Forgiveness

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Forgiveness

Forgiving … What is it Exactly?

Forgiving is defined as: "To give up resentment against or the desire to punish."

Forgiveness is not … forgetting.

Forgiveness is not … giving the person who has hurt you permission to continue

hurt you.

Forgiveness is not … absolving an act that has caused damage.

Forgiveness is not … a sign of weakness.

Forgiveness is not … implying that there are no consequences.

Forgiveness is not … excusing.

Forgiveness is not … condoning the act.

Forgiveness is … breaking free from the chains of anger.

Forgiveness is … peace.

Forgiveness is … accepting the consequences.

Forgiveness is … releasing the painful emotions that hinder or bind you.

Forgiveness is … being accountable for your actions.

Forgiveness is … being stronger than that which attempts to destroy you.

Forgiveness is … a sign of courage.

Forgiveness is … freeing yourself from guilt in order to find purpose.

This Part of the Series is especially emotional for me. I have debated on whether or not to share the intimate details of my own understanding of forgiveness, but in the end I chose to open my heart regardless of how painful it is. I pray that as you read the following you will gain a better understanding of yourself and that my story will be a positive influence on your own personal journey. You will find the following story to be un-affiliated with adoption itself at first, but as you read on you will understand it's similarity and it's importance.

The Truth Revealed …

I was going crazy and I knew it. I suppose that's what fourteen years of anger and resentment will do. I'd had panic attacks before, and been diagnosed as a bi-polar with anxiety disorder several times. I had been on medication for about a year, but had gone off it as I felt that I was better. And I did get better. For a while. But I could sense it, something was coming. And it was coming fast.

I needed answers. I needed to know what was wrong with me. I'd done everything possible to find peace in my life. I'd written books, I'd confronted family members, I'd read the Bible, I'd prayed and begged God to heal me. Yet I knew, deep down, nothing had worked. And I was desperate to find something that would. I didn't want to live destructively any longer, without any ability to love and feel love, without being able to be intimate, or giving, or self-less. I wanted to feel "normal" again. I just didn't know how.

I met with Marie, an adoption and sexual abuse therapist just the day after I phoned her urgently. As I walked into her building I teased myself, "I can't believe you're going to a therapist, what's wrong with you?" After all, if I couldn't turn my life around positively then how could anyone help? This was my life and I was failing.

I began telling Marie about myself and what I thought were my "issues" for the next thirty minutes. I told her everything I'd accomplished as far as my involvement in Sexual Abuse Ministry and Adoption. I spoke of my books and told her the numbers of the many who've read them. I'm sure I seemed very proud of myself. She knew it was a cover for my insecurities.

After I explained the twelve years of sexual abuse, rape, and incest I'd suffered in my life she stood from her chair. She paced the room. Then she got right in my face, pointed her finger and said, "You, my dear, are trying to justify what happened to you and you cannot bear to forgive your abusers because you feel that by forgiving them they will have gotten away with what they did. You also hate what you've become and by continuing to harbor hate and guilt, you've lived a life of un-worthiness."

She sat back down. Crossed her legs. Picked up her note pad. I began to sob for the first time in years … uncontrollably. That was it. For the first time … I had the answer.

I clung to what had happened to me, and I spent my entire life centered around what had happened to me because I wanted to make it right. I wanted justice. I wanted to be able to tell myself that I would be better, I would make it count, I would have my restitution. But in all reality … my abusers were somewhere out there and had no clue, nor did they even know the pain I lived with. I was punishing myself. Not them. Even in the midst of my blaming my abusers for everything that had gone wrong in my life, I was subconsciously blaming myself for the lack of respect and love I had for me.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose and then somberly looked at Marie and whispered, "I can't. I can't forgive them."

At that moment Marie stood again. She paced the room again. Then she stood before me and as she spoke it was as if she had reached within me and pulled up every bit of emotion I had been living with. "Forgiving them doesn't mean you're telling them it's okay that they hurt you. Forgiving doesn't mean that you forget. Forgiving them doesn't mean that they are not still responsible for their actions. Forgiving them doesn't mean that there are no consequences for their actions. Forgiving them is for you, girl, for you to be able to break out of this cycle of punishing yourself, to release yourself from the utter and total devastation that continues to effect you because you cannot find peace. Now, do you want to forgive them so that you can find happiness again? Do you want to forgive them so that you can put the responsibility back where it belongs? Do you want to forgive them … for yourself?"

