Many many years earlier my mother had told people something about my life. She didn't "out" me as adopted, I showed that off as often as I could. She shared something that we rarely spoke of outside of our family. We had told those who needed to know and who would not share the story with anyone. Well, she was in a group with women who were having trouble with some of their children. My mother thought that my story would help them and so respectfully she told them my story. A little later my mother and I were having a conversation in which she mentioned that she had told my story to them. It was like I had been kicked in the gut. My whole being went into a kind of shock. For a minuet I couldn't breath or see or talk or cry. I don't know if it was that they knew my story, if I had not been asked if they could know, or if it was something else entirely. I was so angry at my mother for putting me in a situation where I felt like this. I eventually forgave her but every time I saw those women who perhaps did not know that I knew that they knew my story I was overcome with anger, anxiety, and a little bit of shame.
With this little girl, I knew from my own experiences how precious stories are. It is ok for me to tell my story but it is not always ok for others to tell my story. I did not want this little girl to feel the way I felt. If she wanted to tell me that she was adopted then I would be there for her. If she just wanted to know that I was adopted and watch me, I was ok with that as well. We did not talk about it that night and I don't know what will happen in the future but I do know that some stories tellings should be up to the owner of the story. I have decided that everyone is welcome to my adoption story but not some others.
