Flourish and Liminal Space -- A Guest Blog Post By Adopted People

In our first Flourish class, Pam talked about the idea of liminal space. She talked about the gap between the craving and the having, and how the gap is where new choices are possible. 

This is the briefest summary of what was a powerful teaching. What I want you to focus on in this post is not what she taught, but what people had to say about existing in the space between because a great way to learn to cope with living in the body of an adopted person is to hear the experiences of other people who are like us.

The assignment was to write a paragraph or two (or seventeen thousand) on what being in this space between craving and satisfaction is like for you.

When I feel anxious and overwhelmed, my first impulse is to DO something. If I sit in stillness instead of plunging into the next thing, it feels like treading water and then suddenly stopping. I'm afraid I will freefall into a pit of worthlessness. If I'm not busy, I'm not contributing. If I'm not contributing, no one will want me. I want to thrash and fight that sinking feeling. When I manage to breathe and rest in stillness a moment longer, sometimes I can float, just slightly, buoyed by a shy and nascent sense of innate worth. When I trust that floating feeling, the buoyancy increases.

Lori 

I live in the liminal space
I exist in the cracks. 
Never fully living, but not dying either.
I won’t take up much space.

I am both invincible and utterly destroyed,
Wanting desperately to rise above the loss
and to embrace connection and love.
Sitting in fear of both, 
exhausted

Sue 

I fucking hate liminal space. It is too still. It is vulnerable. I have to stop and listen for something I need to hear. It feels unsafe because I am not dictating the path. It feels out of control. I have experienced it enough to know that this is where the best growth occurs. I also know I don’t stay there very willingly. Every part of me tries to fight it. It is where I find my truest feelings—and those feelings scare me because they are real. I struggle to feel authentic and real feelings bring me to consciously acknowledge my own presence when I would rather run away (self-soothe and self-medicate).

Kristin 

As an adoptee, I have found myself in the liminal space of seeking food, my addiction, to fill the empty void I have always felt since birth of “not being good enough.” Not good enough to have been kept by my birth mom, not good enough, due to my size, to have been able to wear the cute clothes, from Frederick and Nelson’s, that my adoptive mom wanted to dress me in as a child, feeling not good enough on the job, even though I worked harder and longer than others, and always seeking approval from my supervisor and those who were around me.

It is exhausting to be in this liminal space and eating the food to fill the void only makes me more exhausted and less able to move forward.  As I get older, I am learning to care less about what others think of me and the real test will be this holiday season—whether or not I will be able to be peaceful internally, without having to fill the void either with food or sending everyone I know a holiday gift they aren’t expecting….or will I succumb to still seeking the approval of others?

Patricia 

As I learn and think about liminal space, I’m realizing it’s not necessarily for all people, but for exceptional people. As an adoptee, I consider myself to be an exceptional person. I’m not going to explain this distinction, but those who truly understand the adoptee and the adoptee experience will not require an explanation. When I first learned of liminal space, I struggled with the concept because I thought it had to be constant. I was wrong. It’s a place for me when my trauma becomes too much. When life is too much, my go to liminal space is the physicality of a wide-body jet. It’s a jet because when my trauma hits the fan, I need to escape. Most of us escape to our addictions. My addiction is traveling. As an adoptee, travel has been a very important part of my life because of the constant seeking of knowledge from where I came. The other aspect of travel is that it can be sold as an adventure an exploration. In my case, the main goal was escaping and leaving a problem. It is my own personal cloak of invisibility. 

 Ron

I have never struggled with obvious addictions. I never tried drugs or used alcohol to numb the pain, because numbing the bad also numbs the good. I never wanted to lose control or have to fight an addiction later. I have struggled with worry and perfectionism, but that was to maintain control too. So maybe I was addicted to control, but I have never felt bad about it except in retrospect. What worry and perfectionism were, were biproducts of being adopted and once I understood that, they melted away. 

