Masked Emotions

This is not the planned post that I was going to write, but I have just come across the blog Psyche Cafe that had the image of the book The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk MD on it. This is the next book on my list of books to buy, as part of my research to write my own story of healing, and so I diverted my attention away from writing, onto reading. It’s what we adoptees do, think of doing one thing and end up doing something else. Ask my husband.

I read “Adoption said, I’ll label this one as mine and handed me a mask. Don’t worry honey. It will stretch as you grow. Put it on. And keep it on. And we won’t talk of this……..I’ll tell you when it’s safe to take the mask off.”

And so I thought pensively about the mask that I may have been handed and worn for much of my life. I was often accused of being funny at inopportune moments. It was like I couldn’t tell what was comedy and what was tragedy. My brain had been wired differently to others. I laughed out loud at my sister’s funeral, as the ladies of a certain age discussed picking up an aerosol cannister thinking it was hairspray only to discover that pledge doesn’t hold the curls quite like swartzkopf does.

And so my mind wandered to what the world has been doing for the past year. Governments and society have been trying to tell us when to wear masks, and more poignantly, when we can take them off, and like the average adoptee, I have rebelled. They cajoled us with “face coverings” it didn’t need to be a mask, you just had to cover your face. Now as someone who has years of experience working on an infectious diseases unit in a past life, masks when an infectious disease is concerned are contaminated clinical waste, and are disposed of and sent for incineration, not scrunched up and put back in your pocket or handbag, nor is it worn under the chin when outside for ease of pulling back over the breathing orifices when required. If people could only see the mites that might be crawling on their skin, they may think about not cradling their chin with a chin warmer, before replacing over their nose and mouth, to breathe those microscopic critters in. I resisted, I resisited to wear a paper mask, and a cloth one, a glittery one or even one that turned itself into a necklace when not needed to cover the face. Thinking about it that might be preferable to perching it under the chin, I would need to see the risk assessments done on the two designs to compare.

No I resisited because the logic and science says that masks don’t work in a respiratory virus, and yet still the people wore them. Nor did it seem logical to introduce mask wearing when they did. We weren’t told to wear them at the beginning, although advised, we had the choice. I chose not to. Then after 3 months in the UK they told us we needed to wear them when going to the shops, it was mandated unless you had an exemption. I do. I have panic attacks when I think about putting a mask over my face. I wore a mask for many many years, I now chose to show the world the real Joy, maskless, smiling communicating with the whole of my face. Is my body keeping the score of the mask that it wore for years.

The mask of “put a brave face on, don’t let others see that you’re not coping”, whatever coping means. Can I still feel the imprint of that mask that I wore for so long? Is it imprinted on my Soul in the same way as the primal wound is imprinted on it? Recalled but not remembered. Now I so want to buy the book to see what Van Der Kolk MD has to say? Where’s my credit card? Is it hidden under the mask in my handbag, that I bought back in Summer 2020, just in case?

Blessings and Joy, Joy

PS Go check that blog out and read more of what Psyche Cafe had to say.

How Would You Feel?

I am in several groups on facebook, which regularly throw up articles that people have come across on the whole topic of adoption. This one is on the topic of adopting embryos, and tells the story of a baby boy who has been born in Florida after 15 years, yes FIFTEEN YEARS, in the deep freeze! This has so many repercussions for this baby, and I wonder if anyone has given the remotest thought about how he may feel growing up with that history.

Before I go on I feel I should just say that I know that infertility is a big issue for those concerned, but is making another human being to fix someone else’s fertility situation really the thing to do? How is that baby going to feel as he grows up knowing the history around his conception and subsequent suspension for 15 years before his subsequent gestation and birth? How will he feel, wondering whatever happened to all the other embryos that were “conceived” at the same time. They are his siblings 100%. Did anyone stop and think that maybe in 20 years time, this man might fall for an older woman, who turns out to be his sister. Or falls for his brother, yes that’s an option too.

How much of his genetics is he going to know? Because he willl want to know. Despite Amanda and Jeremy insisiting that they are his parents,they will never be his genetics. Love him as much as they say, he will want to know his genetics at some point, and whether or not he has siblings? A few weeks ago I wrote a post about sperm donors, and discovered that there is now a registry in the UK, for people who were conceived via sperm donation to put their name on, and connect with other people, their half-siblings. Is this a thing in embryo adoption? I somehow doubt it. It will take someone like Noah to fight for his rights to know his siblings.

