For as long as I can remember I’ve had
this reoccurring feeling. When I was younger I
didn’t know how to express it so I would say “I don’t feel good.” I truly didn’t feel good, but I didn’t realize until doing some serious research, the “feeling” that has always been a part of my life is embedded in me at a cellular level and in every fiber of my being.
I remember being in first grade waiting in line at school for the bus to deliver me to my after school destination. I remember exactly how I felt as my teacher began leading our line down the hall to wait near the front door for the busses to arrive. My belly felt sick and scared. I felt an excessive feeling of panic. I remember getting really hot and antsy. I remember feeling like I was going to cry. I got my teachers attention and said “I don’t feel good.” She took me out of the line and walked me back to her classroom. My mom worked at the same school I attended, so my teacher was able to contact her. I stayed with my teacher until my mom was out of her afternoon meetings. When she came to get me I felt an indescribable amount of relief. I remember thinking to myself “She’s here. She’s really here.”
Not long after the first incident the exact same thing happened. This time when the feelings came on in the bus line I told the nearest adult which happened to be the mom of one of my classmates. When she told my teacher what I had said about not feeling well my teacher said “No no, you did this the other day. You’re fine.” My body was telling me otherwise. I did not feel fine. When I got onto the bus I felt worried and fidgety. I also felt sad because my teacher thought I was making this up. When I got to my babysitters the feelings still remained. When mom picked me up that afternoon I didn’t want to leave her side.
These feelings continued. I remember attempting to attend many sleepovers that started and ended the same way. I would get excited to spend the night only to experience “the feeling” some time after I arrived. I remember one time when the feeling hit I called my mom telling her I wanted to go home. She tried to convince me to stay but I couldn’t do it. My mom must have picked up on the distress in my voice and the tears I was trying to fight back because she came and got me.
As I got older these feelings became more intense. It wasn’t until I was in my mid
20’s that I learned that this stems from being relinquished. (It would have been super helpful had the adoption agency given my parents a heads up that these feelings could arise, but it was 1992 so a fair amount of society still probably thought there were zero long term effects to infants who were adopted.)
For 28 years a banner that reads “Welcome Home Sara,” has hung in my parents kitchen from when I became their daughter. Seeing the banner as I walk through the door every time I go to visit reminds my brain that I am safe even if internally my body tells me otherwise.
