I turn 28-years old in just over 24 hours. Woo Birthday! Not quite.
You see I'm still trying to get passed an issue that started 34 years ago. The problem nae problems are:
1) The patriarchal society that tells a woman of 21 (very nearly 22) she can't keep her baby because she isn't married. That also looked down upon her for having a second child out of marriage, the first being born four years prior.
2) The upset that the woman felt every year on the date of her adopted-out baby's birth
3) The fact that she never tried to hide that upset for the child she did have in the future, which by some sick freak of nature landed on the same date as the previous baby's birth.
I know, I should have compassion, however, it's a difficult thing to have when all your birthday's that you can remember have been miserable. I also know, that kid might be angry or questioning their sense of self. This to I can imagine is difficult but honestly not something I can understand since I'm 'fortunate' enough to know my mother.
What I do know is Dean Duncan born the 18th of April 1983 in Aberdeen was adopted to a couple from Perth/Perthshire and the husband was a fire fighter. That's all the information I have about why my birthdays have never been as fun as other people's.
I've not lived at home for about 9 years, I'm a grown woman (not an adult!) but yet every birthday is still miserable. It feels like I'm still not allowed to enjoy it. I shouldn't ask to do something special because it's not what someone else wants to do. When I try to do something special I feel guilty for being happy.
I'm sure I'm not the only person with a mother who has reacted (understandably but not justifiably) in the same way as mine has. I'm sure to some it wont be a surprise to know that the damage making someone give up a child can do to them and future children. I'm sure I'll never get those lost days of happiness back but I hope by writing it down and letting the world know how I feel on the 18th of April – it might get better.
The only good birthday I remember with any clarity was when my dad and his colleague/friend/my courtesy uncle Steve took me pony riding. Before anyone judges, I know how privileged that sounds. In lots of ways growing up I was privileged in others I was deprived. Money is great for accessing things like pony trekking or buying roller-blades – it's not good for reaching your mothers emotional side unless you're the one giving her the money. Anyway, after the pony ride my dad got me involved with an awesome charity called Riding for the Disabled Association. The RDA, is a UK wide charity that gets people with disabilities interacting with horses. At that time I was only sight impaired. The reason I say sight impaired an not blind is because I started riding with them when I was 'Registered Visually Impaired' then in November of 1995 I was 'Registered Blind'. Us lot have to be registered incase there is a power-cut with not back-up lighting available or the sun goes out so that we can help sighted folk live independently.
Feel free to post me money, cake and material things but leave your happiness at the door please. Also, no damn cards, I can't read them!