I am watching her … my body is shaking. I had no idea, no idea at all, that forgiving wasn't about letting it be okay. I had not forgiven myself either, for surrendering my own son … I punished myself daily. Almost telling myself that I would never forgive what I'd done until my son was able to tell me he forgave me. I nodded my head, tears falling from my cheeks, as she opened a drawer in her file cabinet, sat back down with a folder in her hand, and held it out to me, "Take this." She said.

I reached out and took the blue folder. She said, sternly almost, "There is no statute of limitations for sex crimes in the state of Colorado."

She was physically handing me the ability to forgive. But was I prepared to receive it? What this meant was that I would no longer punish myself in pity and anger and loss, but I would instead go forward in courage, taking back what belonged to me. Innocence. Life. Happiness. The ability to love. I would be able to look into the faces of my abusers and say, "I forgive you … but that doesn't mean you get away with what you've done. I forgive you because I deserve to. I am giving it back to you, and I am no longer going to be a prisoner to the effects of what you did to me."

Several months and four sessions later I said goodbye to Marie with tears in my eyes. While it had taken only five sessions to begin the ground work … the journey had just begun. Since the remainder of this story does not involve adoption I will stop here, but if anyone reading this now has suffered from abuse please feel free to contact me.

Relating what Marie taught me to the adoption of my son ….

That clinging to the destructive and harmful emotions of the adoption was not serving a worthy cause.
That not forgiving myself for surrendering my first born was a way to punish myself for as long as necessary, or until my son would be able to tell me he did not hate me. Hoping almost that he would feel "better" about me knowing how miserable I had been.
That I was holding onto the "root" feelings ie; those initial relinquishment moments, instead of looking towards the outcome. I became "stuck" as the fifteen year old who "gave her baby up" and wouldn't allow myself to grow any further.
That I internally and almost sub-consciously blamed family members and those who were involved in the adoption which caused me to inadvertently withdraw from those I loved.
That by not forgiving myself I was un-aware of the "real" feelings I had not yet dealt with and therefore was emotionally void.

Forgiving doesn't mean that you forget. Forgiving doesn't mean you are not still responsible for your actions. Forgiving doesn't mean that there are no consequences. Forgiving is for you, girl, for you to be able to break out of this cycle of punishing yourself, to release yourself from the utter and total devastation that continues to effect you because you cannot find peace.

Facing Forgivness

Despite nothing getting accomplished during eight years of trying, I continued to confront the adoption agency I went through. Politely, and always very kind, I would call the agency at least once every three months to talk about why I had not received all the pictures and letters I was promised. Deep down inside … I wanted contact. I wanted the pictures and letters as well, but my real true desire was communication between myself and the adoptive parents of my son. That was partly what fueled me. I wanted them to know I existed, that I loved him, and that I wanted an open adoption.

My other "fuel" was derived from the pain of betrayel. They had changed his name secretly even after that was only one of two requests that were contingent upon their adopting my son. They had not lived up to what my expectations were. The one letter I did receive was only four paragraphs long and in it was stated that, "No further correspondense would take place." The pictures were old, and I wanted more. I was angry and bitter. I was mad at myself more than anything for putting myself into this situation. So for nearly ten years I continued to call the agency, to write letters, and to fill boxes and boxes of presents and letters and pictures for my son, so that he would know without a doubt that I did not want to not know him.

And I did this year after year, praying and knowing that if only I could see him or talk to his parents … I would be okay. I would be able to go on. I could forgive myself because I would make it right again.

Then it happened. During the ninth year a new caseworker made the mistake of revealing my son's last name. I could find him myself now.

I cannot tell you the magnitude of emotion I went through in the following days, nor could I recall how many hours I spent just holding the telephone in my shaking hand. The answer was given and I had a way out of the pain. Or did I?

I spent the following days praying and crying, screaming and silently dazed. I made the decision to contact the agency, and to go about this the "legal" way. I would give the agency one last chance to do their job. To facilitate.

The President of the agency assured me that she would honor my respect of my son's family and she would contact them and try once more to get them to agree to correspondence. That two weeks I spent waiting cannot be written in words.

