Do you know why I blog? Because we live in a digital world. People do not give a damn about anyone but themselves, and they don’t have to. You don’t have to ask how someones weekend went, because they uploaded it on instagram. You don’t have to call everyone and tell them you got engaged, you just change your status on facebook. You don’t need to share your views on big events, you just add a hashtag and tweet about them. We are all connected in a so very disconnected world.
Eatin’ my PB & J, minding my own business.
You scrolled through my facebook a few times, my blogs pop up on your newsfeed. You heard from the chatter at work last spring I was adopted. You saw a picture of me next to a humvee in uniform and now you’ve made the connection that I’m in the Army. You think we’re quaint enough for small talk, but all you know is what you’ve gathered on social media, which is fine, but then your opening line shouldn’t be, “I bet she’s so proud of you!” Who? I asked to this almost stranger. “Your birth mom of course!”
This REALLY happened. I almost choked on my sandwich. I don’t do awkward. Honestly, I don’t even know what I said. I wished it away with my wit and she left the break room. I had to tell myself, “She’s being polite, she doesn’t know. She isn’t trying to offend you. Don’t explain. Leave it alone. Stop thinking about it. Don’t get angry.”
I’m going to do what I do. I’m going to blog it out, because what else have I got? It’s an uncomfortable topic. It’s not relatable. People want happily ever after. That’s not me. I’m not going to make it a happy ending, because the truth makes your skin crawl. This is my real life. This is my real story. No embellishment needed.
To the stranger who interrupted my lunch break:
YOU bet SHE is proud of me? Proud of me for what? I bet the mailman is proud of me too. That’s the only socially acceptable feeling to address with a soldier. But is she ACTUALLY proud of ME? I don’t give a F**K.
To the strangers/family/friends who know my story:
I do not think she is allowed to be proud of me. All the mothers reading this are going, “But she gave you life!” But…. she didn’t value it.
If I have any say in it, she will never get one ounce of pride from anything I do ever again. I can’t change what she already knows. I can’t take back birthdays, report cards, and high school graduation. But I will not give her my army career, I will not give her my college diploma, I will not give her a son-in-law, I will not give her grandchildren. She opted out. She said no. She didn’t want me. She is not a walking instagram friend, she doesn’t get to “thumbs up” “heart” or “retweet” my highlight reel. She didn’t hold my hand in the back of an ambulance. She didn’t teach me how to ride a bike, or drive a car. She didn’t squeeze me tight before dropping me off at college. She didn’t hold me when I cried for a week through my first heartbreak. She isn’t my mom. So no, I do not “bet she is so proud.”