I never wanted to be your first choice

Being your first choice implies that there’s a second choice

for once I wanted someone to be so sure of me

that everything else


*Whitney Hanson Poetry*

Felt a little deeper

(Turn around)

Every now and then I get a little bit lonely And you’re never coming ’round

(Turn around)

Every now and then I get a little bit tired Of listening to the sound of my tears –

Bonnie Tyler, Total Eclpse of the Heart

Have you noticed that there are different lyrics that mean something different while you are going through different stages of your life? This song came out before I was born so I can clearly remember this playing at different times, from being at a skating rink with my parents all the way to coming to work today.

Today it hits me because this pandemic has strained all relationships.

Friends, neighbors, even families have been torn apart with this pandemic.

Some were because they got sick and spent time in the hospital, maybe seeing the worst of the worst of outcomes.

Some were because somehow we allowed politics to enter into this as if the color of your beliefs had something to do with the type of effect it had on you.

Some were because they are now too scared to be in public. This seemed to start on the fear of the germs, then moved to the safety of being in public and ending up near someone who took their OPINIONS seriously enough to start physical fights in the stores with no care of who else was around.

***I am positive that every one of you have opinions and beliefs when it comes to do with this pandemic, the process of how it has played out and the potential outcome from it. I respect your opinion/knowledge since I know that it is built around your personal surroundings, online research or schooling. However I do not care to use this platform to communicate with you about it. It does not matter how similar or polarizing it could be. Please respect that. ***

This pandemic has left everyone lonely at times. It has left everyone scarred and affected in ways we didn’t prepare for because we never knew that we would need to.

Today this song brought me to tears for a different reason then it ever has.

Reach out to those you haven’t spoken to recently guys. You don’t know what all they are going through.

Part one

Part one

Seventh grade started with a heat wave to rival any other. The year before the school had discussed putting in air conditioning but hadn’t raised enough money yet. Go figure.

As I took a step on the school bus I could hear the comments coming from the kids I had always went to school with. I went from being pretty over weight when I left for the summer to showing up this week being pretty skinny. Too bad I didn’t get any taller to let that be the excuse I could tell them. There were two other boys on the bus who could blame there weight loss on that, but I was the exact same height as I was three months ago. It didn’t help that one of the girls I wasn’t friends with had been telling people that someone else told her that I wasn’t eating anything. The last thing I needed was for them to catch on that quickly. I spent a few hours the night before on the phone with my best friend talking about how we were going to get that rumor stopped.

I spent a lot of time looking at my body last year not understanding why I was so different then all the other girls in my class. Everyone else could show there belly without being mortified. They could wear tighter shirts that showed off their new boobs and it actually looked good when they did it.

I looked like a beach whale. I had rolls and a muffin top that the boys in my class wasted no time before making constant comments. They would lean in and talk to me like I was one of them and ask me if I seen the new shirt that Robin was wearing. They would wait until I said I had before they asked me why I didn’t stop eating so I could look like her more.

They would laugh and joke in gym class about how much I jiggled as I ran around, so I slowly stopped. Then they commented that I was fat because I was too lazy to even chase after a basketball.

At home I would get out of the shower and pinch areas of my body, turn in every direction and wish I could just take a pair of scissors to them. I could heal from the wound and be happy at least.

The last week of school the boy that I had been crushing on came and sat beside me while we were out at recess. Normally the boys and girls didn’t play together but today we were playing kickball so we needed everyone. He sat so close to me that I could smell the soap he had used that morning. As I sat fighting the urge to take in a deep breath through my nose, he was leaning back and stretching his arms across the back of the bench on either side. He knew the effect he was having on me.

“Damn there is no teachers even paying attention to us over here. If you weren’t so fat we could easily be over here hitting third base before they even noticed we were here.”

My mind blanked as I was appalled at the language he used. Within the minute he snickered, stood up and took off.

Fast forward to the start of seventh grade, multiple pant sizes smaller and enjoying the looks that the boys in class were giving me suddenly. As long as I could keep the girls from pointing out my eating habits, I would be good to go.

More to come.

While were on the subject

There is something to be said about the mental health of the woman who gives her baby up for adoption. We all know that there are many reasons for her to feel the need to do this, from safety all the way to just not being grown up enough. Of course family involvement, the choices of the father, the financial side of things will all come into play with these decisions.

Afterwards everyone always thinks about how hard it must be on the child growing up feeling like the parents just didn’t want them. This is a huge subject that I believe still needs loads more research to allow them to find better ways to cope and deal with those emotions. There are some stories that I have heard that will haunt me until the day I die, coming from some of the children as well as birth parents. I have nothing but respect and empathy to anyone who has gone through this. No one asks to go through this, no one wants to be in any of these circumstances. No one asked to be born into these stories. Even with the best stories that I have heard, it evokes an emotion that is hard to explain. Just knowing that there had to be hard things to to come to terms with.

There is always the theory that birth parents have chosen to live a better like that would have been ruined had they had kept that child . More often then not I hear the conversation turn to the mother not understanding responsibility, or maybe she just didn’t know how to keep her knees shut.

I have worked with birth mothers in secret for years, always accepting phone calls and personal messages through a website that I participated with through out my adoption process.

Yes that’s right.

My adoption process.

My story doesn’t matter, my reasons will easily be considered excuses.

What I do know is that I have a happy, healthy, familiar child out there that has ALWAYS been told the truth from the very beginning.

I had an extremely solid support group. A family that didn’t really understand or fully agree, but stood behind my decision because in the end it was just that. My decision.

My mental health at that time, as well as the years between then and now, has always been viewed in a different manner than I agree to. I absolutely stand for my decision. I regret not being able to be the person my child needed but that was not avoidable. I didn’t need my strength and determination constantly awarded, as I still don’t. I didn’t need to be told it will get better, or time would heal. There is no coming back from that one. Time just changes it.

So what did I really need?

Support from someone who actually understood. A support group of women who I could talk to that had been through a similar situation but that wasn’t provided to me. I didn’t need people who talked behind my back, or to be surrounded by people who walked on eggshells.

I was vilified, screamed at, unfriended and gossiped about.

I was a whore, an evil person, self serving and an irresponsible piece of shit.

I was the worst scum to walk this earth, I was unable to go to Heaven, I was denounced from the church.

I was garbage, the like of which could rub off on you if you got too close.

You know what I wasn’t though?

I wasn’t the person that didn’t understand the ramifications of my decisions. I researched the process. I researched the emotional toll. I researched what statistically showed the best moves to make were and I followed to the best degree that I could. I reached out and I got advice.

One thing I was told in the support group that I helped form was that the mental health of the birth parent was easily forgotten to any onlooker because they didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the legality of the situation and the Childs health and future mental health. They told me that we have to find each other and tell each other that we are still worthy people who deserve to be happy as well. We deserve to forgive ourself for the decisions we had to make. Sure there are a lot of bad apples in the bunch of us who make us all look horrible, but there are more of us who are inherently good humans put in ridiculous unforeseen circumstances.

Every day that goes by proves that more and more.

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