My birthday

How a birthday can really be….

adopteeidentityrites

It’s my birthday.  Sixty five years ago my mother expelled me into the world.  I had just spent nine months getting to know her intimately, and my brain was wired in preparation to meet her.  But it was not to be.  I arrived in the world and was whisked away from everything I knew.  There would never be those familiar smells and sounds and tastes that would have provided a secure foundation for relationships in future.  I would forever feel lost and abandoned.  My primary relationship with my mother was severed, torn asunder at birth.

People say ‘Happy Birthday’.  And I know they mean well.  And I want to be happy.  But I want them to recognise this is the day my body screams out at the loss of my mother.  How do they expect me to celebrate this enormous loss and grief?  I think of my mother, and what it…

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