Now let’s look at the words that have been used in the article. Let’s start with the heading shall we?

Hand-Picked Bundle of Joy.

The parents wanted a baby that could pass off as theirs. I wonder who that was for? Themselves or for the child? Fair play for wanting the child to be able to pass off as their own, and not be standing out like a sore thumb in the family, something that trans-country adoptees know only too well. But I can envisage conversations in the future about whose eyes or facial features Noah has, knowing that he has neither of his parents, to lead to angst in Noah. The wanting to pass him off as their own seems to have been swallowed up by going public with his birth and existence. He will be forever known as the child who spent fifteen years in the freezer. You know how cruel children can be.

“He’s just a very easy-going baby”, Jeremy said. Hmm the word “chilled” comes to mind. I hope for his own sake Noah warms to Amanda and Jeremy.

Quote “The embryo adoption program consists of roughly 50 donor couples. The donors have gone through in vitro fertilization (IVF) themselves, and they then give leftover cryopreserved embryos to be used by other couples who are struggling with IVF.”

I seriously have an issue with referring to the embryo that was used as a “leftover”. How is poor Noah going to feel that the most suitable embryos were used by his biological parents to conceive his siblings, but he was leftover, on the side of the palte after they’d finished their meal, sorry family planning, and he was left for the next family to take their scraps. As one commenter on facebook put it “See you in therapy Noah”. They meant that in the most honest of way, as I too see the early years of Noah’s life being problematic for this individual human being. As an adoptee I struggled with being told that I was “chosen”. How much more difficult will it be to know that you were called leftovers?

The penultimate sentence in the article is : “We need to celebrate his anniversary in the freezer, definitely!” Amanda says.

Really!? I wonder what Noah will have to say on the matter? I wonder if Amanda and Jeremy will want to see the funny side and serve ice-cream at this celebration? What sort of thing would you do to celebrate someone having been in a freezer for 15 years? Take them to see the film Frozen perhaps? Ice Age?

I can see this little boy having nightmares over the contents of their freezer. Wondering if there were any other embryos in there, that he is in danger of defrosting at Thanksgiving. Noah if you ever get to read this, then know that there is a whole support group who have your well-being in their thoughts. They will give you a warm welcome when you need it.

What are your thoughts? Have we taken adoption too far? Do you think these parents have considered how this child may feel once he has reached adulthood? I would love to hear your thoughts.

Blessings and Joy, Joy

Pressure is a Priviledge

I went to bed last night hopeful that we would get out holiday in Portugal this year, as Portugal are happy for Brits to go there this summer. I woke up this morning to read that our government is planning on fining us £5000 if we leave the country. My emotions were on a roller coaster. Expectations were high only to be dashed low again. I really needed to give myself a reality check. I live in a lovely part of the world, I have a roof over my head, food in the cupboards, the love of an attentive husband and a wonderful relationship with my daughter. What more could I ask for? If I couldn’t get on holiday to Portugal, it will be no big deal

And then the words “Pressure is a Privilege” popped into my head, the title of Billie-Jean King’s book. I am not quite sure why, but here’s a thought. What if we adoptees are here to channel the pressure of the world. Reading Julia’s book “Life In Between” she describes how her wife Teresa, would cry on her behalf. It was as if Teresa processed Julia’s grief, and it led me to think that maybe adoptees process the pressusre in the world, because we are strong people, stronger than so many other people, due to what we have been put through. The pressure of being adopted is a privilege. In all the driest, hardest places on earth, we can always find beauty, and some plant will always manage to flower.

I’ll leave that one with you to get your head around.

Blessings and Joy, Joy

Promises: 5 Word Friday

The lovely Esther Chilton over at Esther Chilton’s blog sets a challenge every Thursday, to tell a story in 5 words. I share my offerings with you in 5 Word Friday. This week’s word was “Promise”. Here they are:

I promise to bring happiness.
Whispering promises leaves her breathless.
She trembles at his promise.
Small package holds loving promise.
Ribboned box promises delighted squeals.
Aroma from kitchen, promises dinner.
Jilted lover breaks engagement promise.
Easter promise forgives all wrongs.
Spring’s advance promise, snowdrops bloom.
Promise enveloped in satin sheets.
Adoptee promise of Finding Joy

DNA reveals promise of family.

Have a great weekend everybody, weather looks promising xx

Where Do You Feel Embodied?

In Sunday’s Flourish session we were asked how it felt to be in our body. Well, without giving anything away from anybody else who is in the group, it would appear that we share an awful lot of bodily sensations. This is what I feel, and I wasn’t the only one.

