Part One: Absent Parents and how to heal- Collision Course
*Authors note: I wrote this two years ago,but I wanted to re-post it now because I know millions of people seek these reunions with parents, siblings etc whom they have never met. It affects us in more ways than we realize it does. And thankfully as this is posted, my mother and I have risen above this as well and came out on the other side still intact. I didn’t write this to wound anyone. I wrote it because I have a right to my voice, and to what I feel and writing is my therapy. I wrote it because I feel like he sent me that message and was trying to tell me to stand up and take my place in my own life; I feel like I’m speaking not just for me, but for him, for Us, my father and I.
“Sometimes the only way out is through the exit.”
I had no idea what the hell that meant but it kept screaming through my minds eye like a flashing neon marquee, advertising something, trying to tell me something, but what? I tried to ignore it once, twice, but by the third time there was a deep voice sternly whispering it to me, so I went to a piece of paper and I wrote it down. I don’t know why, I had no idea what the message was, but something said to write it and keep it because I would understand it, maybe not right then, but eventually.
“Say it to me again,” my best friend said to me on the phone that night, “sometimes the only way out is through the exit,” I said,” C’mon seriously? No shit! that is after all what exits are for!” She laughed the laugh of a woman that really loves you and understands your plight without judgment or criticism. “You have to read between the lines, Sunshine, you’re taking it too literally and it isn’t meant to be literal, the message is in the middle.”
Then she said something to me that stopped me cold, “ask him, talk to him about it.” We both got quiet for a moment, she was referring to my biological father, the writer, the dreamer, the man I never knew. And I suppose that you’d like to know more about him right now, I imagine that things would make a little more sense if I told you about the winding twisting roads that brought him into my life 21 years after his death, but it’s not time, you’ll have to follow along for awhile and try not to go to sleep while I make my way there. I thank you in advance. Now where was I; ah yes, the message. I went to bed that night the same way I had been for many nights before, in tears, lonely, confused and more lost and abandoned than I can remember feeling for a long time. I spoke out loud then, to him, to the dead man who shared my genes…
“I don’t know if you’re listening to me, but if you are will you please help me. I need you, I’m lost and I’m afraid and I have all this stuff inside that I need to get out before it chokes me, before it suffocates the very life force in my soul because I am barely hanging on these days, I feel like I’m losing the fight, Bill, and although I don’t think I am a quitter, quitting just seems so much easier than dealing with all this shit inside of me right now.” I paused, sniffling, tears running from my eyes to the pillow below, hell I was too weak to even really sob it was more just a steady stream of falling rain from my tired eyes. I waited to hear an answer of some sort, I guess I was waiting for some voice in the darkness to lead me out into the light, but nothing came and I eventually drifted off to sleep. The next morning I pulled myself out of bed, quietly puttering around my tiny house as I tried to wake up and gather enough mental strength to be hopeful for the day; I stood in the shower pleading silently with him and with God for guidance, for strength to make it through another day and just for the simple will to even want to. As I stood in front of the mirror going through the motions to get ready for work, I heard it.
“The only way out for you this time is through the exit, no shortcuts, no secret passage ways, just straight out through the exit.” My breath caught in my chest, tears welled up in my eyes and I started to understand. In the aforementioned conversation with my soul sister and bff, she said something profound to me that came loudly back just then, “write from your heart and stop trying to control what you’re writing because you know that’s the only way you can do it, that’s where your best work comes from is your heart, sunshine.” In those words came more understanding and clarity than you can imagine; it was about more than my writing at that point, it was about ME, about what was going on inside of me, about the changes I so desperately wanted in my life, and about my damned fear. FEAR.
I believe that fear is the number one underlying cause of depression in people, we fear what we don’t have, what we think we need, the bills we can’t pay, the kids that are out of control, the jobs that leave us feeling lifeless and hopeless, we fear ALL of it at some level within ourselves. That powerful F word wakes us up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat because we don’t know how we’re going to make ends meet ‘til the next paycheck or where we went wrong with our children who seem to be completely insane all of a sudden. The very real Fear of stepping on the toes of people you love, people who mean the world to you, so that you can heal and rightfully claim all that has been stolen from your very spirit, not because you want to hurt people, but because you want to heal those wounds that have been left open and oozing silently for far too long!
I’ve looked in the mirror and I have learned how to love and appreciate certain things about myself, but what I am learning now is that you know when real growth is happening when you can look in the mirror and really see YOU, not who you have been told you are by people in your life, well meaning or not.
Almost 41 years ago, on a November day I was born to a young mother, a mere child herself in so many ways, and to a man that was not my father, but was a name on paper for the sake of "saving face" in a time and generation when a bastard child was shameful and damaging to a family's reputation as far as the outside world was concerned. I dare not claim to know what that young girl was feeling, or how damaging to her own spirit that was, but I can imagine it was a very scary and lonely time for her, and for that I am so sorry at the thought of her pain and lack of security in the world around her; I only know what those choices did to me, and how they affected my well being over the years that would unfold as my life, and I am the one who has had to swallow the fact that I was robbed of a piece of me way before I ever had a shot at a say so about it.
