Every single time I see mom or talk to her on the phone – that phrase is uttered at least once, if not may times throughout the visit or call. It is usually accompanied by words of *advice* that have been repeated every single time. You need to relax. Take things as they come. Roll with the punches. Worrying won’t a difference. I don’t know why you can’t just relax, I wish you could get over this. You can’t worry about everything. And a million or two other versions of the same. I just wish she could accept that is who I am, that it is a combination of my genetic makeup, and my life experiences. Neither of which I can change, and I wish mom could accept that, but I also never expect her too. She is who she is – just like – I am who I am.
I am too sensitive and worry too much – but I can’t change a core part of what makes me – me. Sometimes my worry is front and center, and other times it is subconscious – both forms take their toll. My friends get it and accept it. It didn’t take long for my closest colleagues at work to learn that I stressed over everything but they accepted it as part of who I was. That for me, my work needed to be perfect and any mistake made by my team or I was unacceptable, so I built-in controls into every facet so that the risk of a mistake was minimal. Being able to control it – reduced my stress about it. That was my only solution. I was a pro at risk assessment…
Worrying is unhealthy, but I don’t have a magic way to fix it. I have read books on it. I have tried to consciously block things out of my mind. I have tried, and tried, and tried. The only method that works is control of the situation and outcome, and yet there are still things I cannot control. Those things I stress over, either by putting them off, or waiting anxiously for the outcome to be known. I can face known – that is the easy part. What I can’t face is not knowing and someone else being in control of when I get to know the outcome.
I have been this way since I arrived home. I think at it’s core it is about separation from my mother, and then from whoever, or however many whoever’s cared for me the first two and a half months of my life. My transition home was horrible according to mom – when I was awake, I cried inconsolably for well over 6 months, nothing she tried worked for more than a minute or two. Nothing was physically wrong with me. I was just inconsolable – except with dad. I attached to dad, but I don’t think I ever really attached to mom. I don’t know that she could have done anything different from what she did, I just didn’t attach to her. She will always be mom, but not in the same way as dad. Mom and I don’t fit. I don’t know why, but suspect it is a combination of being nothing alike, and a babies instinctual distrust of mothers/caregivers not being there anymore learned by reality.
Yet I don’t have separation anxiety and never have…it doesn’t bother me when someone leaves. How messed up is that.
The adopted ones blog 