I live in my head. Since joining the flourish group, I often find that I can’t switch my thoughts off. Sleeping was never really an issue for me, but since January I have found that some nights I cannot switch my thoughts off, to get to sleep easily. I drew my body with lots of ???? inside the skull. So many questions in my head at the moment, about the best way to help other adoptees.

A Visual of My Bodily Feelings

I did give my head hair. Someone then announced that the hair was an extension of the nervous system. I drew tension across the top of my shoulders, and described it as carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I wonder what my atlas alignment is like at the moment?My heart was drawn as a heavy heart, and my stomach/solar plexus was active, as in the chakra was active. Again since January and joining the flourish group, my solar plexus has been over-active with lots of belching and wind coming up from the stomach. What is that all about? Need to do some meditaion on that and see what comes up. Not literally hopefully. Could it be that in all of the the processing I doing, I am fermenting some ideas, and like active yeast when combined with sugar, my thoughts are rising to the top, and giving off gas with it. I hope it’s not all a load of hot air and some of it can be nutrifying for others. I was quite unique in not having lots of stomach issues as a child. I can count on one hand the numbers of time I have been sick in my life (non-alcohol related).

The solar plexus is a big energy centre of the body, and sits underneath the diaphragm. In adoptees it needs lots of attention. They will often tell of feeling “empty” in this region or the feeling of being “punched in the stomach”, both of which are solar plexus’ imbalance and work on the chakras is beneficial to balance it. The solar plexus is the seat of the ego. It is the home of personal power and self esteem. When it is balanced the individual will have a high self-worth and confidence. Is it any surprise that it is out of balance in adoptees?

It may help to say the affirmation “I am worthy, I am worthwhile, I have worth” over three times whilst focussing on this area of the body. Imagine a small fire burning, and say “there is fire in my belly”. The colour of the solar plexus chakra is yellow. Eating foods yellow in colour can aid in balancing it, and wearing yellow can help too.

In over 20 years of working as a therapist, as a McTimoney Chiropractor, doing cranio-sacral therapy, massage and aromatherapy along with chakra work, I have experience in recognising what is out of balance with a person and what they need to do to bring their energy back into balance and harmony, using a range of tools. It is not always easy to recognise if a chakra has too much or too little energy in it. For my own healing I would do a meditation asking myself these questions?

What is my heart not in at the moment? Or am I putting too much “heart” into one thing at the expense of another? It is all about balance.

What can I not stomach? is there anything that I would express as “you make me sick”.

I would work on my whole chakra system to bring the business out of my head, and bring it down through my body and ground it. I am great at doing this for others. Today after work I am going to do this for myself, and use some grounding essential oils in my diffuser too. Do you have a favourite one?

Then I am going to start writing my ebook to offer help to adoptees to help them feel more comfortable in their body’s. Watch thsi space, as they say.

Blessings and Joy, Joy

I Don’t Care Anymore, Or Do I?

This past week I have been reliving the music of the 1980’s, especially Phil Collins. Back then Phil was separating from his wife, and you could hear the breakup in his music. Oddly enough around that time I was in “reunion” with my birth mother, Pat. The words of many of his songs summed up the angst I was going through, although at the time I didn’t recognise that. I have spent this weekend listening to one particualr song, I Don’t Care Anymore, and writing my emotions about the period of my life in the 1980’s.

“Well you can tell everyone I’m a dam disgrace. Drag my name all over the place. I don’t care anymore”

Well if you had told everyone the truth about you meeting Tom, a married man, and conceiving me, and owned your own behaviour as disgraceful, rather than trying to blame me for my reaction to your behaviour, I may have cared more.

Oh and as for dragging my name all over the place, what on earth did you think you were doing by twisting my father’s wife’s name around and blessing me with it? Bizarre bordering on borderline personality disorder if you ask me. The meanings of my name is awesome, and funnily enough I feel more connected to “Tish”. Maybe it is the energy that is in our mutual names that joins us. As for your reason behind it- I don’t care anymore, to even bother thinking about it.

My Father on his wedding day to Elisabeth Joy (not my mother)

“You can tell everyone about the state I’m in. You won’t catch me crying ‘cos I just can’t win. I don’t care anymore”

Turning up in my life when I was 19 certainly put me in a state. I had had a very stable upbringing thanks to Ivor and Vera and their childen. I was a cuckoo in the nest, but it was a stable one, with a sense of family and British traditions. Looking back at the colonial sense of entitlement is not great, but it is in my heritage, so I have to acknowledge them as my past. White, British, Privilege.

