Birthdays are traditionally a time of great celebration. There are gifts, stories, family, laughter, balloons, games, parties, and CAKE. Don't forget the cake. Birthdays are pretty special.
My experience with birthdays brought me great shame until my husband came into my life. He pushed me until I was able to put words to why my birthday was such a tumultuous time. And then at least I knew. And he would help in the best ways. Quiet, allowing tears, tolerating the lack of complete joy on turning the pages on a new year...understanding. I'm not sure if I even knew what a gift that was until now.
Birthdays are hard. They bring up thoughts of birth, birth mother, the story of why adoption is part of my journey. I don't know my story. I don't get to hear it each year as it builds up to the pivotal moment where mom holds baby, looks deep into her eyes, and forever is changed. I wonder if birth mom thinks of me on this day. Does she even remember this day? Does she even remember me? How does she feel about me? Is there shame? Was there doubt? {And truthfully, the questions don't really ever end.}
And so...about 3 days after Thanksgiving until the big day (my birthday is in early December), a cloud comes over me. It isn't life altering, but it is real. It never leaves, and it just makes the whole time heavy and sad. It fades...it really does. But that doesn't help those few weeks under a cloud.
I know something you're wondering...you're wondering how long it's been this way. And my answer is...as long as I can remember.
I specifically remember the year I got Rainbow Brite. I must have been 7 or 8. I remember the shame over feeling sad on my birthday. It wasn't right. I certainly didn't understand it. Here I was surrounded by my friends and my amazing smiling family. Those people loved me so much, they had a Rainbow Brite cake AND a new Rainbow Brite doll! Imagine the confusion of why I had to force a smile on such a joyous occasion. I remember my wish that year was that my birth mother would be well and remember me. I remember then being mad at making a wish I couldn't possibly know the outcome of.
I was a generally jolly gal. But birthdays HURT.
In college, my friends would try to just do anything to make my day fantastic and take away the sting. I have amazing memories. Chicago (the one year almost missing the last train out of town and running through several city blocks to get there), singing in the rain outside of Williams Hall, lots of fun restaurant birthdays with embarrassing songs sung for all to hear (and the occasional "yee-haw" @ TR), the time I turned 21 and they tried to literally drag me into a bar screaming and protesting. I didn't understand the "cloud" then. I am, however, incredibly grateful for the fun memories and intuition that my friends had to go all out for my birthdays. {Thanks, guys...you know who you are.}
Tonight I held and rocked my soon-to-be 7 year old as she wailed all of her fears out loud. She asked questions and demanded answers, and all of her "birthday blues" were laid bare for our ears. All I could do is whisper "I know...I've felt that way before...I'm sorry your heart hurts...you are so loved."
You guys...my heart is broken for my kids and their brokenness. I can't fix it, though. I can't. I can't even try. And to be honest...answers don't fix it either. This is just part of our story, and it's ok. It's sad, but it's ok.
Here's what I want you to know:
- The "Birthday Blues" are the worst. We already feel different than others. Now we grieve at birthdays instead of celebrate and anticipate like everyone else.
- This is not something we can control.
- We may never be able to put words to it until well into our 30s.
Here's what you can do:
1) Pray
2) Presence. (See that little period? But it's really a big thing. -- Presence, Period.)
3) Perception (Find a way to be comfortable with the hard questions and emotions while you're being present.)
4) Repeat Steps 1-3
