Posts Tagged ‘Reunion’
Despite me being artistically retarded, I actually really really like the picture that she created and’ve been using it for my 子rin page pretty much since the day she created it.
I’ve had my Trinity Gravatar that I’ve been using around for almost as long as that picture’s been available as an image. It’s a picture that’s stood me in good stead, but has slowly been creeping beyond its sell-by date for a little while now.
Today I had an(other) epiphany. Thus I printed out an A4 copy of the original chibi that Daughter had created (that actually printed pretty nicely), then tore it in half like I did to create the Adoptee Awareness picture, and then stuck it back together with a single strip of Sellotape ‘n’ scanned it back in.
I am extremely pleased with the resulting image which demonstrates that once torn apart, no matter how carefully adoptees are stuck back together, we’ll never quite be as whole as we once were.
And no, I still don’t put the apostrophe in the wrong place, for those who’re wondering.
This year’s Mothers’ Day post demonstrated just how little bmom’s kids actually mean to her, given that she told the two of her kids who were visiting her for Mothers’ Day that she’d told her husband not to tell any of us if anything happens to her ’cause none of us go up there to see her. Yup, go figure the logic there – I obviously get my brains from my dad’s side. :p
Fathers’ Day today seems to’ve pulled off similar, too, though.
I’ve been left feeling kinda deflated, if entirely and utterly unsurprised, really.
Not that I know for sure where communications broke down yet, only that I didn’t get communicated with as promised, despite me waiting somewhere until communications were established. I gave up at nine pm -ish and came home.
*runs away back into hide from the world mode*
I’ve started writing this post because while I was reading Vicki-lynn’s post about Why the Unknown will Never be Enough for Adoptees, I felt a massive lurch within my body as the impact of her first couple of paragraphs hit me. Yes, it was physical, and yes, it was jolting, and yes, that’s why I’m here typing this now, based on the theory that if I start typing about it now, I might actually get the post out that I’d want to be getting out later. At least now it’s started I don’t have to write any introductions when I can think of how to word what I’m trying to describe.
Having gone back to the post to look again, it was very definitely the second paragraph that produced the lurch, although I’m not sure whether it would’ve worked the same without the first paragraph being there to set the tone. That being said, this is the second paragraph, because it’s this that gave me the lurch.
To finally touch the ground of your ancestors is healing. To stand before the graves of your great grandparents completes the circle of life. To learn fly fishing from your grandfather whose prominent nose you inherited, and look into the laughing brown eyes of your grandmother is a priceless joy.
Being a Brit. born and bred, I generally have less mileage to cover to do things like touching the ground of my ancestors, however, I am pretty much slap bang in the middle of the two directions. Maternal line is Portsmouth/round these parts (I think, could be Plymouth; definitely one of them two naval places, no pun intended), and paternal line’s Scot. As with all the rest of my life, I’m balancing precariously in the middle, being dragged in both directions.
If I want to do any visiting of maternal side direction, I’m pretty sure I’ll be doing it on my own – at least the research part, because while the siblings ‘know’ the history, I’m thinking they’re likely to be far more like the cousin mentioned in Vicki-lynn’s post. It’s not like I can ask me mom, either now, since I walked out on her on Mothers’ Day. As for the rest of the family, I’ve met a couple of cousins, ‘n’ that’s it. One cousin I ‘met’ by virtue of being in the same year at college with her, and it wasn’t until long after I’d partied ’cause the loud-mouth had left that I found out I was related to her. Then again, finding out she was one of us does also explain why I didn’t like her, ’cause there’s not many of us ‘cept me bruv ‘n’ nephews that do seem likeable on the maternal side (which isn’t to say I don’t love my sis very very much, ’cause I do, but that doesn’t mean I have to like her too – just ask Daughter :p). The other cousin I met when he lived in the place bro moved into after ’cause it’s only up the road from here, however, haven’t seen him in a couple of years since he skanked off to live with his missus ‘n’ new baby. He did say we’d still see him, but we haven’t. I’ve got three maternal aunts, none of which’ve shown any interest in wanting to get to know me.
