Letting Go Of The Past Isn't So Easy

   ***warning: This Blog Post Contains Content that may not be suitable for a younger crowd.**
 
    I suppose to really start to heal I have to be completely honest and accepting of my past. It isn't JUST a about finding my biological father, as I have come to realize over months of digging deep within myself.  I suppose that I've been searching for evidence that I won't end up like the one person that broke my heart the most in life, my mother.
     As I type that last sentience, my gut churns.  I know the consequences of being too honest too publicly. They will not be pleasant or inviting. However, this is my journey and after contemplating for the last week if I can do this, if I can be totally honest, I realize that I have to. I can't hide behind fear any longer.  My mother will not be happy about this, as a matter of fact, I'm not sure if she was truly thrilled when I started all of this earlier this year. She emailed me that she felt like I was making her look like a whore.  It's unfortunate that she felt that way because that wasn't my intention nor did I feel like I was portraying her in that manner. For the most part, other than the necessary basic details about my search, she wasn't an integral part of my search. This is why...from the time I realized I didn't have a father like other children, she was of absolutely no help in finding the man that shared my DNA.

"If I had known I needed a social security number before I slept with somebody...."
was a pretty standard reply in the most defensive of tones from her, even as a child as young as 8 this would be my answer.  I was laced in guilt for my birth and often carried such a tremendous sense of loneliness. 

     I don't blame her anymore. I used to.  I used to live with such anger towards this woman for all the things that took place in my childhood...the lies, the abuse, the fear, the guilt....now I just feel sorry for her.  She was 18 when she had me.  Growing up she would  remind me of how lucky I was that I wasn't living with Nuns because she didn't plan on keeping me.  In Mom's backwards way of showing her love, she would explain in detail how she would try to exterminate her pregnancy with me with no luck.

"Not even falling down the stairs, beating my stomach, or drinking...."  She would say.  "I tried to get rid of you. I didn't tell anyone but  my best friend that I was pregnant up until 2 weeks before you were born." 

    Then the story goes that the catholic church was supposed to take me away; she was never supposed to see me but she was accidentally allowed to see me by a nurse working that night in April...and she decided to keep me. 

     I see now that she wanted me to be thankful to her for not giving me up, however; when you're a small child and you're told this story the only thing you grasp from such a story is that you were never wanted.   As I said, I don't blame her anymore.  She probably didn't know better.  She thought she was doing the right thing at the time, but I can't tell you how many times as a child I prayed God would go back to the night I was born so the nurse could haul me off to the nuns down the hall. 

     My grandparents were very instrumental in raising me. I knew I was loved by them, mostly my Grandma. She took care of me the majority of the time and when my Mom left Florida and moved Georgia, I stayed with her for quite some time.  My mom then became pregnant with my sister when I was 6 and I came to live with her in Georgia.  When my little sister was  born, I was so happy.  I loved that baby so much.  So did our Mom.  She often told me she loved us both but it was different with my sister because she "had her to herself to raise".  Again, I'm sure  my Mom thought it was nothing but to a 6/7 year old all I felt was unloved and like I didn't belong in this new family.   Sometime later my Mom started to become physically abusive to me and when my brother was born, to him as well.  Again, I would pray for things to be different. 

     The first time I tried to kill myself I was in 2nd grade. This is the first time I've ever talked about this but I remember thinking that it hurt too much to live where I wasn't love, where I couldn't tell my Grandma the truth about what was happening, and to be beat for doing whatever it was that annoyed my Mom.  I remember hearing an episode of Oprah that talked about a little boy hanging himself in the closet by his belt.  I looked for a belt that afternoon and wanted to do the same thing. I wanted to just be done and maybe God would let me start over in a new life.  But, I failed.  I cried on the floor of my closet when I couldn't  even figure out how to do this the right way. I felt like a failure. I just wanted the pain to stop.  I wanted to be with my Grandma. I wanted to belong.  My  Mom never knew about that attempt. It's a good thing, she wouldn't have taken it very well.

    That's when I started having these fantasies about what my real father must be like.  As a child, it was like a fairy tale that played in my head.  One day he would discover the truth about me and rescue me.  I'm not saying my life was horrible. I know people go through much harder and tough times than I ever went through,  but it definitely was not easy.   A lot of it has been kept pushed so far down that I forgot I was holding on to such terrible memories...and now it's like they're all clawing to come out.  I think this the only way I can truly get over it and begin to find some sort of peace.

    So, this blog is a living, breathing work in progress...this blog is Me.  Thank you for reading. No matter if you're a supporter or accidentally stumbled upon it, Thank you. 

Why so Public?

"You're making this a public issue again. Why?" 

I am sure some of you have asked that question after reading my blog and hearing my story.  I asked myself that before I hit the 'publish' button.  The answer is simple...because I wanted to. 

Does that make me selfish? Maybe to some.  
Does that make me a bad person? No, I don't think so.  

A wise lady told me that he reacted this way because he didn't have the control in this situation.  I pondered her statement and replied, 

"But, he does have the control..."

With an eyebrow raised she replied, "No, actually, you do. You're in control. You declined further news interviews.  You choose to think of his family and their feelings before your own when you took everything offline, even though you had no definitive answers.  You could have went public with all the information you had and he knew this but YOU made the decision not to do so.  You have the control. You still do.  
Have you considered blogging?"  

That was my light bulb moment.  I never lost control of my life.  I have had the control this entire time.  I just allowed myself to be so consumed by the reaction of this man that I never took the time to realize the position I was in.  

Let's rewind, shall we. 

