My name should be Heidi.

Born at the Queen Victoria Hospital (aka The Baby Factory), in 1972, I was “scooped” at 12 days old.

I’m not grateful, but I towed the line for way to long.

My adoptive parents were my “real” parents because they did all the work and blah blah blah. We’ve heard it all before.

My “biological mother” “did the right thing” and more blah blah blah. Heard all that too.

I was, in some ways, a model adoptee. Very close to my mother, and very attached to my family.

But I still wasn’t good enough, in a myriad of tiny ways.

So now? The breakdown of the relationship with my mother has been traumatic, but also quite freeing.

I’m not good enough, and that’s actually OK. The rest of my “family” has let me go without a peep, and that’s actually OK too.

Now I can figure out my place without the niggle naggle of guilt-loyalty.

Now I can be myself … as soon as I figure out who that is.

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