All fall, something had been eating at me. What, I couldn’t be sure. Every since I’d become a mom myself, two littles and so much love, there seemed to be a quiet gnawing at the back of my mind. I should be happy, I finally had everything that I’d wanted. Yet, I was overly irritable bordering on irrational at times, and so tired, more tired than having two littles under three years old even warrants; a tired down into my bones.
Over the break, I went to a naturopath offering a holistic examination of mind, body and spirit. During our initial meeting she asked the standard questions. Questions I couldn’t answer, have never been able to answer, like, do you have a family history of . . .? Something snapped and I began to cry, sob actually. I think this outburst was even more surprising for me, than for her. These sorts of outbursts are not something I am prone to. As I sat, tears streaming down my face (I am not a pretty crier), red and puffy, it became clear to both her, and I, that I had some unresolved issues.
“Why haven’t you searched for them, your birth parents?”
“Never thought that I wanted to.” (Denied wanting to if truth be known).
“Clearly, this is eating at you. This may be something that you need to do.”
“I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
“I don’t want to hurt my mom.”
“She loves you, she wants what’s best for you. Hanging on to all this is not what’s best for you.”
She made a good point.
101