“I don’t care what you say. I don’t play the games you play. Cos I’ve been talking to the people that you call your friends. And it seems to me there’s a means to an end. They don’t care anymore.”

Well your funeral was certainly interesting, meeting all your friends. No wonder I wasn’t invited to all your “family occassions”. You should have seen your matron of honour’s face when I told her that your daughter and Tom’s daughter were one and the same person. They had no idea that you had met Tom in 1959, leading to my conception and birth a couple of years later. They thought your 2 daughters were separate people. And as for poor Russell. What did he find in the house in France? And what had you told him about your marriage to Tony? Did you bring it forward by a couple of years to make it look as though you were married to him when I was born? Where did Russell think I was brought up? By you and Tony? Russell wrote to me after he had been to France. He sounded confused. I tried to tell him that I had been adopted “out” not that you had adopted Marilyn. Is that how you explained her colouring, that you had adopted her? I can’t even begin to imagine the stories you must have made up to try and explain why we, your daughters didn’t go to family gatherings. Family gatherings like your wedding? Did you tell Russell that you hadn’t invited us, that you sent an Order of Service to me, 2 weeks after you got married. Or did you let him believe that we had been invited, but we chose not to go. My what games you played in your life. I was brought up to be honest and truthful. That wouldn’t work in your life would it? Having people find out your truth was never an option.

“And as for me I can sit here and bide my time. I got nothing to lose if I speak my mind. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what you say”.

I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain if I speak my mind. Because my mind holds my honest thoughts and truths, my truths about how I feel about your behaviour and the repurcussions it has had on my life and who I have become. By speaking my mind, I have unpicked the hurt, and healed from it and embodied the name Joysmith, as somene who finds joy from going through the hard times and being fashioned into a beautiful soul, in the heat of the furnace. I bided my time, but my waiting was futile, you went to your grave holding onto your lies and secrets.

“We never played by the same rules anyway. I won’t be there anymore. Get out of my way. Let me by I got better things to do with my time. I don’t care anymore.”

My rules were truth and honesty. I had better things to do, like go travelling in an effort to find myself. Emigrating to Australia was probably one of the best things I ever did in my life. I found out who I was, got to choose where I went, where I ate, what I ate. I discovered what I liked. Who knows what would have happened in my life if I had stayed in Oz, but life events brought me back to the UK. I had to nurse myself back from my grief. I too had my secrets. I never told you about Jack did I? Maybe if you had shared your secrets with me, I would have shared mine with you and opened up about my feeling s and emotions, but you just weren’t somebody I wanted to open up to, pure and simple, I don’t care anymore.

“Well I don’t care now what they say. Cos everyday I’m feeling fine with myself. And I don’t care what you say. Hey I’ll do alright by myself”

It has taken a lot of work, a lot of tears and tantrums dealing with the brain trauma and psychological trauma that your behaviour, decisions and reactions have had on me. Holli, your grand-daughter asked me the other day that she wished that I’d sorted it all out before she was born. I wish I had too, because I do care. I do care how my behaviour effects the people around me. I do care that I used to struggle to control my anger. I care enough to work on myself, to work on my adoptee adaption behaviours. I can only pray that Holli and I can discuss it, and she can work on herself, to heal the ancestral wounds, because I care enough that they end here and that they end now. We are working through them, slowly but surely.

Small Shoots of Recovery

“Cos I remember all the times I tried so hard. And you laughed in my face ‘cos you held all the cards. I don’t care anymore.”

All I really wanted from you was some information around how you and Tom met, you know like other children know where their parents met, what music was on the radio, your first date, that sort of thing. I get it that it was possibly over the tea urn in a psychiatric hospital. I get it, I really do. But you kept that all to yourselves didn’t you? No matter how hard I tried. I admit that I am now able to voice my requests more eloquently than I could in my 20’s. Back in my mid 20’s I was in the fog. I just didn’t know that such a thing existed. Looking at Phil in the youtube video I can see the anger in his face. Mine was angry too. I am happier now, less angry, more content. I now hope to help people navigate the fog, give them a road map out of it. If you’ve ever driven in fog you’ll know exactly what I mean. Signposts need to be literally right in front of your face before you see them. I’ve even set up a facebook group the Finding Joy Community. It’s just for adoptees who are ready to start, or continue their healing from their primal wound.