Paternal side I can probably get far more information easily simply by asking family on FB – which isn’t to imply that many of them seem all that bothered by my existence either though. My sis has declared that I’ll never be one of them to her, which while yes, it does bite, amuses me since her efforts at pretending I don’t exist are obviously not going very well if she’s been posting about me on Twitter. My bro did, eventually, deign to meet me last year, after much nagging, but I’m guessing from his lack of any real contact that I obviously didn’t make much of a very good impression on him (which no doubt our sis will be delighted to read :p). I did, as with the post this one’s based on, get to meet my paternal nan, and would very much like to meet her again too. This is proving difficult though, despite the fact that she only lives around the corner from dad, who doesn’t even live ten miles away. If I’m gonna go to see my nan, then I’m going to need my dad there because unlike all the rest of her grandkids who grew up knowing her, I can’t understand a damn word she says ’cause I have trouble understanding the Scot accent she has. It’s sad really ’cause I’m losing out on all this time when I could be going to get to know her, but I need to go with my dad, and even just turning up and finding him in is a challenge, let alone getting him up ‘n’ out again so’s we can go around the corner. I’ve also met one of my paternal cousins, who only lives five minutes away in the car. Been round there a few times, however, it kind of fell off when I wasn’t sure if I was really welcome there still or not. Yes, I can ask, I know, but that’d involve putting myself in a place to be outrightly rejected, as well as insisting that she say something either positive or negative, when she may be quite happy that I haven’t said anything about not going around there. It is saddening however, when my bro drives half way down the country to visit them, yet doesn’t even text a hello. Yes, I know I could say something about that too, but would you really wanna find out if people’re not interested in you when you’re aching to be around them and learn them and get to know them because you’ve already missed out on knowing them for so long?
I know I’m gobby on most things, but this post’s the closest I’ve got to saying anything about any of this other than in snippets with people close enough to talk about such stuff with. I’ve had to say something somewhere though because I know damn well it’s been eating me up, no matter how much I try to just ignore it and carry on, but it’s like I said in a previous post, Adoption Blogging – It gets complicated.
Actually, from today it could be getting even more complicated too, due on whole to the continued influence of MaggieT. Had she not died today, I wouldn’t be hivering hovering batting around FB not knowing quite which way to turn. Y’see, adad worked for the National Coal Board back before it (the NCB) got shredded by MrsT, and so I’ve spent over quarter of a decade intensely disliking the Lady because that’s the way the crumbs fell. However, dearest darling daddy dear (bdad, iow) was a para, and so was on the other side getting all the sweetness and light from her, and so had I grown up knowing him (either instead or as well) then my whole approach to day could have already been decided and settled, but nope, instead I’m torn. I’m already torn by those friends declaring I should be unfriending them if I’m in either of the above camps (like/hate her), but also because I have no idea which way to turn because I don’t want to be alienating anyone, let alone my dad whom I love very very much (there was a post a while back on one of the adoptee blogs about an adoptee who’s a quivering wreck daddy’s girl at heart, but I haven’t been able to find it again since I read it, but if you know the one I’m on about, that’s the same as I am). Thus far, I’ve played it what I HOPE is at least relatively safe by not particularly openly celebrating, but I have linkied a few ding-dongs in a single post.
See, how complicated adoption makes absolutely everything?!
