Illegitimate

“His (my companion’s) words are as smooth as butter, but in his heart is war. His words are as soothing as lotion, but underneath are daggers!” Psalm 55:21

 

  The word, “illegitimacy” came through loud and clear during a quiet time of reflection in church.

  I have not experienced some of the horrific violence other children and women are faced with every day. It’s something I wrestle with on a regular basis…what’s the line? “Other people have it worse.”

  This is not a comforting thought.

  By thinking this and because of its dismissive and minimizing nature, it’s a nasty way to illegitimize my experiences. Sigh. It’s a battle.

  Perversely, comparing the responses I have to those of someone else who experienced similar things is just as nasty…”It doesn’t seem to affect them, why should it affect you?”

  Because it does.

  I am not them.

  Whenever a thought, a comment, or a conversation ends up with feeling the need to justify myself, it drives home the lifelong sense of not belonging anywhere.

  I wasn’t very old when I found out I was adopted. My brother was the one to break the news.

 “You’re not really my sister.”

  Mom and I talked about it. She confirmed this was true as I sat on her bed. I am positive she reassured me but I was in a place of being unable to hear any sort of affirmations of love. Black waters of confusion and emotion left me deaf and blind.

  I gave my mom the answer she was looking for when she asked how I was. Compliancy’s voice spoke up for the first time, “I am okay.”

  Now is the opportunity to use adult vocabulary and the insight needed to reflect on this pivotal moment in my childhood. As an adult, I can unravel, understand and vocalize what I was unable to in that moment.

  I wasn’t a real daughter or a real sister. The foundational aspects of my identity were “pretend-zies”…funny this childhood expression has come to mind now.

  I was illegitimate in ways that far surpassed the circumstances surrounding my conception and birth.

  Why did I lie and say I was okay? My compliant response came because I was afraid I’d be sent away if I hinted otherwise. It became a matter of survival to never rock the boat because I’d already been bad enough to be given away once. (It’s sad that a child’s logic actually makes sense. The fact I was only a few days old when I was adopted isn’t the point.)

  This is the first time this core belief has come to the surface. I can’t help but weep. I am not going to illegitimize this belief because an adult’s perspective recognizes it isn’t true. It is a child’s truth, my truth that has shaped a huge swath of who I am.

  The same compliancy I used to create feelings of safety left me extremely vulnerable to abuse.

  The abuse only deepened the need for constant compliancy.

  Compliancy is a liar and a thief.

  What a mess.

  The idea of illegitimacy seems to wrap its dark tentacles around many of my perceptions and has done so for a long, long time. It’s why I didn’t wear white at my wedding. It’s why I didn’t attend college graduation. It’s why I didn’t go to my high school prom. It’s why I had to step down from the church board. It’s why I struggle to respond when someone thanks me for doing the blog.

  It’s yet another reason I stayed silent for so long.

  Oh, Lord, this is so sad. Thank You for these life changing revelations. I am awfully tired of sitting in the chair today’s art portrays. These last four and a half hours of writing have taken a lot out of me, too. Do you mind if I curl up on Your lap for a while?