“Lie In It: An Awakened Truth of a Late Discovery Adoptee”

Have you ever heard the phrase, “You made your bed, now lie (or lay) in it?” This phrase tells someone to take accountability for their actions or to follow through with a commitment. My mind began assembling this piece while making my children’s bed and tucking them in for the night. My trauma can sometimes peak when the sun is going down and right before bedtime, when everything slows down.

As I tucked the sheets into the corners of my babies’ beds, I tried to escape the reality that my “mother” rarely, if ever, tucked me in, and she never made my bed. There was a bed she did make, though. My perception will sound like ungratefulness to the unimpacted, but I will proceed regardless. Referring to the phrase, “you made your bed, now lie in it,” I realized the woman and the family that raised me did precisely that. The bed I slept in was never made for me as a small child, nor was I ever tucked in, but a bed was made, a choice was made, and they “lied” in it.

Decisions were made, secrets tucked into the corners, cover-ups and deception placed over the truth, and tucked away with intentions of taking the truth to the great beyond. What hurts me the most about potentially finding out my mother isn't my birth mother is, somewhere buried deep in my chest, I always knew. There were moments in my life when I would stare at my mother, asking myself, “Who is she?”

My heart had whiplash from constantly looking left and right for the mother I never stopped hoping would appear. When I finally began to admit that I had a mother but didn't feel like I had a mother, I was called ungrateful. I was commanded to be grateful for what I had, so I settled.

On my 27th birthday, my husband and I drove deep into the mountains and stayed in a beautiful suite for a few days. The night before my birthday, we saw the latest Thor movie, “Love and Thunder.” I was a big Thor fan, but I disliked this series installment. There is a scene where Thor stands amongst other false gods who expect to control him. When Thor wasn't a puppet, they stripped him of his clothing, exposing his body to hundreds of people.

My stomach knotted, and I instantly became nauseous. After the movie, we didn't get out of the parking lot before I was hanging out of the car door, upchucking in pain. That's how I started my 27th birthday, releasing trauma on the side of the road. It reminded me of a feeling I had many times as a young girl. I would be standing amidst the family that raised me, feeling so naked and exposed.

I specifically felt naked and exposed amongst the women who raised me. It was a feeling like no other. I would look down at my clothes, rubbing my hands against the fabrics to ensure I was still clothed. I would sweat and say “huh” a lot. I eventually realized I said “huh” so much because I was constantly being interrupted from daydreams and thoughts of a place I truly belonged.

I sincerely love the family that raised me. Do I appreciate everything they've done to me? Heaven's no. Do I appreciate the good they've done for me? God knows I do. But I spent so many nights lying in an unmade bed that rarely ever felt like home, daydreaming of a mother I thought I had to die to meet. And I've spent almost three decades tucked away in a bed of lies, fitting into a frame orchestrated to keep me in bondage.

Like a fitted sheet tucked into a bed frame, I was the sheet, covering up generations of trauma. I was framed and lied on just in case I ever awakened. Not only did they make poor decisions, but they continued to lie with no intention of ever telling the truth. I’ll never be perfect, but I’ve always been good, and I never mean any harm. I make mistakes like every other human, but I deserve better.

For decades, I dreamt of mothers laying my head on their lap, rubbing my head, and singing “I will always love you.” When I settled with the cards I was dealt, with the only family I knew, I did it gracefully, agreeing to always love them for who they were, even if I didn’t truly feel loved. I know other people may have had it worse, and many people will stick with their ideations of how things in my family looked on the outside. That's why incorrect opinions of my reality don’t matter to me anymore because they hold no weight and can never change the trauma I’ve survived by the grace of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

I ended my 27th year completely different than how it began. I finally graduated from college after an 11-year battle to finish. I saw Janet Jackson live in concert. And I was also diagnosed with a T.I.A mini stroke. Doctors and Neurologists who saw me in the E.R. were convinced it was a mini stroke, a Neurologist I saw a little after my hospital stay was convinced it was complex (severe and chronic migraines).

The doctors examined me and asked, “What happened before these stroke symptoms?” I admitted that I may not know who my birth parents are. The nurses tucked me in and told me to rest.

To be continued.