People take for granted that they know their parents, even if your parents sucked at their job, you knew them! Imagine if you will, NOT knowing one or both of them, not knowing who they were and how you are connected to them and vice versa. I don't believe that you can imagine that with any amount of realness unless you have been there yourself; and it is here that the collision happens.
In life, we have to accept and understand that we are all unique, that all of us have traveled different roads to perhaps meet here at this one particular crossroad; there are no traffic lights there, it's a free for all and each person has to take care in choosing when to move through the intersection so as not to collide with others; my Mother and I are standing there now, but instead of pausing and reaching out for understanding of the others position, we collided head on in a massive collision of hurt and betrayal, yet again.
I understood that this child, this pregnant child, did what she had to, what she was basically forced to do in 1970, maybe I didn't for awhile, but I did realize it over time and I forgave that which she had so little control over. I firmly believe that we can only go through life hiding behind other people's mistakes and blaming someone else for what we need to be responsible for, for so long before it's just sadly and grossly pathetic. At some point in life, we have to own our own bullshit, our mistakes, our pain, caused and suffered, and we have to step firmly into how our choices have affected us and all those in our path; and now and then, that means that we have to come face to face with some of that pain that we have caused and do the right thing and take that burden of hurt away from the one who didn't deserve it, and OWN IT as our own and then forgive ourselves and move on.
It all sounds so easy, but if I know anything, it's that it seems to be one of the hardest things to do for us human beings. I was a child, an innocent in this game that people were playing with my life. I'm no longer a child, or innocent, or free from the harsh reality that I too have hurt people in my life over time, people that I truly do love in the very depths of my soul, but that I don't always like, and I have learned to be okay with that; but in my Fear I have allowed others to control and take from me so that I could spare them the pain that would surely be revealed if my truth were to ever be spoken. What does that mean? It means to me, that I have sacrificed my own well being and spirit for the sake of protecting and sheltering those around me who should have been and need to be, owners of this pain. It didn't then, nor does it now belong to me, but I have carried the burden of it; so now, out of Fear I will step, and into my truth I will firmly stand, because in order for me to heal, to move forward in my own life I have to go directly through the exit, no shortcuts, no sidesteps, just straight out through the door with guns blazing.
That isn't necessarily my choice; it is though, what I have been forced to do. (to be continued)
*Authors note: I wrote this two years ago,but I wanted to re-post it now because I know millions of people seek these reunions with parents, siblings etc whom they have never met. It affects us in more ways than we realize it does. And thankfully as this is posted, my mother and I have risen above this as well and came out on the other side still intact. I didn’t write this to wound anyone. I wrote it because I have a right to my voice, and to what I feel and writing is my therapy. I wrote it because I feel like he sent me that message and was trying to tell me to stand up and take my place in my own life; I feel like I’m speaking not just for me, but for him, for Us, my father and I.
“Sometimes the only way out is through the exit.”
I had no idea what the hell that meant but it kept screaming through my minds eye like a flashing neon marquee, advertising something, trying to tell me something, but what? I tried to ignore it once, twice, but by the third time there was a deep voice sternly whispering it to me, so I went to a piece of paper and I wrote it down. I don’t know why, I had no idea what the message was, but something said to write it and keep it because I would understand it, maybe not right then, but eventually.
“Say it to me again,” my best friend said to me on the phone that night, “sometimes the only way out is through the exit,” I said,” C’mon seriously? No shit! that is after all what exits are for!” She laughed the laugh of a woman that really loves you and understands your plight without judgment or criticism. “You have to read between the lines, Sunshine, you’re taking it too literally and it isn’t meant to be literal, the message is in the middle.”
Then she said something to me that stopped me cold, “ask him, talk to him about it.” We both got quiet for a moment, she was referring to my biological father, the writer, the dreamer, the man I never knew. And I suppose that you’d like to know more about him right now, I imagine that things would make a little more sense if I told you about the winding twisting roads that brought him into my life 21 years after his death, but it’s not time, you’ll have to follow along for awhile and try not to go to sleep while I make my way there. I thank you in advance. Now where was I; ah yes, the message. I went to bed that night the same way I had been for many nights before, in tears, lonely, confused and more lost and abandoned than I can remember feeling for a long time. I spoke out loud then, to him, to the dead man who shared my genes…
“I don’t know if you’re listening to me, but if you are will you please help me. I need you, I’m lost and I’m afraid and I have all this stuff inside that I need to get out before it chokes me, before it suffocates the very life force in my soul because I am barely hanging on these days, I feel like I’m losing the fight, Bill, and although I don’t think I am a quitter, quitting just seems so much easier than dealing with all this shit inside of me right now.” I paused, sniffling, tears running from my eyes to the pillow below, hell I was too weak to even really sob it was more just a steady stream of falling rain from my tired eyes. I waited to hear an answer of some sort, I guess I was waiting for some voice in the darkness to lead me out into the light, but nothing came and I eventually drifted off to sleep. The next morning I pulled myself out of bed, quietly puttering around my tiny house as I tried to wake up and gather enough mental strength to be hopeful for the day; I stood in the shower pleading silently with him and with God for guidance, for strength to make it through another day and just for the simple will to even want to. As I stood in front of the mirror going through the motions to get ready for work, I heard it.