I define the liminal space as sitting with my own knowing (as Glennon Doyle would say). The liminal space makes me curious about if this is what I really want and why. Does this action or “thing” match my inside feelings. If not, how do I fix it? Curiosity makes way for understanding, which is half the battle of fixing. The fixing may not be instantaneous, but it is the beginning of the process. The more times I visit this liminal space and there is dissonance between what I am doing and how I feel about it, the more motivated I am to change and fix it.

Joy 

I struggle with this concept and writing about it because it feels like my whole life has been one big liminal space, that I’ve never really gotten out of my cocoon. Of course I lived my life, consumed space, given, have had lovely experiences, have had unlovely experiences. But it feels like those lovely experiences were accents to my my life and not central to it, not core to who I am.  Because it feels like I am not sure of who I am. Certainly not confident in it.  When my adoptive mom was alive, she put daylillies in my garden. Because they were free and they take over. More free flowers.  Yay. I hate daylillies.  When she died, that next spring the first thing I did was claim my own garden and got rid of all of those daylillies.  My sister disowned me three days after my mom died - that was 18 years ago and I’m still dead to her. My life is better for it. I hate daylillies - pervasive, intrusive, uninvited.

In the space between lives, between chapters, the liminal space is scary because it means I can listen and choose. I can choose. What if I choose my new found bio sibs but they don’t choose me back? What if my first ma decides I’m nuts? I was so mad at her for keeping me a secret all those years, but now I feel wildly connected to her and love her deeply. And I am so afraid of messing it up. 

Maybe I can choose to flip the switch of my lovely experiences and just decide that those, and whoever I will become, will be me. Maybe I’m my own garden after all.  Maybe I can take better care of myself. Maybe I can just start by being a good listener to myself, the way I try with others.  I still hate daylillies.

Jane

If I stayed in this space, this luminal space, I know initially I’d feel anxious... maybe even panicked. My body would be tight, rigid, gripping...like it’s been since conception.  Maybe the thoughts about wanting to die would resurface. 

Maybe if I stayed in this space long enough I’d find I have important things to share. Maybe I’d be able to loosen my throat to speak. Maybe I could speak my truth and that desire to speak would be stronger than the fear of rejection. Maybe I’d ask for help. Maybe I wouldn’t be afraid to ask for connection. Maybe I’d be freed from the bullshit lies I’ve told myself over the years about how I’m not worthy enough. Maybe I’d be seen. Maybe I’d find space to love myself. Maybe my body would relax. Maybe, just maybe I’d want to live.

 Christine

When I bring my presence to the liminal space between my primal wound and my adoption I struggle to explain my experience and gain empathy from my audience.  I feel like I am describing something so foreign to help others understand my perspective, and struggle to find the language to explain my newfound truth.  I get agitated and impatient because of others core beliefs about adoptees and how fucking grateful we should feel. I want to wake the world up with an adoptee alarm clock!

Jen

In the space between me and having/needing/wanting to do something is always first a quick flash of rage that I let flame out in my stomach. I know if I look at it or feel it, I will shame myself with how hot I am, how angry, how alone.  When I can look up, I resent the thing that I have/need/want to do for making me feel and I want to punish it by not doing it.  Not engaging with it or with “you”, the person who may have mentioned, or asked, or told me to do the think I have/need/want to do.  

I want someone to do it with me. Not for me, or to me. Not tell me how, or show me what they do.  I want to do this thing with you.  Grocery shopping, replacing the insurance certificate, deciding on a menu item. I can’t seem to communicate on how basic a level I need someone to do this thing with me.  Now, I will do this thing alone, next week, maybe never. I will stay alone and be undone because that’s what I deserve.

Dawn

It happens so quickly I don’t even know it’s coming, wanting to numb out. I feel a tightening in my gut. There’s a moment of “deer in the headlights”, then fear and then the familiar wash of overwhelm.  It’s as if I am not able to speak, feel, think or see-the chalkboard is blank.  I am vaguely aware of my need to get myself somewhere where I am alone.

Suanne