the winding road to self

  motherhood _____________________________________________________ Motherhood.  What a wild ride it's been so far.  With my 34th birthday approaching and the recent birth of my own child, I've inevitably been thinking about the special bond between mother and baby while trying to untangle the many feelings I've faced as I take on this new experience as an adoptee.  I went from having no biological family in my world to having the most beautiful daughter to call my own, a little human who actually shares traits with me , the only other human I know who shares my blood. Becoming a mother has had its inescapable ups and downs, joys and challenges, and ultimately the shedding of one identity as another one takes form.  What a funny juxtaposition to observe during postpartum, the shrinking of a woman's uterus working in tandem with the hard emotional growing pains of an inexplicably beautiful metamorphosis.  Oh, motherhood. I'll admit that the past six weeks in ...

great expectations "What are your expectations?" Carolyn asked me.   I thought about her question, but nothing came to mind.  "I mean...expectations for..." I trailed off hoping she'd jump in to elaborate.   "With your mother.  What do you hope will happen long-term?  Do you want to have a relationship with her?  Or someday meet her?"  I felt overwhelmed and struggled to respond.  "I...don't know.  I guess I haven't thought that far ahead."  I sat with my thoughts for a moment and tried to imagine what it would be like to have a relationship with my birth mother, or what it would be like to meet her.  It felt painful and scary.  "I don't...I don't think I want to have a relationship.  At least not yet.  That feels like too much.  I'm having trouble with that idea," I admitted.   "Well, maybe that's something to think about this week.  Even if you feel like you might not have any expectati...

 the snow globe There are a few moments in my life that seem frozen in time.  Like a beautiful quilt, there are tattered worn-out squares of equal parts joy and sorrow that are pieced together to quietly prove the existence of life and being.  There are other moments, though, that merely seem slow like old films played on projectors at half-speed.  We sit back and watch them with a soft smile, surrounded by friends as the memories flicker in the reflections of our eyes.  We might laugh or even cry, but whatever we feel quickly dissipates when the lights turn on and we ultimately leave feeling something pleasant.  Time well spent.  We take note to retell those moments as good stories later on, but go on with the rest of our day.  Then there are the moments I'm talking about.  The moments where our world suddenly becomes enclosed inside a giant snow globe, and someone has come and shaken the whole damn thing.  Anything that was moving is...

  nature vs. nurture __________________________ "What are you afraid of?" Carolyn asked.  It was only our second session, long before I had taken any real steps in my search.  We were trying to get to the root of my resistance.  Why was it so difficult for me to move forward?  I knew the steps I could take, so why wasn't I taking them?  "I'm afraid that I'll find out my birth mother or someone else in my biological family is a musician," I replied.   This was confusing to me and I didn't understand why it was scary, but it was.   _____________ I can't remember a time when I didn't know how to read music.  I began taking piano lessons at the age of three and one of my earliest memories as a child was humming Carol of the Bells in the back of our van, followed by singing, " G F# G E,"  over and over while staring out the window.  My earliest memories of piano lessons include my piano teacher's red pen and the smell of her pi...

stuck on salutation There I sat, watching the spacer blink in front of me, over and over and over again.  I had a million things I wished to write and ask, but when the time came, I couldn't write a single word.   I was attempting to write a letter to my biological mother.  My social worker had advised me to prepare a letter and a few photos to send in case she was open to communication. How do I even start this letter,  I wondered.  Dear...mother?  Mom?  Or maybe just... hello?   Nothing felt right or natural.  Maybe I could just skip the salutation and dive right in.  But then what do I dive into?  My name is...?   Do I use my American name or my Korean name?  If I couldn't even begin the letter, how could I possibly complete it? I rolled my chair back from my desk and sat with my thoughts for a while.  I considered all the things I wanted to know.  Why did she give me up?  Did she know where my biolo...

thresholds + first-steps _________________ My husband checked his phone to see the time.  11:18pm shone bright through his cracked screen.  He sighed softly and turned off the tv, then rose from the couch and began turning off the lights in our living room, one-by-one.  He leaned down and gave me a kiss, then said he was going to read in bed for a little while.  I smiled and nodded at him.  As he left and the room fell quiet, my eyes adjusted to the loss of light and there I sat...alone.  I thought about only one thing:  At this moment,   there is a letter being delivered on the other side of the world, making its way to a home where a woman may or may not still live.  A woman who looks like me.   They are sending a letter to my biological mother.  And I'm not ready for this.  God, I'm not ready for this.  __________________________________ I like to do a lot of things that make me feel nervous.  I try to live by...