scrapgirlaeb

*adoptive mother (am) *adoptive father (af) *Adopted brother (ab) *Step-Father (sf) I was adopted when I was 17 days old. According to my *am, she and my *af had asked the agency for a boy. When they called her to tell her they had a girl available, they decided to adopt me with the understanding that they would also wait for their boy. My *am told me they only took me because a boy wasn’t available and they had waited 10 years to adopt a child. She made it very clear that I wasn’t really wanted. My *am was disappointed that I cried a lot, not understanding that a baby is grieving when it is taken from its mommy, and she was angry because I would not let her comfort me. My *af was the one that I bonded with and it was obvious that he adored me by looking at the photos of him and me. He always had a look of pride on his face and I looked so safe and content in his arms. 13 months after I was adopted they adopted my brother (not my birth brother). My mom finally had her boy and was thrilled with him joining our family! Sadly, when I was almost 5 and my brother was 3 ½, my adoptive father was killed in a car accident by a drunk driver. My mom went back to her teaching job right way and really didn’t know what to do without my dad. She made it clear that we were not to talk about our daddy anymore and decided to put all of his pictures in our home away. I was on my own at the age of 5 with the grief of losing both my birthmother and my adoptive father that I adored, all with no adult help. It was not until I was an adult that I began grieving my daddy’s death and looking at pictures of him and me when I was a baby. My mom withdrew emotionally and left my brother and me with sitters, and sometimes she did not come home at night. The real abuse started when my *am married my *sf when I was 7. We were not allowed to attend their wedding and I was told that my *sf did not want kids so we were to be “seen but not heard”. He was very violent when we got too noisy and whipped us with his belt if we were out of line. I was so afraid of my *sf that I began staying outside (I built a fort in some bushes in the backyard and even had a coffee can as a toilet so I did not need to go in the house at all). As I grew older my *sf began yelling terrible things at me and said it was because no one wanted me that I was adopted. He always blamed me for his abusive behavior and could never bring himself to admit his abuse. My mom never got in his way and would watch the abuse, sometimes afterwards she would even say that she was angry with him for what he did to me. My *am had a friend that she would visit that did not allow children (including her own) inside the house. I believe she had 3. They would lock the door and we were left to ourselves all day. I don’t remember when we ate, but I know I was frightened and felt very alone. Another painful experience with my *am was not being allowed to have a voice to say anything that would make her feel like she wasn’t “the perfect mother”. I desperately wanted to live in truth and talk about our problems. Instead of listening to me, my *am would start crying and saying that I was accusing her of not being a good mother. It would therefore be about her feelings and never about mine. If I talked about truthful things that were hurting me she would shut me out emotionally and not acknowledge me. If I asked her why she was angry she would tell me in her angry voice that she wasn’t angry and shut me out until I would give in by accepting responsibility for the problem and tell her how wonderful she was. I so longed for her love that I was willing to take the blame over and over throughout the years. She allowed my brother to beat me up and do whatever he wanted to me, and when I would tell her I was afraid she would say that we needed to “fight our own battles”. At the age of 11 I was molested by our neighbor.  My *am couldn’t bring herself to do anything about this, so I went to my to my neighbor’s wife to tell her about the abuse. 

There are pages and pages of pain and abuse to be written here. Someday I hope to write a book about my story as I have been encouraged to do so over and over from my therapists throughout the years. I thank God for the strength he has given me to find a path towards healing in spite of my abusers never being able to own up or acknowledge