“The only way out for you this time is through the exit, no shortcuts, no secret passage ways, just straight out through the exit.” My breath caught in my chest, tears welled up in my eyes and I started to understand. In the aforementioned conversation with my soul sister and bff, she said something profound to me that came loudly back just then, “write from your heart and stop trying to control what you’re writing because you know that’s the only way you can do it, that’s where your best work comes from is your heart, sunshine.” In those words came more understanding and clarity than you can imagine; it was about more than my writing at that point, it was about ME, about what was going on inside of me, about the changes I so desperately wanted in my life, and about my damned fear. FEAR.
I believe that fear is the number one underlying cause of depression in people, we fear what we don’t have, what we think we need, the bills we can’t pay, the kids that are out of control, the jobs that leave us feeling lifeless and hopeless, we fear ALL of it at some level within ourselves. That powerful F word wakes us up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat because we don’t know how we’re going to make ends meet ‘til the next paycheck or where we went wrong with our children who seem to be completely insane all of a sudden. The very real Fear of stepping on the toes of people you love, people who mean the world to you, so that you can heal and rightfully claim all that has been stolen from your very spirit, not because you want to hurt people, but because you want to heal those wounds that have been left open and oozing silently for far too long!
I’ve looked in the mirror and I have learned how to love and appreciate certain things about myself, but what I am learning now is that you know when real growth is happening when you can look in the mirror and really see YOU, not who you have been told you are by people in your life, well meaning or not.
Almost 41 years ago, on a November day I was born to a young mother, a mere child herself in so many ways, and to a man that was not my father, but was a name on paper for the sake of "saving face" in a time and generation when a bastard child was shameful and damaging to a family's reputation as far as the outside world was concerned. I dare not claim to know what that young girl was feeling, or how damaging to her own spirit that was, but I can imagine it was a very scary and lonely time for her, and for that I am so sorry at the thought of her pain and lack of security in the world around her; I only know what those choices did to me, and how they affected my well being over the years that would unfold as my life, and I am the one who has had to swallow the fact that I was robbed of a piece of me way before I ever had a shot at a say so about it.
People take for granted that they know their parents, even if your parents sucked at their job, you knew them! Imagine if you will, NOT knowing one or both of them, not knowing who they were and how you are connected to them and vice versa. I don't believe that you can imagine that with any amount of realness unless you have been there yourself; and it is here that the collision happens.
In life, we have to accept and understand that we are all unique, that all of us have traveled different roads to perhaps meet here at this one particular crossroad; there are no traffic lights there, it's a free for all and each person has to take care in choosing when to move through the intersection so as not to collide with others; my Mother and I are standing there now, but instead of pausing and reaching out for understanding of the others position, we collided head on in a massive collision of hurt and betrayal, yet again.
I understood that this child, this pregnant child, did what she had to, what she was basically forced to do in 1970, maybe I didn't for awhile, but I did realize it over time and I forgave that which she had so little control over. I firmly believe that we can only go through life hiding behind other people's mistakes and blaming someone else for what we need to be responsible for, for so long before it's just sadly and grossly pathetic. At some point in life, we have to own our own bullshit, our mistakes, our pain, caused and suffered, and we have to step firmly into how our choices have affected us and all those in our path; and now and then, that means that we have to come face to face with some of that pain that we have caused and do the right thing and take that burden of hurt away from the one who didn't deserve it, and OWN IT as our own and then forgive ourselves and move on.
It all sounds so easy, but if I know anything, it's that it seems to be one of the hardest things to do for us human beings. I was a child, an innocent in this game that people were playing with my life. I'm no longer a child, or innocent, or free from the harsh reality that I too have hurt people in my life over time, people that I truly do love in the very depths of my soul, but that I don't always like, and I have learned to be okay with that; but in my Fear I have allowed others to control and take from me so that I could spare them the pain that would surely be revealed if my truth were to ever be spoken. What does that mean? It means to me, that I have sacrificed my own well being and spirit for the sake of protecting and sheltering those around me who should have been and need to be, owners of this pain. It didn't then, nor does it now belong to me, but I have carried the burden of it; so now, out of Fear I will step, and into my truth I will firmly stand, because in order for me to heal, to move forward in my own life I have to go directly through the exit, no shortcuts, no sidesteps, just straight out through the door with guns blazing.
That isn't necessarily my choice; it is though, what I have been forced to do. (to be continued)
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