…adoption feels like drinking hemlock.
There is only so much the human soul can endure. And sometimes…sometimes what a culture asks of a woman is beyond her capacity to bear, but they require it of her any way.
M.
Letters to Ms. Feverfew
"Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh; fruit of my age-long mother pain."
I really hope our culture changes. Among the adoptive parents who seem to dominate public discourse, happy bmoms marinating in the fog 10+ years after placement and reciting what everyone wants them to, politicians on strings held by the adoption industry’s money, and desperate couples who continue paying the system in hopes of a child, I really don’t know how things will ever change.
At least if we had drunk hemlock, the pain would be no more. Hugs to you.