The Balancing Act

In my imaginary conversations with E, home alone, in the dark, in my bed, I used to tell her "I think about you every moment of day." For a while that was true, but somehow I just realized it's not anymore.

It's been ten months since I've seen her-- the longest time in her almost-five-year life. I still think about her a lot and my heart aches to get back to her when I do, but there's been a shift. I heard grief once described as a shadow: you can try to run away from it or hide, but it's always going to be there. You just learn to get used to it and live with it.

She's at the age now where she's started asking questions about the adoption. Her mom keeps me posted with the highlights.

Referring to me as "the person who gave birth to me".

Saying I need to come straight over after getting back to the West Coast ("after you unpack" haha! Thanks E).

I felt okay about going to the other side of the country for a year because she didn't really need me and I needed to see what life was like outside that world, but a few weeks ago it hit me that I really really needed to see her, and not being able to just drive over was killer. Now with her asking questions and needing answers from me, I am ready to get back. Like, NOW.

It's a hard balance as a birthparent. On the one hand, you've chosen this life for you and your child so you can each do things you otherwise might not have been able to. For me that list includes graduating high school (check!), then college (check! check!), traveling the world (work in progress), having the freedom to pursue exactly what I want to do with my life.... For her the includes having two loving, stable parents, having an incredible sister, a phenomenal stay at home mom... It's just difficult when following those dreams--the reasons I chose adoption in the first place-- pull me away from that piece of my heart walking around in the world. When sometimes the pain of the lack of her is so thick it's almost tangible, all I want to do is run back to my hometown so I can see her everyday, but my brain tells me, this is what I'm supposed to be doing. This is what I chose.

I'm not sure that part will ever fully heal, but I think I'm okay with that. It's a reminder of who I am: a birthmother, and what I have: an incredible, adorable, scary intelligent daughter.