I See Dead Patterns

Recently, an especially ODIOUS person took time out from his very important day to chastise a young blogger - trying to come to terms with some serious nature-of-birth-identity-issues - and advised her to unstick herself from the past and just get on with her life.

I'm paraphrasing, but you get the point because, if you're adopted or a first mother or have a sperm donor Dad, you've heard it.

It occurred to me - last weekend - that reflecting on the past is CRITICAL, not because we want to wallow in it, but because we need to figure out how we COPED with it and discover if all those coping strategies are working for us today.

There are certain things I do that bug me. Really bug me. I had no idea where they came from, only that they made me uncomfortable. These behaviors could ruin an otherwise nice, family weekend. Keep me up at night. Send me into a non-productive frenzy in which I scurried around and got absolutely nothing important done. Or, took a nap.

One example:

When I meet someone new, I'm not me. I knock myself out trying to be nice and saying the right thing. Afterward, I'm drained. Like I made a major effort against my inner will. It's very Pavlovian. Meet a stranger. Act super friendly!

Why? Why why why???

Epiphany while visiting my adoptive Dad. He introduces me to one of the nurses in his dementia unit and he says, "Doesn't she look like a clown with that lipstick? Tell her it looks awful. She won't believe me."

So what did I do? Stepped in front of my Dad's wheelchair, in effect blocking him, and said in my brightest voice: "I LOVE your lipstick!!! What brand is it? Oh, MAC. I LOVE Mac..."

We then have a 5-minute chat about the virtues of MAC lipstick for us ethnic women.

Yes my Dad has dementia. But he's ALWAYS done this sort of thing, as far back as I can remember. When I was around 10, we were at a wedding and some old friends of my a-mom stopped to show off their baby. He was a big, bald, chubby thing. I'm already cringing, but it's no use. My Dad says, "Kinda looks like Kruschev doesn't he?"

I'll never forget the look on their faces. Wounded eyes and their shoulders sagged.

So what did I do?

I jumped up, declared the baby to be the CUTEST BABY EVER!!! and then, to prove it, spent the rest of the wedding carting Baby Kruschev around making the biggest fuss you've ever seen. Did I really want to do that? No. I wanted to run around with the rest of the kids my age, but I couldn't. Not lugging around a 25 pound infant.

Reflecting on the past helped me understand the patterns. Oh, that is what my A-Dad does. This is my coping strategy. I'm a fixer. Now that I know I'm a fixer I can retrain myself to STOP because I don't like fixing things and it leaves me emotionally drained and resentful.

Another case in point. I called my Dad at the appointed hour. He complains non-stop and, at one point, tells me he's so mad at "Bernie" that he's going to punch him. I tell my Dad he is not allowed to hit Bernie and threaten consequences like you would a pre-schooler itching for a fight.
Sure enough, the phone rings an hour later. My Dad is complaining of chest pains and is demanding the paramedics. Normally, I'd spend all evening calling him every half hour, call the nurses, have a lousy night's sleep with the phone next to my pillow and yammer at my tired husband about my manipulative Dad.

Last night I DIDN'T. I KNEW my Dad was pulling my strings. Besides, I wanted to focus on my 16-year old and HER mock trial competition which ended last night and she was in the mood to talk. So we did and I didn't think about my Dad beyond determing that he was having an anxiety attack and that he had settled down.

Now that's progress!!! That's identifying old patterns and coping strategies and being mindful of them and trying to move past them.

(The coping strategies mentioned aren't really adoptee related, but those linked to being raised by a narcissist without empathy or filters. I DO have adoptee-related-anecdotes but these are easier to explain and a little more entertaining. )

Every person - the adopted and non-adopted - have coping strategies. But it's arguable that adoptees have more...rooted in our reaction to loss and grief and trying to fit into a family of genetic strangers. We're dancing the Adoptee Dance, a fast and furious and sometimes exhausting jig.