Recently, I had a heart-to-heart with one of my fourth grade students who has a difficult family situation; he doesn’t have a relationship with his mother at this time, he lives with his father and spends most of his time with his grandparents. There was a misunderstanding that arose regarding an assignment in which students needed to share a family recipe. It could have been a recipe passed down for generations, a recipe they just like making together, a recipe of a food they like to eat, anything at all; they needed to hand in a copy of the recipe, send photos of either the food or of them making it, and write a short description of their connection to that recipe, what about it made them choose it for the assignment. My student panicked, thinking he needed to do something with family he doesn’t have and that he would need to redo the whole thing, and my colleague and I got a very angry message from his grandmother about our supposed audacity to assume things about families (which we didn’t assume at all). In the end, all was smoothed over with his grandmother, and when I spoke directly to this student, I talked with him about family. I assured him that we know his family isn’t the traditional “mom and dad and 2.5 kids” scenario; however, he has his dad and his grandmother and grandfather, and that’s his family, that’s a family too. I then asked if he could keep a secret. I told him that I don’t have any family either, not ones I’m related to. I explained that I have no relationship with them, I don’t talk to them, and it isn’t because they’re not alive, it’s because it isn’t safe for me to. And while I absolutely do have people who love me, who are there for me and support me, and they feel like my family now — that does not mean that my situation doesn’t suck. I assured him that it’s wonderful that he has his dad and his grandparents who love him — and his situation can feel sucky. It’s both things at once. He’s a kid who doesn’t open up easily, but I could see in his eyes and his face and his body language that for the first time in awhile, he felt seen. It seemed to help him, hearing that he wasn’t alone in this experience. Between relief that he had completed the assignment just fine, and the dose of validation, I watched him visibly relax, as if I’d lifted a tiny load from his shoulders. (Maybe it wasn’t so tiny, I don’t know.)

It’s important to acknowledge both sides of that coin. Yes, I am loved. And, I carry the pain of prolonged trauma that makes my daily life challenging in a variety of ways, from the major to the minutiae. Yes, I have people who care about me. And, I have people who managed to have a really good go at fucking me up.

I often write posts about the dark side of my coin, so to speak. Today, though, I thought I’d spare some time to gaze appreciatively at the light side.

I have a hard time with Mother’s Day. This isn’t news to anyone who knows me or has read my blog. I haven’t seen or spoken to my mother in nearly five years (and counting). But in the absence of my actual mother, other women in my life have stepped up and filled aspects of that role of maternal support, whether consciously or unknowingly. I have friends, and mothers of friends, and my husband’s mother, and my neighbor, who have been there for me through much of my efforts to purge my mother’s toxicity from my life. They have given me a shoulder to cry on, an ear when I needed to talk, encouragement when I am looking for my voice, the occasional stern talking-to when I start to forget who I am, and all the warmth and love I would never ask for because I was raised to think it wasn’t meant for me. I don’t know how to properly express gratitude to them without making things awkward, but, I hope they can perceive how much I love them and value their presence in my life. I try to demonstrate my appreciation to them when I can. Maybe some of them will even read this post, especially if I send them the link directly. (Ha ha!)

When I was a kid, I used to fantasize that I was actually adopted. That I didn’t really belong after all to the screaming maniacs that I was trying to hide from upstairs. I used to dream of being a child by surrogacy.

Well, it took awhile, but maybe, just maybe, in a roundabout way, that wish came true in the end.