Of course, compounding absolutely everything else that’s already been delved into is my overly maniacal mind, which likes to tease me with snippets, suggesting things like that not only is pbro ‘n’ cousin apathetic towards me now they’ve met me (which I *think* is supposed to be better than outright rejection, but at least with outright rejection, I know it’s there and I’m not left wondering and pondering like I’ve spent so much of my life doing up until reunion anyway), but that they actively dislike me, and instead of just (for example) unfriending me on FB (with any ensuing drama that such things may create within the family (not that I expect it would, I’m the outsider, after all, not them <sigh>)), they’ve decided to instead be as visibly happy to be around each other (five minutes down the road from me, despite pbro living hundredish miles away) in an effort to rub in just how excluded I am. This actually cropped up as a sort of real issue last year, too. I turned 40 on my birthday last year, and it would’ve been nice had someone said happy birthday to me – especially if it’d been my dad – but no-one did. To be honest, I wasn’t too knocked by it because (a) I don’t do FB happy birthdays or anything like that ’cause I’m crap at dates and would hate to miss someone important’s birthday, so it’s easier to do no-ones; and (b) they hadn’t even known about my existence for a whole three years by then and so can mostly be forgiven for not knowing when my birthday is, especially since I haven’t got it set to show on FB so they don’t even get a reminder from there. It would’ve been nice to at least hear from my dad though, but no. Of course, when one of my (not-as-yet-mentioned-in-this-blog) other cousins had her 40th birthday a few days later, there were tons upon tons of celebratory congratulations from all over the family. At that point, I finally lost it, and decided I’d GOT TO say SOMETHING to my dad. It took a while, not least because he’s not always in when I call over (’cause I do sporadic visits since I’m over that way a fair bit anyway), but eventually we were in the same room at the same time and having previously broached the subject in a PM on FB to him, we got to talk, and he got to tell me how daft I was being and that I’m not excluded. But still there’s all these family functions that I don’t get invited to. But I’m not excluded. And so with the crap my head churns out, today’s post from my cousin sharing a pic of my dad stood cheerfully alongside Thatcher before I’d worked out how to phrase anything similar, and obviously shared by both my bro ‘n’ dad, has again kicked my head into over-drive because it’s already being torn ’cause of growing up in the other extreme.
<takes a deep breath>
I’d write more, I think, if I carried on, but I think I should probably stop now ’cause at least this post works as just the one topic; adoption reunion, and how it carries on the tearing us apart that adoption did to us in the first place.
And no, I don’t put the apostrophe in the wrong place, for those who’re wondering.
And now the post.
Yes, I walked out on her. (Shuddup with the psychobabble babble, I’m sitting amused at the predictability of it all, in a wry way; it’s what comes of being Lokean. :p). I walked out of the room from my mom having gone up to see her to say “happy mothers’ day”. The reason I walked out of the room and said no more was because she’d just said she’d told her husband (none of ours’ dads) not to tell any of us (older msis, me, younger mbro) if anything happened to her. So I got up, said “no more”, and walked out. And yes, throughout it all I knew I was living the stereotypical life, serving as the textbook example of why we shouldn’t reunite with our bfams, so I want to make sure NO-ONE goes away from this post thinking that, because IT’S NOT TRUE!
We absolutely *should* meet with our families, no matter how scary they are, because in them we find us. Until we see someone with our own eyes, we’re *never* basing that judgement on our own knowledge. We *need* to know our own, on a cellular level, before we can truly relax into the world. It’s why genealogical reflection is so important, no matter how much some people seem to want to deny its importance. It makes you who you are.
I was 3 years, 6 months, 3 days (thank you God for http://www.timeanddate.com/ ;)) into reunion when *I* called it off. But I had to have the chance to find out and do that for myself. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life living with unconfirmable tales. To expect anyone to do that is cruelty beyond belief, yet that’s what’s being forced through at an increasingly faster rate by our delightful government.
Yet they don’t want to give us support through any of this. Instead they perpetuate the myth that never learning who we are is the smartest idea an adoptee can have, because look at how horrible it always goes.
But it’s not.
Even when it’s as horrific a tale as Elaine’s (I’ll link if she says I can, but many readers will know who I’m on about anyway), it’s still far far more psychologically healthy if we can learn this for ourselves.
The pain living with not knowing is far worse. And if things get out of hand, we just have to learn to step back to protect ourselves. Elaine’s one of those who taught me how (thank you! :}).
But yeah, regardless that it’s over in such a (relatively) short space of time (considering I’d been 37 almost a month before I contacted her on FB), I don’t regret doing it because it helped me learn who me was.
Doesn’t matter whether I like her or not, at least I know now who she is.
 Lol. Adoption can’t not have influenced my life because I have to be able to grow up conceiving plurals of everything. It’s no wonder adoptees get lost just trying to figure out how to be in the world. And yes, I know non-adoptees go through similar things too, but non-adoptees are understood to be traumatised by it, while adoptees are expected to show our gratitude for it.