I could not wait any longer and finally called the president back. She explained, "Well, I did talk to them a week ago and they said they would think about sending a letter. I spoke with them again several days ago and got the impression that they had written the letter and it was in the mail."

Going about things the "right" way had paid off. I would be getting a letter. I was thrilled. But another two weeks went by and I had heard nothing. I finally gave in and called the president again and was horrified to hear her tell me, "I just don't know what happened … I tried calling them as I too was concerned about the letter arriving and it seems that their phone has been disconnected."

I hung the phone up in sobs. It just couldn't be true. I wanted it to be true that the president just wasn't doing her job and was lying to me. So, I began to search. I wanted to know if she was telling me the truth, that my son's parents had disconnected their phone. Three weeks later I had my son's telephone number in front of me. I dialed. When I heard the disconnect message I broke, and I didn't believe I could ever feel as close to giving up as I did then.

Then I began to wonder … what would cause them to disconnect their telephone? My respect of their privacy by not contacting them myself as soon as I had the option to should have been a sign of trust, not one that would cause fear. My mind began to work. The anger reared its ugly head again and I had to release it. Someone had to be to blame.

I confronted the president once again, "You're not telling me the whole story. I need to know the truth about what happened when you talked to them. I cannot believe they would disconnect their phone for no reason."

After bantering back and forth for a while I finally gave in to complete rage, "You better tell me right now what happened or I'll get an attorney."

To which she replied, "Good luck on that, but since you're going to be rude and treat me like this I'll tell you the truth … I did call the parents but I called them to inform them that you knew where they lived, as I felt it was my responsibility to let them know what we, as an agency, had done and to be accountable for our mistakes."

I dropped the phone so hard that day that it broke into a thousand pieces, just as my heart had. I felt empty and broken. What had I ever done to deserve this? It turned out, two weeks later that they had written a letter. When I went to pick it up, along with all the items I had sent to the agency over the last ten years, I not only discovered a heart-wrenching letter but also that most of my things were missing from their files.

After many days of depression, I finally pulled myself out of it by taking on a new mission. I would make contact. That was the only way I could forgive myself and get on with my recovery.

But for every time I picked up the telephone … I remembered why I had chosen adoption for my son. Because it was best for him. I thought about my reasons and what they meant to me. Because I wanted to give my son a life of happiness and opportunity.

And day after day I slowly realized … my contacting my sons family was not for him, it was for me. And that, to me, would be just as un-fair to him as if I had parented him.

I had to relinquish my son all over again. And once more … for all the right reasons. This time though … it wasn't about the agency and what they did or didn't do and it had nothing at all to do with the adoptive parents and what they did or didn't do. There were no expectations to be dashed and nothing that would be the base for my ability to recover or heal or journey on. It was me. Just me. My reasons and my facing the decisions I'd made.

I had to forgive myself. I had to let go of everything else and face the real me.

Would seeing my son help me do that? Yes, but I need to be able to forgive myself with or without that. Would having correspondense with his parents help? Yes. But I need to be able to forgive myself with or without it. Because the truth is, what I asked for, what I received, my expectations and all of that herein, has nothing to do with the act of relinquishment itself and the choice I made.

While many of you may not have had to deal with circumstances such as mine, there are key issues that all of us have to address despite our relinquishment differences.

Surrendering our babies, even into the best of circumstances, causes us to question our self-worth. It brings on feelings of guilt and sometimes shame.
Often times we go on to limit ourselves in the future because we harbor those feelings, and feel that we don't "deserve" happiness.
Or we do the opposite and set expectionally high goals to push ourselves in order to validate our decision.
We base our forgiveness on if we feel worthy of it or not. Not forgiving ourselves takes the form of self-punishment or fuel for becoming over-achievers.
Because the unacknowledged pain is so overwhelming we channel it by placing the negative emotions onto others in the form of blame. After all, if the pain we feel is everyone else's fault – then what do we need to forgive ourselves for anyway

When I Relinquished Again

I had to physically go back to the agency. I had to "see" the fifteen year old I once was again in order to forgive her. I had to go back to that time and place before any of the other issues took place. I had to get to the "core."

Not many will be able to do this, and I am not writing this as a "recommendation," but just to illustrate for you what I had to do in order to forgive myself.

