Maladaptive coping strategies

There are many ways I attempt to deal with my pain that are incredibly unhealthy. I think this stems from the fact that so much of what I feel is unconscious. Frequently, I feel depressed, irritated, anxious, and/or agitated and I have no idea why. As I stated in my last post, it really wasn't until about a year ago that I made the connection. The source of much of my pain is from the choice I made to relinquish Leslie. It's sort of like walking around blind. Since I couldn't see I would bump into people constantly. Well, that's putting it mildly. I was blinded by my pain, but I didn't just bump into people. I have caused real wreckage. A couple of days ago I was reading an article in The Counseling Psychologist titled "Birth Parents in Adoption: Research, Practice, and Counseling Psychology" (2005). Authors Wiley and Baden stated that birthmothers experience grief in a myriad of ways, one of which being trouble in relationships. This stems from an inability to trust. In intimate relationships jealously and problems with commitment are common. Well, that explained a lot for me. I'm not blaming my pain or the adoption for the many severed relationships. I caused those, and there have been many. But the correlation makes sense.

I often say that hurt people hurt people. Now imagine living your life not knowing why you're hurt and often not even knowing that you are in pain. Over the years I have repeatedly felt betrayed by my friends, family, and significant others, but how often was that their fault. I propose that very little of the blame rests on them. After losing a large number of friends and significant others there comes a point where you have to stop and consider what the connection between all of that loss is. I can tell you now what the connection is. Me. I am incredibly sensitive so I can get hurt easily. I mentioned before that I am easily agitated and quick to get angry. Have I always been like this? Was I an angry child? In many ways I was. My parents mindlessly neglected my needs and did not give me the love and support I needed. I think the way I grew up predisposed me to be receptive to pain. I have to include that context because I do not believe that pain happens in isolation. There are many contributing factors.

But here's the catch. I have worked through much of that childhood pain yet I still experience the same symptoms. Remember them? I do. I'm overly sensitive, quick to blame others for my pain, and easily agitated. Oh and here's another one. I have such a hard time experiencing joy. This realization is really difficult to admit because I gravitate towards a victim mentality, unconsciously of course. What other explanation fits? I blame others for the hurt, frustration, and irritation that I feel. That means that I believe it is their fault, not mine. I am the victim. So much of what upsets me is insignificant. That doesn't mean that I have legitimately been hurt. I have in my own mind. And that doesn't mean that the people in my life are without fault. Sometimes they are. Sometimes my husband says things that really trigger me. The important question is why the words trigger me. I think that all of this unresolved grief has left me in a state of frequent volatility. Figuratively, I am a walking time bomb and the trouble is that I have no idea when I will detonate. At any given moment something could trigger me.

I think this is a good time to share one of my maladaptive coping strategies. If you're a woman who is ready this, you might relate to what I have to share. Body image is a HUGE trigger for me. In high school I thought I looked great. I thought that I was pretty good looking. I even dabbled in vanity because a Cosmo magazine article stated that acting extra confident is sexy. A year after Leslie was born I started to obsess about my body. I used to blame a friend of mine for this. I had this gorgeous friend who was about five years older than me who would obsess about her weight. She pretty obsessively watched what she ate and barely a day went by without some comment from her about how fat she was getting. At that time I still ate like a typical high school kid. I ate what I wanted when I wanted. Since I was a waitress at an Italian restaurant, I ate a lot of pasta. I would eat pasta for lunch, bread for snacks, then more pasta for dinner. My friend would comment on how lucky I was that I could eat like that without gaining weight.

When I first started examining how I became body obsessive, an exercise addict, and practiced disordered eating my mind drifted back to those memories. I remembered that friend and I thought it was her fault. Upon closer examination of the time line, I realize now that the negative self-image began after the adoption became finalized (one year after Leslie was born). That was when I let the cultural messages of inadequacy filter in. I compared myself to other women. I decided I wasn't pretty enough or thin enough. Simultaneously, my body began to change. The pasta I was eating regularly began to stick to my thighs and hips and arms. I looked in the mirror and began to hate what I saw. I never learned about healthy eating from my family. I did not see the connection between the quality of food I was putting in my body and health. I did know that if I wanted to loose the weight I would need to restrict what I ate.

For years I would binge then restrict my eating. Sometimes I would purge, but I never developed a ritual of it. It was a monthly kind of habit. Initially I tried exercise. I got a gym membership. At first I would go regularly, but within months I tired of the practice. There was no passion in that solitary, indoor activity for me. I resigned to my miserable existence. I watched television excessively. I immersed
myself in the lives of the fictional characters. I jumped from relationship to relationship thinking that the next guy would be the solution. Love is all we need, right? Well, what I needed was some self-love. It never came. Instead, I moved into disordered eating. I restricted my daily calorie intake to between 700 and 1000 calories. The closer to 700, the better I felt about myself. I was in control. It was a scary place to be in because of the roller coaster emotions. When I was able to restrict the way I planned I felt fabulous like I was the director in my own life. When I made a "mistake" and went for the treat I plummeted to failure status. The highs and lows were really hard. What was my solution? Pharmaceuticals.

Wellbutrin was the solution for me it promotes weight loss and because I thought it would treat the depression. Well, weight loss happened. I whittled myself down to 103 pounds. I'm 5'6. I was thrilled if I fit into a size 0, but life was okay if a size 2 fit my body. The depression didn't go away though. It persisted. Why though? It should have worked! I am chemically imbalanced! That's what the advertisements contended. I had been seeing a therapist regularly for over two years. She helped me a lot. We worked through much of those old childhood wounds, yet I was still a depressive. She encouraged me to stay on the meds. Why wouldn't she encourage that? The simplest explanation is that I am chemically imbalanced. That might be so, but I do not think it is the whole story. In fact, I would argue that a chemical imbalance is the least likely explanation.

I do not blame any of the therapists I have seen for missing the source of my malaise. Actually, maybe they knew I was not ready to deal with the crux so they waited. I do know that access to literature on the birthmother experience is challenging. Because I am a UC Berkeley Alumni I still have access to their libraries and online journals. I have tirelessly searched the Cal article databases for data on birthmothers. There is not a lot and it is hard to find. The number of participants in the studies are small. In fact, the largest study I read was a survey of 300 birthmothers. The standard though, in every study, is that relinquishment grief runs deep. It permeates every aspect of the birthmother's life. Often she has huge gaps in her memory. The events leading up to the adoption, the pregnancy, the birth, and the first year before the adoption was finalized are often a blur for the birthmother. Birthmothers frequently experience PTSD. They have trouble in relationships. I knew none of this until recently. The first I heard about PTSD was a year ago from a social worker. When I read "The Girls Who Went Away" I was surprised that every single woman who relinquished her child experienced grief long after the birth. In fact, it impacted their lives irrevocably.

No one at the adoption agency told me that my choice could create such havoc in my life. That doesn't mean that I would have made a different choice. I think that I could have coped in healthier ways if I was warned. I needed support. It NEVER came. This is the reason I write this blog. I write in case there is another birthmother out there struggling. I write for women/girls thinking about relinquishing their children. I want them to be prepared. I write so that I can heal my wounds. I hope for connection. I don't have another birthmother to talk to because I don't know any. In my experience, when we open up to someone who has experienced the same kind of pain as us we relate and start to heal. So here I am, making myself available to other women. Here I am attempting to heal because avoiding the pain is a coping strategy that has not functioned for me.