Edited to add:
This post has been included on week 8 of …
I have, despite my seeming protestations to the contrary on Twitter, been putting off writing somewhat deliberately. Not that I’m particularly convinced I have my writing head back on now, but I need to get a post out about the dangers of blogging for the adoptee, ’cause without it, I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna be able to write another damn thing.
Which reads far more dramatic than intended.
So, these dangers then? Well they’re probably not just limited to adoptee bloggers, to tell the truth. They’re the usual issues of how much of our personal life do we put into our blogging life? However, the adoptee blogger hasn’t just got the usual amount of family members to navigate, but can have double the amount. Being an adoptee in reunion means that not only do I have to balance protecting my afam from any potential fallout my online activities might have, but I also need to add in balancing both mat and pat bfams too. This gets even more precarious when so many in the families are also online residents. How much do you say? How do you phrase what you say? Admittedly, this should also be general thoughts when blogging even anonymously, as care is needed to cater to ones audience, but for the adoptee trying to navigate the waters of reunion, the results can be catastrophic on a deeply personal level.
Yet if I don’t reveal these issues – issues that are a direct result of my adoptee status – then who will? Certainly the likes of BAAF and Pact and Adoption UK don’t care about the issues faced by adoptees who are beyond their sell by date, as evidenced by their blocking of me across a wide range of mass social media for raising such problems. Sir Martin Narey, thankfully, has showed far more fortitude in putting up with me (potentially helped by the limited amount of characters I have available to whine at him in one go with :p), yet squares my blog away firmly in the realm of a bad/rare/unusual experience. I’m not having a bad/rare/unusual experience though. I’m having a perfectly normal reunion, to go along with my perfectly normal adoption. Not a bit of it has been in any way exceptional to any Rules(tm) I’ve encountered. My story echoes many of those found in the blogroll listed at the side, yet TPTB still think adoption is a panacea. While I don’t think my voice alone will be enough to engender the changes needed to the current adoption system in the UK (nor even anywhere else in the world, for that matter </optimist@heart>), I hope that being one of the collective voices helps us get heard eventually.
So I wind up having to share details of how my reunion is going, because if I don’t, I can’t write on reunion without missing massive chunks out. Yet how much do I say? How much do I reveal? More to the point, how do I reveal? After all, this is the Internet, and it’s par for the course to link to things that are being used as an example, but to do so links these people that I’m discussing to me in ways that they may not want linking. So where is the line drawn? How do I avoid over-stepping it so much that I don’t bring my own reunion crumbling down in flames of hatred – or do I even try to avoid it? Do I instead stick to skinning away to the bare bones of an issue in order that I can both clearly explain that which is a problematic area, hoping that others find the knowledge helpful, even though it may cost me dearly to share that knowledge?
A precarious path to tread, exacerbated by the fact that BECAUSE I have been “blessed” by “the joy of adoption”, I barely know these people, and so barely know what their reaction to such postings are likely to be. Yet until I meet them more and interact with them more, I won’t be able to learn how much is enough, nor how much is too much, until I go there and make the post that either does or doesn’t result in recriminations – and even then I may not know as they may not encounter the post for some time. This is why it’s taking me so much effort to write. Trying to get a post out and written is no longer just a battle to get my head working enough to write in the first place, but there’s also this minefield of potential future trauma and angst to navigate, too.
I got kinda side-tracked in my last post about the stuff I was actually aiming to address. While I wanted to cover the aspect of not being able to get help, it was really intended to be far more of a personal post about my own coping – or, more specifically, my own lack of coping – with dealing with living life as a post-reunion adoptee. So this post, my post that should’ve been today’s only post but isn’t ’cause I’m something of a failure at even managing to write something daily for a week, let alone a month, is going to be my attempt to cover some of my more personal experiences of living post-reunion.
