Forgiveness vs. Letting Go...

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For years after my mother passed, my mantra was "Let it Go." I was aware of my control issues and stubborn nature and convinced myself I had work to do in this arena.

This mantra was a tough one. In order to let go, you must first care deeply about what you are releasing. That was a doozy.

Time and time again, I would face a loss and a challenge to release: my mother, my fertility, a failed IVF, a failed adoption placement, a pet.

I got schooled.

I got through these years and felt stronger and wiser, like I had gone through war. I was proud. I felt I was letting go and easing my control.

It wasn't until the loss of a job and a paralyzing world pandemic that I realized I was an idiot.

Okay, maybe not an idiot. But I was shooting for the clouds instead of the stars. Letting go is challenging and essential, but I accomplished letting go because there is a level of disconnect that allows me to walk away and forget.

Let me elaborate...

A few weeks ago, I was sitting at the dining room table eating breakfast reading some devastating article about children and the psychological effects of the pandemic. I started thinking about how the adults of this world are damaging our youth, and the words,

"Forgive them, for they know not what they do," came into my head.

I immediately started crying.

Boss Baby blaring on the TV, Max pretending to get ready for school, and me full-blown, ugly crying into my morning muffin.

FUUUUUUUUCK! I don't know how to forgive.

Memories of my mother rushed into my head. All the times I was hurt or let down, I had let it go. I disconnected. It was as if it happened in a past life. I was so busy letting go of the incidences that occurred that I never forgave the human behind them. Sometimes that human was me.

Letting go of incidences that occur does not allow for communication or human connection. It is like forgiving a place in time.

Time doesn't give a shit.

Where is the connection? We are here to form relationships and grow together.

Forgiveness is a part of our human connection.

The phrase is forgive and forget, not just forget.

So how to forgive?

What do I know about forgiveness?

• It is more about me than it is about them

• You must let go of expectations

• You must look at what has hurt you and why

• You must look at what part you played in the pain

• You must cut out excuses

• You must renounce your anger and resentment

• Accept you can not change the past

• Find meaning in your suffering

• Empathy and compassion go a long way

I know all this and I still struggle.

It's the anger for me. I consider myself a pretty easygoing person. I'm kind, patient, and empathetic, but I feel a slow boiling within me, like a pressure cooker. The anger is still there. Without forgiveness, the anger sits there waiting. It comes out whenever it wants, like a child that has been ignored.

I get angry at situations and strangers. I am snarky and opinionated. I feel that if I am unhappy with the actions or opinions of others, then it is not worth my energy or time.

I'm out!

But I want to be better. Deep down it doesn't feel good. I want to learn to forgive before I walk away, before I let it go. No one is a lost cause. It is all about timing. It may not be time for some people to wake up or be the best human they can be. Me included. We are doing our best with what we have at this moment in time. I must let go of my expectations.

I'll be honest, I ain't there yet.

People...UGGH!

Am I right?!?

But I am working on it.

Looking through infertility glasses...

How infertility changed my perspective

Most little girls growing up assume they will have children of their own. It is the unspoken rule of when you are married and have children rather than if you are married and have children.

For most of my life I did not want children.

It could have been my rebellion against assumptions.

Or my spirit knowing my body could not support such actions.

Or my crazy childhood being the only reference I had to raising children.

I think it also had to do with being a competitive gymnast and professional dancer my whole life.

Boobs were the enemy! So children... forget about it.

But after meeting my husband and falling head over heels, I began to shift my mindset.

I suddenly thought of myself as a woman. I was a partner to another human, and I wanted the bond of sharing a child.

I knew it might be difficult.

At 15, I suspected I had endometriosis. My mother had it and I naively informed my obgyn that I thought I had endo.

Even though endometriosis rarely can be detected without exploratory laparoscopic surgery, the doc said "Nah, don't worry about it."

So, I didn't.

At age 18, a very large endometrial cyst burst, I bled internally and had emergency surgery. That started my life with endometriosis. I joked every doctor and their mother had seen my girl parts.

I was what the doctors called "past stage four". Whatever that means.

I had 5 surgeries to clean up my body in the hopes to have "quality of life"- not even thinking about childbirth.

I didn't realize that the surgeries were causing more problems. Endometriosis is scar tissue. It feels like spiderwebs made of razor blades, but in essence, it is scar tissue.

So after every surgery, I got worse.

Eventually they took both my fallopian tubes and talked of hysterectomy. I was never told the extent of my issue but I knew I could not give into a hysterectomy.

It wasn't until my husband and I found an endo specialist in New York and paid out of pocket to have a cutting edge (pardon the pun) surgery- that I felt any relief.

My bladder, bowels, reproductive organs and muscle tissue were adhered together in a ball.

The doctor was shocked I was still going to the bathroom and that I wasn't addicted to pain meds.

