Awake

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No one ever expects a Spanish Inquisition.

Just like no one ever expects all the other stuff that a deep dive into adoptee trauma will stir up. 

Where to begin. . . 

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Vocab

Some of the words I learned way back in 2018:

• trauma
• attachment
• abandonment
• rejection
• grief

evolved into something more.

Awakening from a lifetime of fog was, for lack of a better description, an eye-opening experience. I learned that every single major decision in my life's been influenced by this early trauma. Why teach? It's so stable! Teachers are needed everywhere! You can teach and always have a job! No upsetting changes necessary here! It's a sure thing! 

Yussss - let's gooooo!

. . . that give me a sense of commitment and stability because that's the only way I feel safe in my surroundings! 

This attitude, being predisposed toward longevity, this yearning for consistency, was pragmatic. At least, that's what I always thought. Security. Protection. These are smart choices. Safe choices. 

Until they're not.

Until they become harmful.

Changes

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Over twenty years ago, I married my 8th grade boyfriend. Now, OK, whenever I tell people that, they always get super gushy-mushy; their eyes turn into hearts, aaaaaand. . . I want to throw up. 

Because the truth of it is that I was pretty miserable for most of those twenty years. 

I was so tired. And not just for a little while. Try 19 years of tired. About a year into being his wife, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in our first apartment, trying to figure out a way to explain how his actions (or lack thereof, really) affected me. Crickets chirped, frogs ribbeted, and I laid awake, my brain spinning with thoughts I couldn't control. During that period, I remember saying this: 

Get a job. Any job. It's not good for you to be cooped up in this apartment day in and day out without anything to do, interacting with no one. Work at McDonald's or something until you can find something more permanent. 

I'll never forget the reply. 

My time is more valuable than [insert whatever minimum wage was in 2002] an hour. 

I don't need you anyway 
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When our marriage was still in its infancy, he was unemployed for almost a year while I worked full time. 

I think that was the first time I had to tiptoe with my words. I had to be careful to avoid any potential landmines that would plummet him into a spiral of despair. Must protect. Must be strong. Must endure. So I got up out of bed at Xam, walked down three flights of stairs, and kept going. I circled the lake just behind our apartment a couple of times until I got it all out of my system, then returned to bed, pulling back the covers where he remained sound asleep and completely undisturbed. 

Must be nice.

Anytime I asked, explained, and described (in glistening, high def 3-D) the actions that would alleviate my ongoing fatigue, my needs were met with fragile, empty promises that always cracked under the slightest pressure. 

This communicated my value in the relationship. 

My needs aren't important.

My feelings aren't important.

I am not important.

And that shit hurt. It was a thousand bee stings wrapped inside a festering tumor that refused to stop growing. But I put myself aside, time and time again. I am needed. I must do all the things. I'm a shark that can't stop swimming, because if I do, I'll die. 

But that was a lie.

I believed a lie.

I don't have to cry before I come home from work. I don't have to expect disappointment every time a request goes unfulfilled. I don't have to feel as if my needs aren't important.

A few years ago, I learned another new word to integrate into my vocabulary:

codependency

Oh snap - you mean all that adoption trauma shit is tied to my feelings about being miserable in my marriage? 

What? 

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A dear adoptee friend of mine said it best:

"Ohhhh, you thought you were worthless." 

Excuse me? Bitch, please. *flips hair Beyonce-style*

"No, I've never thought that. I have a degree, career, two retirement accounts, and a very good credit score." 

"Ok, let me put it a different way - you didn't think you deserved anything better." 

Oh shit. 

That. That was it. She summed it up perfectly. She was right. 

Those other people, the couples who talked to each other, made time for each other, those people who were genuinely curious about their partner's goals, dreams, or just their daily fucking to-do list. I hated them. I wanted to be them. I could never be them. I have what I have, and I have to be OK with it. He can't be anything else. He's not wired that way, so I have to bend. 

After years of contorting and twisting my shape to fit his, my back had become so crooked that I couldn't even recognize myself anymore. 

Some time after the divorce, I reminisced with a dear friend: 

"Remember my 42nd birthday? When we went to that ramen place and then that old-school arcade?" 

"Oh, I was fully aware that that had nothing to do with you and your interests. That was all for him. So he could feel comfortable." 

He never liked going out, but I wanted to go out for my birthday. I wanted him to come, so I tried to entice him by eating food he liked and going to a place with an activity that he enjoyed. 

In hindsight, I don't even think the thought crossed his mind that omfg - these only pertain to MY interests but it's HER birthday???

He needed me. And if he needs me, he won't leave me. 

Don't leave Hee Jung behind. 

Not again.