Contempt

“The only cure for contempt is counter-contempt.” – H.L. Mencken

“Only the contemptible fear contempt.” – François de La Rochefoucauld

 “I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” – Og Mandino

 

Contempt

 

Swaddled at birth

In that shroud of contempt

I could not escape

With time and healing

It has become

A badge of honor

Acceptance had a high price

Selling out my mind and soul

Was never on the table

What was lost

Never belonged to me

I walk alone, never lonely

With self-acceptance there is

Always a trusted companion

At my side till the end

Contempt has no place in my life

Only pity for those who chose its path

 

Bisous,

Léa

 

bond-less day

“Parents and relatives commit murder with smiles on their faces. They force us to destroy the person we really are: a subtle kind of murder.” – Jim Morrison

*

bond-less day

no, they say

you never miss

what you never had

yet I kept searching

for that bond

turning each stone

attachment of infancy

maternal bonding

it is celebrated

every year

and every year

I busy myself

to focus on

what I have that

is mine

despite familial rejection

the years of abuse

the violence

children she never

wanted – a choice

that was not mine

if you had that

magical bond

assuming we all did

i’m happy for you

but don’t assume

this is universal

i’ve worked with others

who lived in dread

of the pretense

who asked ourselves

over and over

why wasn’t I

acceptable

being who I

was, childish

attempts to change

your mind, your heart

changing who i was

trying to be good enough

finally accepting

without a conscience

there is nothing

you have to give

never to look into

my eyes

we were both

victims – who chose

different paths

no terms of endearment

no kisses, no gentle touch

i’ve learned to glue

pieces together

scarring is deep

but now i am free

i’ve built a life

where acceptance

is my cocoon

emerging i 

take wing and fly

*

bisous,

léa

The other side of the story – National Adoption Month

After reading an article on National Adoption Month, I wrote the following poem. The author of the article blames adoption for her issues. I remember as a young child praying each night that either my ‘real’ mother appear as ‘the mother’ hated me so and couldn’t actually be my mother or that my father would find someone kind who would have us both. After my unanswered prayers, I would cry myself to sleep.

My steps took me to university where I majored in Psychology obtaining my Master’s Degree and as a single parent then began working at a private therapy clinic and with Child Protection.

I do acknowledge the woman’s pain. However, she appears to have other issues and is so focused on ‘being adopted’ she cannot put a foot forward. I’ve been the kid that should have been surrendered for adoption. I’ve also worked with both sides both as a private therapist and in Child Protection. I know how bad the system is and often the kids end up with relatives who are not far from the parent/s they were removed from and/or do not protect them from said parent/s. 
When I was about four, I began going to the next door neighbors home to help with her clients. Mrs. Jones was a speech therapist for the Crippled Children’s Society. There were often children sitting in her living room waiting to be seen or siblings that needed to be distracted while they waited. Helping with these children and being an early reader helped me to focus outside a situation that was out of my control.

The poem below is offered to all those parents who put the child first and to all those children adopted or not who are survivors of some of life’s harshest realities. This piece is also for those brave individuals who step forward and make a difference in the life of these children.  In the end, it is all about love. Some never have been on the receiving end and don’t have love to give. Some have love in abundance. My sincere wish that all would find peace. I know from personal experience that my peace came from learning, understanding and perhaps most of all, reaching out to others who were or are still in pain.

 

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” – Oprah Winfrey

*

The other side of the story

 

Yes! I’ve no doubt

How painful it must be

Finding out your mother

Didn’t want, didn’t keep

You

Always knowing that she

Didn’t want you

Couldn’t keep you

Left you to the care

Of others

Whoever they may be

Searching crowds

For genetic similarities

Are they a part of me?

Where do I belong?

That eternal search

For home, acceptance,

Unconditional love

 

From my earliest memories

I would pray that my “real”

Mother would find me

I must have been put

Here by mistake

Yet her proof – horrific

Caesarean scar – my crime

Fragmentizing for a girl of three

Prayers for my father to

Find someone else who

Would be kind to us both

Hatred by – the mother

The word ‘mother’ still

Makes me queasy

 

Target for her rage

Making sure bruises didn’t show

Sold off to the grandma’s

Boyfriend – deacon of the church

For him to scatter his holy seeds

And cleanse my wickedness

Father unable to defend him self

Becoming his defender

Deflecting her rage onto myself

Believing he wouldn’t survive

And I would be alone, yet

I was always on my own

Never a kind word, nor

Gentle touch

 

I tell my story not for pity

Now at last I’m free

If you were adopted

Perhaps that mother

You search for

Spared you from my fate

And others who suffered more

Knowing she was not able

Perhaps the choice was not hers?

If you were treated kindly

You’ve much to be grateful for

Try forgiving – we never forget

It is on the road to healing

Then reach out to

Those who still suffer

Taking the focus off ourselves

Catharsis for healing

*

Bisous,

Léa

Self portrait

“The ultimate lesson all of us have to learn is unconditional love, which includes not only others but ourselves as well.”   – Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

 

“At the heart of personality is the need to feel a sense of being lovable without having to qualify for that acceptance.”   –  Paul Tournier

*

Self portrait

Sometimes

At the mirror

I can smile

Seeing something new

Something I can

Appreciate

The hair has lost

It’s frizz – not yet grey

But it is the

Kindness that

Sparkles from

Mes yeux

And it is

Spreading

Like branches

Reaching out

Allowing me

At last to

Embrace

Myself

*

Bisous,

Léa