cope with them.  But foster class then reminded us to also pay extra attention to a child that is showing positive signs – the child that IS happy to be in your home, that doesn’t cry when they are taken away and just kind of goes with it and adapts and seems fine – that child is  showing danger signs that should be addressed if they are going to be able to form true health attachments in the future.

Luckily, I have an amazing therapist and I already KNOW all about my attachment issues, or this would have been a rude awakening. I was one of the only kids who didn’t cry on the first day of kindergarten.  I started going to camp alone when I was little.. 6 or 7? I never cried for home.  Generally, I don’t miss people when they are gone. And I never suffer from culture shock: Yep, in this country you can’t drink water from the tap, or speak the language, or know where you are, or have electricity, or flushing toilets.  Hey, in this one you can.  Cool.

When I was a kid, my mom read me the book The Runaway Bunny. It’s a story about a little bunny that is mad at his mom and he plans to run away.  The entire story is about how whatever he does and wherever he goes, mama-bunny will come after and find him. I THINK it is supposed to be reassuring to small children that even if they are mad and try to get away their parents will not abandon them.  Someone with a secure attachment experience will have to tell me if I’m right.  Because to me, it always read as a leash and a limitation.  You will never be able to get away.

“Away” can have a lot of meanings.  Here, I just mean boundaries.My bio-mom sent me two cards in the mail yesterday.

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It is one year to the day when she wrote me chastising me about my decision to break off contact with her again; and four years to the day that I saw her for the first time after nine years of separation in my attempt to try to reform a health bond with healthy boundaries.

She writes me emails or cards periodically; every time it is stressful, sad, comforting, guilt-inducing, reinforcing of my decisions, interesting; in short, it is fine.  I imagine it is a much more mature, healthier, adult, version of what children in foster care feel during their parenting time with their biological parents – or more accurately, the time leading up to that time. And then I read the inside and it’s the adult version of The Runaway Bunny:

What a wonderful sentiment from a friend!

And what a wholly inappropriate statement from my estranged mother – a specific reminder that she will refuse to accept the boundaries other people place!

I am guessing that it is INTENDED to be reassuring that she is not mad and/or forgives me and/or won’t abandon me – but that is not the concern in our relationship.  Our problems are in the listening, hearing, and respecting boundaries areas.  It’s a huge and meaningful reminder of how much pain parents can cause without intending anything except showing love.  And an even better example for teaching my white friends about microaggressions and a general refutation of “intent” as a defense.  Intention is not irrelevant, but it is at best of secondary importance. Communication is at least 50% about what the listener perceives and understands, not about what you intend.

As we keep moving towards parenting, I think of the abominable examples our own parents set and I worry, incessantly, how can we ever be more than what we know and give these children of trauma a better emotional path than our own?  Isn’t the parenting dream? That our children have better lives than ours?  Not in material possessions…seriously, whatever.  But that we are able, somehow, through education and mindfulness, to stop the generational trauma.

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THE BANALITY OF INFERTILITY

Sometimes I wonder how much of my personality is “I am different” as a result of other people having told me “you are different” during the formative years of my life vs a different background of experience; I don’t walk around screaming “I AM NOT LIKE YOU”, but I have an inherent dismissive response to anything I think of as “mainstream” – I don’t care about or love fashion trends as trends, I don’t care about brands – in fact, I generally actively dislike them, I find displays of power/wealth in cars, homes, or possessions generally distasteful, I hate reality TV with a burning passion, I can’t deal with the suburbs, and I love the new, the queer, the rebellious, and the boundary-pushing, and I certainly self-define as something at least slightly “other” – in interests, in style, in goals.

I discussed this with a friend from high school once; if we could have afforded the right brand names, or were a little less obviously smart(ass), or went to church, or had a more normal family structure, and fit in to the popular groups when we were young, would we BE those people? Or would we have grown to love the different, the bright, the angry, and the dismissed, anyway? Have I always failed to fit in because I am actually different in some essential piece of my character or did I just miss class on the day they taught people to feel comfortable in beige khakis? Obviously, the nature/nurture debate can be played on many screens at many different parts of our lives.

I love reading historical fiction and historical romance (I know, I know) and these stories ALWAYS have a female protagonist that is “different”; she is a teacher, or an explorer, she wears pants, she is educated, she can fight, she is strong and sassy, and most importantly, she would almost always rather be an old maid than fit into society’s expectation of a wife. Tisha was one of my FAVORITE books growing up – I was SURE if I lived in the past I would have been a teacher in Alaska too – working for equality for women and native peoples and fighting off the societal expectations of the provincials.  Side note,  here’s my dog wearing my bandana from Chicken, Alaska:

Seriously, I LOVED the book Tisha enough that I WENT to Chicken, Alaska.  All four storefronts of it that remain.

One of the most frustrating parts of being so so so sad about not being physically able to have a baby is the fucking banality of it all.  I truly and honestly HATE people who are all “a baby completes me”; “having a baby is the ultimate in woman-hood”; “parenthood is the most and ultimate gift and purpose in this world” blah, blah, fucking blah.  Do you people not have any LIFE?? Heart and soul I believe that being a woman – being  a human generally – is everything and anything you choose and reproduction is absolutely, positively, not a defining feature of any kind of womanhood or personhood. Having a baby certainly does not giving meaning to a life that is without meaning. And I have no particular emotional attachment to the concept of my specific genetics moving forward in time. But also, I start crying every. single. time. I think about the people I love having the experience I can never have.

So, it’s not just failing at something I put all my energy towards, not just that I lack any control over the situation (lack of control = my nemesis), and not just that I am so sad I will miss out on the beginning of my future child’s life.  Nope, I also have to have a fucking personality crisis – does this obsession with a purely biological non-skill-or-intellect-based thing that is literally more luck than science for the majority of the population mean that I am NOT the forward-thinking bold and brave personality I always thought I would become?  I’m trying to think of a plot more trite than “infertile woman made miserable by failure to reproduce” and I’m pretty much failing.   Am I depressed because I cannot do the thing I want to do, or because I’m actually embarrassed in my own head that I am so upset that I cannot do the thing?!

I have been considering going to some sort of miscarriage/infertility support group because I cannot stop being sad – and I never, never, thought I would be that person.  But my close friends and partner have been carrying the burden of listening to this sadness for too long and it doesn’t seem to be GOING anywhere – despite my co-extensive excitement about building a family through non-traditional (slow. difficult. uncertain.) means.  I’m thinking I’ll just do my best to channel the fictional Sherlock Holmes from Elementary.  If he can fictionally live through and find value in support groups to retain his fictional sobriety from his fictional addiction despite his towering fictional intelligence and dismissal of the normal world, then fuck it, I guess I can do it live.