The agency had changed in appearance and the actual room where I had physically handed my son over to his adoptive parents was no longer there. But the walls were the same and they still held my past. I took my daughter, who was six at the time, with me. Because I had to forgive myself as well … for the choices I made in relinquishing my son and parenting my daughter. I had lived too long feeling guilty for being her mother and not even knowing what my son looked like.

We stood in the hallway, hand in hand, for several moments. During the drive I had explained to her where we were going, and she had very little questions. She knew, mommy had given her brother a new family and that her mommy loved him very much.

As tears fell from my eyes my daughter asked, "Is this where my brother got a new family?" I nodded yes. She smiled at me and asked, "Well, where are all the families waiting at then?" I couldn't help but laugh a small laugh. But I also knew it was time for me to do what I had come to do. I walked my daughter back to the reception area and gave her a magazine to read and told her I would be back shortly.

I went into the room where I had spent time with my son before actually handing him to his parents. It was as if I were living it all over again. His scent seemed to fill my nose and I could hear my shaking voice seep from the walls as I sang to him that day. I stood in the center of the room, turning slowly again and again, closing my eyes remembering my last moments with my son. With my face pressed to his body I heard my words just as if I were saying them for the first time, "Don't ever forget that I love you … I love you … I love you … I'm so sorry that I can't be your mommy …I'm so sorry …." I wrapped him up in his little Precious Moment blanket and held him close to my body, his beautiful eyes staring up at me as if to say … "It's okay … I'll be okay."

That day I witnessed myself as if going back in time. I saw the fifteen year old I once was … holding the baby she would soon hand over. She dropped to the floor, kneeling under the pressure of aching sobs. Her body and heart wrought with the true, unhinged emotions of releasing her first born child. The loss and the grief, the pain and the sorrow. As I watched her, her face covered with her hands, tears seeping out from between her fingers … I was able for the first time, after ten years, to feel. I saw who she was, and from where she had come. I knew her pain and her life, and I saw what would happen to her in the years ahead. And I went to her, there in that room. I knelt beside her and told her … "I forgive you." I heard another voice that day in that room just before I walked away. It said, "It's okay … he is in My Hands … and so have you been as well."

I held my daughters hand on the way to our van outside and for the first time I loved her without any guilt. And when I looked up into sky … I was able to think of my son somewhere out there beneath the same clouds as I … and not hate myself for what I had done.

"Mommy … are you okay?" she asked as I put her seatbelt on.

I smiled, through wet tears, "I am honey. I really am."

Forgiveness is … breaking free from the chains of anger.

When I forgave myself I was no longer angry.

Forgiveness is … transferring responsibility to its rightful owner.

When I accepted that I had made the choice, I took responsibility for it.

Forgiveness is … peace.

When I faced the truth … the lies and the blame diminished and I found peace.

Forgiveness is … accepting the consequences.

The consequences are an every day reality. I am not my son's parent.

Forgiveness is … releasing the painful emotions that hinder or bind you.

I had to go back to find the emotions, in order to release them.

Forgiveness is … being accountable for your actions.

I couldn't let the blame and the anger control my life, nor could I use it as an excuse to not fulfill the expectations my other children had of me.

Forgiveness is … being stronger than that which attempts to destroy you.

I couldn't let the agency or the adoptive parents stop me from finding life again.

Forgiveness is … a sign of courage.

I had to do it. No one else could. It was the only way.

Forgiveness and how the Adoptive Mother Can Help …

Forgiveness is solely a birth mother's journey and it happens throughout time, often over and over again. In reality, adoptive mother's cannot possibly help, other than being sensitive to the birth mother. There is one common trait between birth mother and adoptive mother though …

~ A birth mother struggles with forgiving herself for what she's done, as well as struggling with forgiving family members, or the birth father. She has so many un-ending questions … ‘Why did I have to relinquish?' ‘Am I being punished?'

~ An adoptive mother struggles with forgiving God. The pain she experiences when discovering she is un-able to bear children creates the same kind of questions … ‘Why can't I have children?' ‘Am I being punished?'

I have witnessed adoptive mothers and birth mothers sharing their individual stories and I have seen the power of healing through broken hearts. Though there may not ever be a time or place in your relationship with your birth mother … often when we "connect" with one another we begin to find the courage to forgive for we realize that we really aren't alone.