Some of the guilt part is probably the easiest bit to understand – especially given that so many adoptees are berated for even contemplating accessing THEIR OWN birth records, let alone entering reunion (e.g. the comment Pip refers to in this Y!A question). I get it both ways though; I feel guilty because I don’t go ‘n’ see amom anywhere near often enough, but that’s because I feel guilty when I do go ‘n’ see her too. It’s not because I’ve needed to hide the fact I’m in reunion or anything like that from her, but because of how weird it feels now that I am in reunion. Now that I know who I’m from, and so am slowly starting to learn who I am because I’m being able to unravel the nature/nurture parts, I’m feeling like crap because – like the bad adoptee I am – I’m not grateful enough. Don’t get me wrong, I’m extremely grateful that I got the afam. that I did get, but that’s because they’re a lovely bunch of caring, wonderful people – not because I’m adopted.
I also feel guilty because I know my amom loves me like a mom should love her kid, and I know that when I go down to see her, it hurts her to see that I’m hurting – and I am hurting, so very very badly, which is part of why I’m striving to fight so hard to be able to get some adoptee-specific psych-therapy into my life. Yet the biggest proportion of the hurt has hit since getting into reunion, because no matter how prepared anyone is for reunion, it’s just about the biggest mindfuck on the planet short of being abandoned in the first place. I feel guilty because if I hadn’t hit reunion, I might be outwardly less hurt, and so she wouldn’t see it so much, and so wouldn’t hurt for me so much, when she’s already got enough crap in her own life without what’s going on in my life adding to it.
So I avoid going to see her so she doesn’t have to see me this hurt, which hurts her because I don’t go, which adds on to my not being able to go because then I feel worse because I haven’t gone. I know the answer to it is to go see her more, but then she gets hurt because she sees how much I hurt no matter how much I try to hide it. Welcome to vicious circle number one.
On a similar theme of vicious circle guilt is how I feel for not going to see the bfam’s. With them, it’s less that I’m worried they’ll see how much I hurt, as I’m not sure they can necessarily read me quite as well as amom can – after all, despite all the genetic similarities, we’ve only known each other barely over three years, and those three years haven’t exactly been filled with weekly, nor even monthly visits. It’s part and parcel of the same kind of thing though, only with this side it’s more that I’m scared (hence the fear part of the title) I’m gonna put my foot in it and say something one of ’em won’t particularly like all that much, and bam, there goes my reunion. So I don’t go because I’m not convinced I’m always gonna be able to keep my big trap shut if we get on to the subject – yet all we’re doing is skating around the subject, walking on eggshells because we don’t know how the other’s gonna react. Of course, doing the walking on eggshells, I have absolutely no clue if they also feel lie they’re walking on eggshells because we don’t really broach the subject all that deeply. I’d really really like to because there’s so very much I want to be able to say, but is there really any point in saying any of it anyway? After all, they all already know I’m not exactly over-joyed at being abandoned to adoption, but at the same time, I’m also not sure that they have a clue how much I love them *just because* they actually are MY family. Heck, even the stroppy little sis. who’s decided she doesn’t even want to acknowledge my existence is loved, because she is MY little sis, and that’s what you do – you love your family. Ok, you may not always like your family, and your family may contain utter arseholes, but they’re still YOUR family, and so get loved just because of that fact.
This family stuff’s also part of the paranoia part – especially the bit where I perpetually feel left out, yet have too much fear of saying anything about it just in case I nark them too much and again, bang will go the reunion. I do though. Not on the maternal side. I fit in with that bunch of reprobates without a problem at all. We’re all as fecked up as one another, and all have such similar personalities that it really was just like going home when I met them. The paternal side though, that’s all kinds of weirdness abound. More so when everyone seems to interact so happily together, and I’m left sitting on the side-lines, wondering how I fit in, where I fit, if I even CAN fit in anywhere. They all seem so close, and are always all over each others’ Facebooks and seeming to be going to this party, or that wedding, or even just saying “happy birthday” to each other on FB. All except me. The one who wasn’t there with them growing up, so they think they don’t know me, so they leave me out because they’re just not used to including me, so then I just end up feeling even more left out than usual because I don’t KNOW how to interject myself into their lives without being something they ain’t gonna wanna know. I just sit on the sidelines watching as they talk to each other, and feel like I’m intruding every time I do finally get the balls up to say anything to any of them, and so wind up slinking away again with my tail decidedly and firmly between my legs. And it does hurt, enough that I’ve gotta stop typing now ’cause I’m having trouble seeing through the tears that’re once again falling, because all I wanna do is see them and know them and have them know me, and know how to interact with them, but I don’t. I grew up an only child, in a house of three, and I have no idea how to be around them, because I have no idea who they really are, because I don’t know how to get in to get to know them, because I feel so wrong among them.
