The Million-Dollar Birthday Card for Adopted People—Guest Blog Post by Sherry Espinosa (Title Mine)
It’s my birthday. My birth day. My emotions are all over the place.
I cleaned out the refrigerator this morning and wiped down all the shelves. I kept asking myself, “Why are you doing this? Why are you using up all of your energy when you know the kids are coming over tonight?” But, it didn’t matter, I could not get my self to stop or do it half-ass. I feel a little manic or something, but I think what it really is is the urge to control my environment. A flare-up of my OCD because I’m living in a body that remembers. I want to organize everything, put everything in its place, wipe everything down. And when I look around and see all the little household tasks I’ve had to let go because of my health, it makes me feel rage—part of it aimed at Hamilton because he doesn’t see the things I see that need to be done.
He lives a much more relaxed life. A happy-go-lucky kind of life. A life I’m not familiar with. Watching him joyfully take Stella for a walk, hop in the shower, go pick up Madison to take her shopping for my birthday—my birth day—brings up this mix of feelings. He asked if there’s anything I want for a present, and again I felt rage. Apparently, his happiness, love and kindness is a real trigger for my body today. How dare he be so jovial? (This is just my sarcasm putting in her two cents worth. She keeps me sane.)
I know this isn’t the norm for someone with a family excited to celebrate their birthday. But my birth day is not something that feels celebratory. People say “happy birthday” without thinking about the actual birth. For most people it’s pleasant. For me, it’s not.
It feels like a day that should come with condolences, not balloons.
Maybe what people could say to me on my birthday is something like:
“Happy birthday. I understand this can be a difficult day for you and that’s hard. Today is your day to feel however you want. You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to be happy for me. If you want to smile, that’s great. If you want to be sad or mad or quiet, that’s great too. Today is about you, not my expectations. If you want companionship, I’m here. If you want quiet, I’ll sit with you. I won’t ask what’s wrong. I’ll just know.”
Because the instinct others have—to buy gifts, make a fancy dinner, take me out, sing songs—is often about what they want to express, not what I need to feel safe.
I don’t know what else to write except: this sucks.
And also: I’m grateful. I’m blessed. It’s hard for me to receive love. I don’t know how to do it well. I know how deeply I love others, but I can’t wrap my head around how deeply others might love me.
What I want on my birth day is to allow myself to receive love—from my family, from my friends. I want to be free.
I intend to love myself through this emotional day. I intend to be gentle with myself, to not feel guilty if I don’t respond the way I think I need to or the way others expect me to. I won’t beat myself up for these feelings moving through my body—my body that is just trying to hang on.
I intend to stay as present as I can so I can enjoy whatever parts of today are meant for me. These are just intentions; whether they happen or not doesn’t mean I failed. I’m simply telling myself that it’s okay to feel happiness and joy if I want to.
I know I’m working on healing the story of my birth. It’s a process. A back-and-forth, up and down and sideways process.
And the fact that I’m sitting here writing all of this is pretty goddamn remarkable.
I feel like saying:
“Happy birthday, Sherry.
You are resilient.
I’m glad I’m getting to know you.
I love you.”
*A note from Anne: I titled this “A Million-Dollar Birthday Card” because I think the card content Sherry created could earn a million dollars if such a card were available. Right? I’d buy one.
