The Bond That I Found
Blood, blood seems to intrigue us humans. Not only is it vital to life, but this substance carries a magical essence that binds us to each other. It connects us on a deeper level beyond the technicalities of legal rights and the necessity to survive. It links our souls, our minds, our love for each other. This connection, especially that of immediate family, is sacred. This blood bond is both mystical and indescribable, and yet it is known so deeply by every human being. It is a feeling only those of the same blood can experience. So I believed for decades.
But what if you do not feel that deep connection? What if you have always known that you are different? Even when you are lovingly welcomed into the family, you may not recognise yourself as truly part of it. Not completely. Yes, you recognise certain traits you have learned from your parents, but part of you is not mirrored by the people close to you who raised you. That creates a distance. I always believed this was because I was not their kin, not of their blood.
In a way, I always felt broken or different. That feeling was reinforced when I was welcomed by the families of a few boyfriends. I observed such warmth, connection, and a love that felt almost supernatural. Something I did not recognise but longed for.
I learned cognitively that there is no such thing as a magical blood bond. The way I've felt has everything to do with how I developed as a human being. How I was able to attach and connect. But deep inside, I still believe that being born into a family and being raised by your biological parents plays a big part in being able to deeply connect to them and feel that primal bond.
When I was about thirteen, I wrote: "It's like we are three strangers forced to live together under one roof and play family." Back then, I already felt that the primal connection was not present. My family did not talk much. We did not share our deepest fears or express our insecurities. Talking about those things always stayed on the surface. Sometimes it was expressed by calling me a tramp or by pointing out what I was doing wrong without explaining why they were upset. I learned to bury those insecurities and push through.
And the result is that I don't really know my parents. I don't know what their inner world is like. It is like seeing the results of a study but not the research and report. Because they are like me, walled off. I don't blame them for that anymore, but it took a burn-out to realise and accept that they too were dealing with their own coping mechanisms learned from their life and family experiences. It was only then, when I finally reconnected with my younger self and allowed myself to feel all the emotions I had pushed away, that I could finally see my mother as a person again. A person who had a difficult life and only acted as she did not because she didn't love me, but because she did not know better. All my feelings of strife and being constantly on the defensive while I was with her flew out the window. And this created room within myself for the love I have for her. I don't feel the need anymore to recognise myself in her, but instead there is a genuine curiosity to get to know her better, to truly understand her.
I am grateful for this breakthrough. I'm grateful for the many revelations and realisations burn-out taught me. But it is also bittersweet. My mother's mind is plagued by dementia that slowly but steadily progresses. I will need to make peace with the fact that I may never get to know her fully, and that this magical love that I feel for her is more than enough.