Vicious circles for the lose.
Yay for siblings. The one who don’t wanna know me aside, I can – at least sorta – talk to them without too much fear.
I recently FB friended an author whose work I admire, and have gained much from.
When I FB friend someone I don’t already know, I do attempt to be courteous and so send a message with the request whenever the option’s available. It’s a randomly generated “accept if you wanna, don’t if you don’t wanna” note, because seriously, I’m so not interested in getting into FB friends dramas.
I was pleased to get a reply to my introductory message, and was asked in the message, what my situation is.
Since I’m pretty new – at least in the adoption blogging sphere, despite growing up lurking around the uk.people.adoption newsgroups (don’t like alt., it’s insanity at large), and being relatively vocal over on LiveJournal, I thought I’d use the question in an attempt to find some cohesion for myself, since today has been a fucking WEIRD day to be adopted.
For those who’re impatient, the short version goes:
Abandoned to adoption at 7mths old. I didn’t have a bad adoption – my afamily are the best I could ever have chosen… but if I’d been able to choose, and I’d known then what I know now, I’d’ve chosen to be aborted before birth instead, ’cause at least that way the lifetime of agony I’ve gone through would’ve been over in minutes, instead of the decades that I’ve been suffering for now.
I’ve been in reunion
several monthswow, a year! now, and even that’s (still) agonising.
This is how the adoption industry finds out how to convince people to abandon their kids: http://www.divinecaroline.com/22095/39676-national-council-adoption–mothers–money-
Abandoned early 1973. Reunited late 2009.
The slightly longer version is that I’m currently sat on the chair in the back garden at 00:36, with a stinking head cold. Earlier this evening, I dropped the partner I live with off at work, after spending half the afternoon with the brother and the cousin that I met last year, on me bmom’s side.
And at anyone who’s about to go off on one about me using bmom – don’t bother. I’m a lazy typer, and I’ll minimise certain things, if it’s possible whilst still making sense. Typing ‘biological mom’ takes too long, much the same as typing ‘adoptive mom’, thus, they are amom and bmom, because those’re logical, accurate descriptions. They’re not fancy fluttery words because they don’t need to be; all they need to be able to do is differentially indicate which of my TWO moms I’m referring to when it’s not obvious by context. I don’t use first, because how many doesn’t matter – they all count. I don’t use natural because my amom’s much more of a ‘natural’ mom (in that being a mom comes naturally to her) than either me or my bmom.
I have met IRL both living siblings on my mom’s side, as well as two cousins (though with one we didn’t know we were cousins until after the fact), and five of my six nephews. On my dad’s side, I’ve met my dad and his partner, my nan, and my cousin and her family. I am deeply looking forward to meeting my brother on my dad’s side, because it’s easy to tell how awesome he is. :D However, we just don’t have lives that’re gonna intersect all that easily due to distance and commitments, and thus, I suspect, it may be still yet a while before I get to meet my brother.
… *has a thought* *goes to pm brother* Of course, if we’re not even suggesting whens, we’ll never work out when we can, so I’ve started the suggestions of when. :)
My sister (still dad’s side) doesn’t want to know me. I think it’s pretty much bugger all to do with me existing as a me, tbh though, and much more an extension of her pisssed offedness at our dad. Luckily, she’s my little sister, so I can get to stomp my big sister foot harder and louder than she can stomp her little sister foot. I’ve been given the message that she wants me to take her (unlinked) name off my FB sibling list. I did give the request serious thought, but honestly? Just no. It’s a list of my siblings, it’s a statement of fact, and facts aren’t there to be liked or disliked, the just are – and so it’s staying.