“And I really ain’t bothered what you think of me, Cos all I want of you is just let me be. I don’t care anymore. D’you hear? I don’t care no more. I don’t care what you say. I never did beleive you much anyway. I won’t be there no more. So get out of my way. Let me by. I got better things to do with my time.”

I really am not bothered what you think of me, you relinquished me. I am not sure if you stopped and thought about the letter that you wrote to the social worker. I came across it in my social file after you passed. Tony Pollock wasn’t interested in any child by another man and as you hadn’t even seen me, you were going to find it easier to let me go. So forgive me if I put as much effort in trying to hold onto you, as you did into holding onto me. So I will re-iterate again. I have better things to do with my life. I have a loving wonderful husband, and a beautiful daughter, your grand-daughter. I owe it to them to be the best that I can be. And now I have an adoptee family, the Flourish Family. They got me to look at some music and I identify with Phil Collins and so many of his songs as potential adoptee anthems for disatrous reunions.

I wish that things had been different between us, I wish I had the tools that I now have, back then. Things may have been so different. I maybe could have forged a relationship with you and Tom, better than we had. My recovery and acceptance of myself would no doubt have been hastened.

I do care, I care greatly. I care what your behaviour towards me, inflicted in me. I had a whole era of not caring. I am who I am. I have worked hard on learning to care for myself.

“I don’t care anymore. D’you hear me? I don’t care anymore. I don’t care no more. You listening? I don’t care no more, no more. No More!! You know I don’t care no more! No more, No more, No more, No more, No more No more”.

I have to admit to being quite relieved when I heard the news that you had died. No more could I put myself in the position to meet you, and have you fail to turn up, without any warning, triggering the abandonment feelings and emotions all over again. I could now start to look for myself and heal from something I didn’t know existed until recently, a primal wound.

I have learnt to take care of myself, investing financially in my own mental and physical health. I have to admit to not having taken a lot of time to look after myself physically recently, spending far too much time sitting and writing and far less time stretching and doing yoga. So I will sign off here and do some self-care.

If you are looking for some help in dealing with the issues that relinquishment and adoption have on your health and life, then please consider joining us in the Finding Joy Community We are not a group that helps you find birth parents. We are interested in helping you to find yourself.

Blessings and Joy, Joy

Meditation on Completion aka Adoptee Brain

The topic of completing tasks came up in the flourish group recently. Yet another quirk of the psychologically traumatised brain it would seem. We seem to have a familiar history of unfinished taks behind us, and I thought it was just me. Dropping out of college, university or a plethora of studies, jobs, groups appears to be a common theme.

So why do we struggle with completion. Why do I struggle with completion? It even comes down to the smallest of tasks, such as putting things away after washing up, putting a pile of washing away. At the weekend just there, I had a huge pile of ironing to do. Now I like ironing, give me a huge pile of ironing and a good old David Attenborough documentary and I can spend the whole Sunday afternoon quite happily ironing away. I watched Andy Murray’s 2013 Wimbledon final ironing away. This week I tuned in to how my body was feeling as I neared the end of the pile. At around the five pieces left, my body began to viscerally respond. I felt quite sick and anxious, what on earth was going on in my body? Why was the fact that I was coming to the end of the ironing causing me to feel anxious?

Another task I was trying to do today. I was trying to write up some minutes from a meeting that was held weeks ago. I couldn’t motivate myself to write them up, despite knowing that they were long overdue, despite knowing that there was a whole stream of emails going back and forth, and despite knowing that I am an intelligent woman who is quite capable of following the emails and comments, my brain felt quite traumatised, “Fried” from all the information contained in the emails flying back and forth.

I started to write the minutes again, and again a visceral reaction as I came towards the completion of them. When the emails came back after the minutes have been sent, I get a knot in my stomach as to the response that they will get. Paul Sutherland talks about the fear that adoptees feel when a letter arrives for them. He’s right, only today it is emails that twist my entrails.

My brain quite literally feels fried, as I come to realise just how damaged it has been. My intelligence knows that my brain is intelligent, but my abilty to think any other way, other than the way I think, I cannot make the connections. Give me something to do that someone else has started, it’s almost like my brain can’t fathom out how to pick up the threads and carry on with the job. I need to start from scratch, I need to do things my way. My husband used to say “Your way or no way” and it’s like yes, I only know one way, my way. It sounds controlling and about being in control, but it’s not, it’s the way my brain works, and I work with it, within the confines of my brain. Give me a huge jigsaw or job and I will complete it. Give me it already started and I cannot participate, I cannot join in. I don’t have the brain patterning to join in with the way that other people’s brains work.

