One Reason Why I Totally Reject Secondary Rejection

My sister Shari arrived late last night, and is visiting through the weekend for Easter.   We started out the day yesterday by enjoying pedicures together with my daughter Savanna.

Shari mentioned again how hard things would be right now, had I not found her back in 1993, pressing forward after I experienced what is known in the adoption world as, "secondary rejection."

We talked about why we think secondary rejections happen – the biggest reasons in our mind being unresolved pain and the shame.

One of the frustrating things for me as I meet people who experience secondary rejection is that it is utterly needless.

I have yet to meet even one person whose secondary rejection was rooted in a good reason. And yet, it is a decision that is made countless times, affecting so many in it’s wake.

If I wouldn’t have pressed on to find my brother and sister, Shari would not be laying in the next room over, sleeping in my house right now as I type this.

She wouldn't have sat in Pipo's and eaten a Cuban sandwich with us for lunch today.

She wouldn't have attended Zumba class with me at the church and jumped around high fiving me afterwards.

She wouldn’t enjoyed ice cream with me after Zumba (negating all the sweating we did in class).

She wouldn't have laughed so hard with me over inside jokes that all of the passersby wondered what got into us. 

She wouldn’t have gone on a long walk and had a heart to heart talk with me, after we got home.

None of that would have happened. 

Instead, she probably would have been back at her place in Charleston, SC…laying in bed thinking about how all of her family members are gone now except our brother.

Had I accepted our mother’s needless decision of a secondary rejection in 1991, that would have been the reality of my sister’s life right now.

Why do I reject secondary rejection, outright?

Because there's never a good reason for it.  Every time I've heard a woman's reason for it, it's rooted in a cover up, lie, secret, shame, or unresolved pain.

If someone can give me even ONE good reason for secondary rejection, I'd consider it as a viable option but as of yet no one has been able to do that.

I’ve been admonished at times to accept the things I can’t change.

But sometimes you just have to decide to change the things you can’t accept.   

Why Pursue Siblings After Secondary Rejection? (Is It Really So Crazy?)

My sister Shari is coming to visit today, for a few days. She wanted to be with us for the Easter weekend. (We are both believers and this weekend is extremely important to us as women of faith.) It will be the first time we’ve seen each other since our mother passed away this past August.

 

As far as immediate family, my brother and I are all that my sister has left in this world.

Both of her parents are now dead, and there are no other siblings but my brother and I.

Our brother is loving but extremely quiet and to himself. Connecting with him is a challenge at times – not because he’s uncaring (he isn’t) he’s just not a communicator.

If I hadn't pursued my natural family (including the siblings I knew about from the adoption agency) with wholehearted determination, back in 1991…my sister would be a lot more “alone” in this world, as far as immediate family. 

I kept going with the search, even after experiencing what is known as, "secondary rejection."

Judy (my natural mother) was consistent over the years in being happy about mine and Shari's relationship. She told me all throughout our 20 years together, and reaffirmed it right before she passed away, that she was so grateful Shari and I had each other. She often said she hoped our bond would increase. (Judy was so blessed throughout her whole life to have such a close bond with Aunt Jeri. She wanted that for us.)

It's a weird paradox how she didn't want to be found and yet was so glad to be found at times. (It's best when I just don't try to figure it out. LOL)

It’s times like today,that I’m really, really glad I didn’t give up, even when all the powers that be said it was over.

It’s never over til’ God says it’s over.

Don’t give up.

Adult Adoptees: We Are The Grown Ups Now

Yesterday was National Sibling Day.

I was once again reminded of the fact that had I not pressed forward after my natural mother’s initial refusal to reunite, I would not know two of my three siblings. (I have two natural siblings that I met in reunion in 1993 - a brother and sister, and one adopted sister that I grew up with.) 

As many of you who regularly read this blog already know, my natural mother initially said no to reunion -- through an intermediary. Two years later, I showed up on her doorstep to give her opportunity to accept me or reject me, with no one in between us. I thought two adults deserved the chance to talk to one another unhindered. She made the decision to reunite once she met me personally.(The story will be released as a book, later this year.)

I got the feeling right up to her death last year, that my natural mom felt she should be in charge. Enter Deanna, who was born in charge. Comin’ out of the womb with a briefcase in one hand and a microphone in the other. At least, that’s what my good friends say.   

Needless to say this was an oil and water mix at times. Two women who both thought they were in charge. And one who thought the other woman was still a baby! Add to that an adoptive mom who thought she should be in charge at times because, "I'm the one who raised you!" and ka-BOOM! Call a SWAT Team, now. Adoption bombs raining down...

The Black Box Under The Bed (And How It Helped Me Find My Brother)

Have you ever played hide and seek and found yourself underneath a bed?  Perhaps all of us have been there at some point in time. Laying underneath my adoptive parents bed during a childhood game, I felt a large, cold object. I pulled it out from under the bed into the light. It was a black metal fireproof box. Curious, I opened it. 

Photo Credit: misha.ilin, Creative Commons

Unfolding the parchment-like papers, my eyes fell upon my original name for the first time.  I knew I was adopted, but all of this was new information. Adoption and name change papers declared that the child relinquished by an unnamed woman, and given to my adoptive parents, was named Melanie Lynn Alley. 

I can’t remember exactly how old I was when I found the box. I just know I was still small enough to fit underneath the bed. I couldn't lift my head but I could squeeze underneath there and hide. 

I stared at the papers trying to reconcile that Melanie was Deanna and Deanna was Melanie.