After a 6 hour surgery, my guts were separated and put back in their rightful place.

All the while, I was convinced my uterus was fine and would hold a baby.

After going through hell, and coming out the other end, I wanted a child.

We went to every infertility doctor within a 50 mile radius. They all said the same thing.

"We can put a baby inside, it just won't be your egg."

That was my first hit. I had to mourn the fact that my genes would not live on. But knowing my family history, I was accepting.

Josh and I would use a donated egg and his sperm for our child.

We were excited and pretty confident it would work.

Long story short...It didn't work and it crushed us. Looking back it doesn't make sense that we were so confident it would work. We assumed our lives would be a certain way.

Now two people had to mourn the loss of what they thought their life would be.

I couldn't accept this for quite a while.

I had always felt a strong connection to my body.

I felt it was possible.

I needed to try again.

Have another chance.

Try another doctor. I didn't want to give up.

After a while, you forget what you are even fighting for because you fight for so long.

One day I let go.

I let go of all the assumptions I had about my life. All the dreams I thought I had. All the guilt I carried for not be able to carry, and I let it go.

Josh and I are the parents of a beautiful boy that never lived inside my belly and we never felt robbed or gypped. We went through war together. Our relationship grew. We have been gifted with a life that we never thought could exist.

This long winded story is really a reminder that I foolishly assume life a certain way. We all do. We picture our existence and we hold strong to that picture.

Life has it's own ideas.

My perspective on the world right now, through these glasses...

Right now, I hate the way the world is going.

I hate the way I feel.

I hate that I am made to live like this. Masked up, away from family and friends.

But I have felt this before.

I could scream "it's not fair" into the ethers but I have tried that and it doesn't work.

I have to let go of what I thought the future held. The future for all of us. For humanity.

Mourn the loss and let it go.

By letting go, I am open to receive bigger things.

Bigger than my assumptions.

We will find a way...

Adoption is a beautiful, scary, enormous, loving, tearful, complicated thing.

I always said I had my painful contractions, they just came in emotional form.

We adopted Max when he was a baby. We were in the hospital when he was born.

I remember being just outside the delivery room with my husband. We figured out if we looked through a crack in the door and carefully peered at a picture hanging on the wall within the room, the glass vaguely reflected the actions going on inside. Josh and I listened for the cries of Max's first breath and melted. It was sweet and awkward all in one.

But I met my son before that moment.

I was at the doctor visits with his birth mother. I saw Max through her belly and heard his heartbeat.

The emotions you have during that time are mixed. Josh and I had lost so much through IVF and failed adoptions that having ties early was painful.

Having a relationship with the birth mother is something like no other relationship. We were fortunate that Melanie was a perfect match for us. She was brave and honest and communicative.

We would get together after Max was born about once a year to celebrate his birthday. She never made me feel like less of a mom. She never judged or crept in to undermine me. She just loved from afar without attachment. Kinda like aunts do, giving love and attention until it’s time to part.

When I found out Melanie passed away last Monday, I was shook.

No one tells you how to deal with these emotions. There is no workshop or guidebook. The feelings are strong and weird.

I’m so sad Max lost the opportunity to know her when he is old enough to understand. He is seven, he hardly understands adoption. Max knows he came from her belly, but what does that mean to a kid?

We hadn’t seen Melanie and her family in a couple of years, so I doubt Max remembers them much at all.

I am sad that her family is alone. Max’s birth father, who is strong and gentle, will now raise two boys and daughter, who can’t be more than two years old.

People always ask about the birth family. They can’t wrap their minds around how Max is here with us, and the birth family is so large. People can't understand a lot of things about open adoptions.

As of now, I do not know how she died, but I suspect it was the same thing that took so many people I love.

I don’t know why I have dealt with so many losses. I know more people to die from addiction than any other ailment. I have cried more times than I like to admit.

I think about my life and wonder if this is a sign? What lesson am I learning from all this?

I am the closest to understanding this disease without having it.

My mother always said to thank god for not understanding fully because that would mean I was an addict. Only addicts truly understand addicts, I suppose.

I think back to when I was a child and dealt with my mother’s relapses. I think of my mother and her strength and all her challenges. I think of myself as an innocent child, and it all is so sad.

Max and I already share blood with mothers of addiction. Now, we both lost our blood mothers to addiction.

I hate that we share these commonalities, but maybe that is why I have the past that I have. Perhaps I have gone through all the hell to help my son understand. To keep my son away from a life of addiction.

My close friend Shannon said to think about how I saved Max from dealing with the loss of mother at the innocent age of seven. I lost my mother at 25, and that was no picnic. Seven is too young.

He knows nothing of this loss, and I will hold on to that as my saving grace.

No one tells you how to deal with this kind of shit.

I will do my best to speak with love throughout the years and help Max understand age-appropriate information.

He is seven. I am his mom. We will find a way.