My brain is damaged, it needs peace and quiet, it needs little stimualtion. It takes time to adapt. It chooses easy pathways, like water, finding the path of least resisitance.

What will happen when I get to the bottom of the pile of ironingi. What will confront me? What next? Life has taught me that when you think that you know what will happen, it doesn’t. My expectations were not met at birth and so every task that has an end point, I don’t want to reach it, as the outcome is not pleasant, even down to the smallest of tasks, the ironing.

Is this why I leave the ironing until there is a huge pile? Or wait until there are no longer any plates left before washing up? Or wait until the carpets look like they really need hoovering. It limits the number of end points in my life, when expectations may not be met.

Thank you for reading the ramblings of a fried brain.

Blessings and Joy, Joy

Adoptee Fellowship

Today I got to have an idea of what a shared experience is. In one of the first flourish group meetings, Pam mentioned these two words and I really didn’t understand them. That is probably because I had never really had one until today. A bit like the women in the polls who ticked the “I don’t know” box when asked if they’d ever had an orgasm? Once you’ve had one, you know you’ve had one. Here’s what happened:

Today a friend came round to the house. I have only met her a dozen times or so, in the four years that I have known her. I always knew that she was adopted, but we had never really spoken about our mutual experiences. Until today. We started by me telling her about the flourish experience, and how we refer to non-adopted people as civilians. We then spent the next two hours hooting with laughter, as we recalled stories of our childhoods, growing up with natural children of our adopted parents and what we did to them. We had a common experience and could empathise with each other and how each of us interacted with the world, based on our experience of being adopted. We shared our stories, we shared our mutual experinces and , as a result of that, we spent our time together laughing, something that I think adoptees have a hard time doing. Life is not funny to someone who had a very hard lesson on day one. But get two of them in a room together, and they can howl with laughter. We howled as we recounted eating whole packets of biscuits in one go, and turned to my husband, a civilian, and said “See, this is what we do!”

We could also recognise the pain and suffering that we had endured at the hands of our birth mothers, in different ways, and we could celebrate the healing that we had gone through, as only God can heal us, and make us whole. It was truly enlightening to spend those hours in each others company, sharing our stories about a shared experience. Empathising with each other as only people who have gone through the same thing as others can. We are at one end of the spectrum possibly, both members of the collective consciousness, who can express joy and happiness when sharing our mutual experiences about our adoptive stories.

On reflection back to the flourish group and what it can provide, I saw the potential for supporting and healing for each one of us, through sharing our stories with each other of the shared experience. We are there for each other, despite being in our own homes connected only via zoom and a mutual experience.

Blessings and Joy Joy

What’s It Like Being An Adoptee?

How do I explain to the non-adopted person what it feels like to be adopted?

If you had asked me this question 10 or 20 years ago, I would have described it like being a volcano. Can you imagine what that is like? Can you imagine a constant unease in the very pit of your body, rumbling away that you are never still, even when asleep? At your very core you are aware that “stuff” is bubbling deep inside you that is an effort to keep under control. Then, just like a volcano, you erupt, casting poisonous words and thoughts into the air causing harm to all those who stand in your path. They are the very same people who have taken shelter on your slopes. Your family, friends those who you have tried to maintain a relationship with you. Sometimes it’s at work, but that’s not recommended. Bosses really don’t like it when you go around exploding all over the place. To be fair nobody likes it when you do it, it’s just that bosses can discipline you. Boyfriends can jilt you. Family disown you. But that’s ok because you’re adopted, no-one sticks around forever do they? After all who wants to set up camp next to a live volcano?

After the initial explosion comes the slow ooze of lava of hatred and self-loathing of yourself, and others. You are now alone, no-one to trigger another explosion, and you try to tell yourself that that is the way you always wanted it. The adopted person likes to control the situation around them in an effort to control the volcanic eruption that can come on at a moments notice, with no conscious idea why.

Over the past 10- 20 years I have done so much work on myself, trying to reach the source of the rumblings and therefore having some control over them. They are far less frequent and I can spot them coming and can distance myself and work on it. I have come such a long way in that time, and now wish to share my findings it how I have found joy in my life. If you would like to know what I have discovered, then please follow my blog and read each post as it gets published.

Feel free to come and join the Finding Joy Community on facebook where we can support each other on our healing journey.

Blessings and Joy, Joy