In deference to my sister, a.k.a. because I’m not really a total bitch, despite any appearances to the contrary, I have limited the viewing of that section back down to a less ‘sharing’ level, but I’ve rarely censored myself before, and I don’t plan on starting now – especially not for my petulant, childish little sister (who, let’s face it, doesn’t sound massively different from her petulant big sister). :}
In other live stuff, I’m about to start a degree in Social Policy & Sociology, with an aim to do something to help change some of the wrongnesses in adoption as it currently stands – unfortunately, I’m still battling enough adoptee-head demons (along with apathy) that I’m still battling with getting my Student Loan sorted.
I hate authority, but can’t seem to live my life without it. From the age of seven, I joined the local marching jazz band, graduating on to diving (snorkelling then S.C.U.B.A.) from 11 – 14, and then in the Air Training Corp (i.e. the Air force cadet service) from 14-16. Growing up in the ’70s, I wanted to be the first woman in the S.A.S., and created myself a strap-on penis at the age of six using a cut-up egg box, and a piece of elastic threaded and knotted through holes in the sides of the ‘penis’ (cut-up egg box) – though I do put some of the blame for the on the TV series Blue Peter. ;)
I’ve been online (prolifically) since 2000, and usually exist under names on the 7rin theme (tequilatrinity and trin being the most usual). I started out on the newsgroup uk.religion.pagan, dispersed across some of the uk.people. groups, and finally ended up ‘defecting’ to LJ and thus aiding the slow decline of Usenet. Since then, I’ve been vocal in the polyamorous and Lokean communities, before ending up fighting adoption crap on the Yahoo! Answers adoption section, as well as trying to turn Adopted in the UK – UK Adoptees into the Britcentric version of AAAFC. I’m now fighting on FB too, though that’s stranger because I have non-academically related people’s feelings to consider on there (e.g. I don’t even know if my younger (adoptive) cousins even knew I was adopted until they saw the stuff I post to my wall).
I self-describe as both and neither and polyeverything, and am somewhat infamous for being unrepentantly brutally honest, with the best descriptions of me to be found by nosing down the quotes about me listed on my WP profile page.
Alongside starting uni. this year and completing the Access course last year, I’ve been battling with issues that’ve been thrown up by hitting reunion a year ago (Sept. ’09) and trying to get myself some appropriate post-adoption counselling. I knew I was going to have to fight anyway (hence my earlier Let the battle commence post, but today (yesterday, technically) I suffered the major blow of finding out that the counselling service I was hoping to use because of their adoptee specific knowledge is falling apart rapidly due to government cuts, which means I now need to be prepared to fight not just for my own sanity, but for the sanity of those adoptees who are following behind me.
I explain my anti-adoption stance in earlier posts on this blog, with What would 7rin do? pointing out that – contrary to popular opinion – I’m not anti-child protection, and Adoption Essentials following-up by explaining the one thing that I would prevent MANY the current complaints from “angry adoptees” (of course we’re angry, you’d be angry too if you lost everything), and that’s adequate and appropriate documentation, the same as everything and everyone else gets.
I’m currently at my most vocal over on the Y!A Adoption section, but I’ve also started ‘touring’ happy AP blogs, happy beemommy blogs, and all adoptee blogs.
And that is a brief rundown of who I am and where I’m at. I’m now going to go to bed, because not only is it late and I need to be up to pick my partner up from work early (for me) tomorrow morning, but I also need to pack (tomorrow, or after sleep, at least) for my weekend away at Mercian Gathering.
Oh yeah, and the brother and cousin I went to see today are both moving away in the near future, so I’m prolly not gonna be seeing quite so much of my bfam. as I have been doing. I’m already missing my brother anyway because having live here for six months meant we both know each other better than we would normally do for how long we’ve known each other – they are both aware that they could live on the moon for all I care, so long as they keep in touch occasionally. FB and LJ et al are useful for the whole keeping in touch lark (well, LJ’d be more useful if I spent less time faffing on FB … and yes, I’m going to bed. Now.
Yay! 1500+ words that might even vaguely make sense, in 4’n’alf hours. I may actually make it through uni. yet. :}