For various reasons, I had begun to think about going to spend Christmas with my biological family, rather than my adoptive family. I wanted to meet my biological grandmother (who turned 91 this year). And I wanted to meet my aunts and uncles. And a cousin who had been adopted and just reunited with my aunt.
There was a lot pulling me to visit. But it was pulling against thirty-plus years of living up to my adoptive family's expectations. Mind you, I wasn't sure they were expecting me to come home, but I thought maybe they were. And I didn't want to disappoint them.
A week ago or so, we had to make plans for our holiday travels. And I still had remained unresolved, hoping that a solution would present itself. None did. And I had to make a choice. So I took the path of least resistance. We're going to visit my adoptive family as usual.
Yesterday, I e-mailed my mom (my first mom) to tell her we weren't going to be able to come down this year. She didn't expect me to. But I had hoped. And I felt awful that I wasn't.
She e-mailed me back to reassure me that she completely understood, and she didn't want me to feel badly about it at all. She didn't expect me to come down and interrupt my traditions with my family.
But while I feel badly about possibly letting her down, I knew she wouldn't hold it against me. I feel badly because I WANT to go down. I feel badly because I want to be there, and I don't feel as though I am free to do what I want. I am still reacting liking a selfish three-year-old who wants everything his way.
This never seems to get easier. Just one hard choice after another.
Maybe next year.