What would it look like if you stopped running from the things that overwhelm, or frighten, you about adoption?

I don’t like to make a mistake. It’s crippling. I get better about it the older I get. But it’s still there lingering… Because I don’t want to make a mistake, I work to always be right.  But a person can’t be right 100% of the time. There’s no way.  So I morph the memory in my mind so I can live with being wrong. Maybe it’s because I’m a Capricorn and we strive for perfection. Maybe it’s because I’m an adoptee and I’ve tried to be perfect, to be the perfect daughter to an over protective, controlling mother. This need for perfection has kept me cautious. I don’t take large risks unless I’m fairly certain of the payout. When I was in ballet we wore pillow cases on our heads as we came on stage during rehearsal for a part in the Bluebird of Happiness.  You could barely see through them so I didn’t venture far. One girl fell into the orchestra pit. I remember my mom saying she saw me at the back of the stage as I lifted the the case just above my face. She knew I was safe. I knew I wouldn’t have taken the risk. 

I’ve made it my job to be right as I’ve grown up.  I try to take in my surroundings first, read the people in the room, predict if I will be successful in the moment or not.  So in a way, I’ve been running away from risk, from growth.  It took me seven years to complete my undergrad. I changed majors half way through. I didn’t want to risk graduating with a useless degree.  Right before my last year of college my friend was leaving for New York to nanny and audition for Broadway.  She told me to come with her.  I chickened out.  It was too risky and why leave with one year of college left?!  

I’ve always said things seem to work out for me. I mean, I was teaching in a very WHITE school district and four years later a former colleague offered me a job in a more diverse district.  Then ten year years later my husband wanted to move to Austin, TX from Michigan. I tried to get a teaching job in Austin but was not very successful.  Then a job at Apple opened up that wanted someone with an educational background. I got it. It just seemed to work out.  Throughout my stay at Apple my boss would always ask me, “Where do you see yourself in five years Heather?”  Umm, I’d always answer: Doing the same thing making more money? I didn’t worry because things seemed to fall into place. I like to think it’s because things work out for me.  But how much sooner could my career have developed had I taken risks? Where would I be if I had pictured myself as a go getter, someone who made things happen? I don’t move on until I am confident I can succeed.  Yet, if you never fail, how do you learn?  

This the one lesson I hope I impart on my daughter: It’s ok to fail. It’s ok to make a mistake.  I just couldn’t bear that burden for some reason.  I hate being wrong. Can you imagine what it’s like to marry a woman who never wants to be wrong? It’s rough. I would not want to marry me.

So think back to the night it all blew up when I met my biological sister. The day had gone so well. We were getting along.  I tried to be a good guest, a good little sister.  But in reality, I’m not. I was raised as the oldest so in birth order we are different women. In our cultures we are different women. She wanted to call and talk on the phone a lot and become close sisters.  I wanted to talk now and then and ease into the sister role. Again ever cautious.  I think back to that night we raised our voices. How I altered the narrative to make me feel vindicated for looking at my phone to see what time it was when she was telling me a deep, dark secret. I knew she was getting drunker as the night wore on and I could sense communication was not going to be productive. I was tired of conforming and giving out the answers I thought she wanted to hear. Or has my memory created a story so I can reconcile the argument? Am I only looking at her flaws without addressing mine? Has her familial guilt clashed with my adoption resentment? This is one incident I can’t neatly package up and attribute to someone else’s wrong. I have to look at myself if I want to be a part of this new family.