I never got the DNA proof that this man was my biological father.  Everything lined up as far as his name, him being in that area at the time I was conceived, the band he played in,  etc. etc. etc.  He never admitted that he was my father nor did he say he had any inclination that I existed.  If this wasn't him, then I would have to have another serious discussion my mother.   However, when I spoke to this gentleman, he gave me some medical history of HIS family because that's what I was most curious about learning from my biological father or his family.  (Why would anyone volunteer this information unless they felt there was a possibility they were the father.) As I mentioned previously, he told me he would call me back in a week. 

I never received another call from him.  He got his wish. I went radio silent...because HE ASKED ME TO!  Even though I questioned whether or not stopping my search completely would hinder me from finding him should this man not be the man I was looking for.   

How is this fair to me?  This whole time I've been giving respect and loyalty to a man that I've never met.  That made me feel as though I was a horrible human being.  What about me?  What about my children?  How is it fair to US? 

So, back to the question at hand,  I'm making this public because I want to.  I don't feel like I owe him or anyone else any sort of explanation.  This is solely for me to deal with the pain I've been dealing with and through this blog I may be able to help others in some way.   I've already had private messages with people pouring their hearts out.  I know what it's like to keep things so bottled up that you shut the world away....and push those away that love you.  I have done just that over the last 6 months.  So, if someone feels like they can reach out to me and I can be that shoulder to them, because they feel a connection to my story, WONDERFUL!  Without pain there would be no compassion. 

I may never get the answers that I want and that's going to be something I have to accept.  I know one thing for sure, I will not let this define who I am and take away my joy any longer. 

Until Next Time...

Words have Power

It has been six months exactly since the search for my biological father came to a shattering halt. 
 The power of social media is a double edge sword.  I was 'that girl' that held a .50 cent poster board with words written out neatly pleading my story to a public audience.  Call me naive but I didn't expect MY story to go viral.  But...it did. Within a weeks time my picture was shared over SIXTY FIVE THOUSAND times.  Multiple news outlets around the globe took my story, MY STORY, and broadcasted it just to help me.  A stranger.  It was humbling and terrifying.  I had hundreds, maybe even thousands, of personal messages to my Facebook with messages of support and willingness to help out in any way. It was truly a testament to the good that still exists in people.  My supervisor admitted to staying up at night prowling the internet for leads determined to find this person for me.  It was just amazing to know I had so many people on my side.  It was crazy to see that numbers climb daily with the amount of "shares & likes" my story was receiving.  As that rollercoaster made it's way to the top of the slope, I never anticipated how fast and low the drop would be once the rollercoaster dropped.  

Within a week and a half I was contacted by Inside Edition, I politely declined. I had a very promising lead and I didn't want to ruin my chances.  The funny thing about news outlets such as Inside Edition, they don't care what you say they're after 'the story' and unbeknownst to me, they had already contacted the man that was suspected to be my biological father.  I was contacted by the person that had given me the lead and let me know what happened and how upset this man was that this was so public.   I was angry.  I was devastated.  How could I contact him now knowing he probably assumed I was an attention whore?  I never expected any of the attention that I was receiving.  

It was a week before my 33rd birthday when my iPhone registered a phone call from a "Blocked Number".  It literally said "Blocked Number" and I was a bit skeptical. I wouldn't answer it being that I had received multiple phone calls from news agencies all over the US & UK.  An hour later the number called again.  I asked my husband to answer and tell whoever it was that I was not taking calls.  I overheard the voice on the other end.  I knew this wasn't a news-station. This was HIM.   I immediately took the phone.  I had a hard time pronouncing the simple "Hello" so he would know I was on the line.  He spoke the words...
"Jennifer?  This is _____.  Crazy huh?"  

All of my life I imagined what that moment would be like. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting but it sure wasn't what was about to go down. 

I won't go into great detail at this time  but at one point in the conversation I was told "You ruined my life."  

"YOU RUINED MY LIFE" 

Have you ever heard that words hold power?  I never put much thought into that until those four words were spoken into my ear and broke my heart into a million tiny pieces.  Right there, on my bedroom floor, I cried for the little girl that always wanted to know what her father looked like. I cried for the teenage girl that wondered if her dimple was a physical trait she inherited from her father   I cried for the woman I was at that moment feeling completely gutted and broken.  

As if I was grieving a death, I experienced many emotions after that day.  One day I would be so consumed by sadness that it was a real chore dressing every day.  Other days I was so angry that I wanted to punch something or someone.  I would justify his reaction one day and the next I was so pissed off I wanted to call him again and use the voice I lost to fear the day he called -- to tell him what a jerk he was.  

In that conversation he told me I was to get everything off the internet.  He was willing to talk to me but I had to get everything removed from the internet.  He said he would call again in one week but I had to contact Google and have everything taken down.  I tried to explain that I didn't think this was possible but I would try my best.  I did as he asked to the best of my ability. I took down everything on my Facebook page. I declined all news interviews. I declined that film company that wanted to help me find my father, because remember, we didn't do a DNA test to determine if this man accusing me of ruining his life was my father.  I tried to disappear like a thief in the night online and just let the story die down. I didn't want to cause anymore ripples in his perfect family life. I was giving this stranger my word because the last thing he told me was he was a 'man of his word' and he would call me again to discuss this further.  I was the idiot that believed he was actually a man of his word.   

I gave him way too much power.  I gave those words power.

This is my road to recovery.  This is my taking back the power.  This is ME, completely flawed and imperfect, taking back my life. I hope that through this blog I may be able to heal and possibly help others in some way.  We all want a happy ending but the truth is life, REAL LIFE, isn't always rainbows and butterflies.

Until next time...