"Not now," I answered. "Not yet."
In a halfway state between sleep and waking, I asked myself: How can it be that even someone like me who has dealt with loss in therapy and writes and talks openly about trauma and healing could have such a well of undiscovered pain? Is it possible that my strongest pain is still beneath the surface ... that I haven't even touched it yet?
When adult adoptees speak about adoption using words like "loss" and "pain" and "trauma," we are sometimes countered with the statement, "Not all adoptees feel that way." And it's hard to argue with that. It's certainly true that no two adoptees are identical, in their feelings or anything else. And while I have met many adoptees whose experiences and feelings seem similar to my own, I have also met those who hold adoption very differently than I do.
I often wonder about those adoptees, the ones who are so unlike me. Do they have no trapdoor? Have they just not found it yet? Have they seen it and refused to open it?
I suppose there may be some who opened their door and discovered a milder, gentler pain than I did. Perhaps they took it out of its hiding place and carried it around for a while before eventually misplacing it and barely noticing its absence. Or maybe they keep it on a shelf and are not bothered by it.
But I can't help but wonder if there are some who opened the door and recoiled, as I did in my dream. Not now. Perhaps not ever. And then what? Cover up the door with a pretty rug and pretend it isn't there?
As I said, I wonder.
|Cheerful! But what's underneath?|
Image courtesy of John Kasawa at FreeDigitalPhotos.net