Assumptions and Self-Induced Solitude

While I was in law school I grew an affinity for reading romance novels. I suppose this was because they were polar opposite to the law books I was assigned to read at the time…and plus I could read the novel in 4-6 hours and get back to my school work pretty quickly.  Anyway, last night I read a book by Wayne Jordan (To Love a Knight) and one of the characters (who in the story had grown up in foster care) said the following:

“I’m accustomed to being on my own.  Remember, I grew up in foster care and the word is always survive.  It was never good to attach yourself to anyone, since you never knew when they’d be gone, too.”

And there you have it, the inspiration for this new post.  Okay I know you’re like…really, your getting your inspiration from a romance novel.  And to you I say…Yes I am…lol.  Once I read that passage I earmarked that page because those three sentences spoke volumes to me.  One month after my 27^th birthday, I can tell you unequivocally that I feel this same exact way.  Growing up in foster care, you really do live to survive.  And when your story is that your birth mother left you in a hotel as a baby and your father/other family members wanted nothing to do with you, you really do feel you need to learn to survive on your own – because really if your parents/family could so easily leave you, how can you trust that the next person won’t leave either.  Okay that was a mouthful…whew…aaannnd breathe…lol.  Truly the very words in that passage have been the source of a lot of grief in my life.  In my heart I know that this is absolutely no way to live life, but for those of us who have gone through the child welfare system, I seriously wonder if we can sanely live any other way.

I think that word survive is unfortunately a personal journey for persons’ emancipating from the child welfare system.  Reaching the age 18 as a ward of the court means we must quickly figure out the best way to “continue to live or exist in spite of yada yada yada.”  That yada yada yada for us generally means “in spite of a family,” “in spite of money,” in spite of a home,” “in spite of a definite plan of survival,” so on and so forth.  Personally my survival plan has revolved around school (I’ll surely talk about this in another post).  Knowing that I would leave the system needing a place to stay, food to eat, and money, I figured school would be a good transition for myself.  To that end, financial aid and scholarships have been my source of livelihood for the past 9 years.  In a superficial sense, I think I have generally done well for myself…I am alive and well, I have a nice home, reliable transportation, four degrees behind my belt, sufficient economic resources to keep me afloat, etc., etc.  But in the profound sense, I am not afraid to admit that I have failed miserably.

Yes, I have gotten very far, but at what expense … I’m sure you’ve heard Billy D’s wise words from Mahogany … “success is nothing without someone you love to share it with.”  A vast source of my reoccurring angst in life is the prevailing feeling that I am alone.  Generally, I think I prefer being alone (a sentiment I think a lot of former foster youth share) because it hurts less being alone now, rather than to risk getting attached to someone just to have him or her leave.  To that end, I rarely allow people to get close to me because I’m so sure that sooner or later they will leave.  To make matters worst, the few times that I have gotten close to someone they have indeed left, which fuels my conviction to survive alone.  But then in those really lonely moments, I have to face facts and ask myself if those people left on their own, or did I push them away?  Are those people I think left me, really no longer around because I continuously questioned/tested their loyalty to me in one way or another; did they leave because I rarely called or reached out to them (most times because I didn’t want to be a burden); did they figure I didn’t want them around because I rarely opened up to share my thoughts and feelings with them (mainly because I didn’t want to get attached/comfortable); did they get tired of my constant quietness and distance when they were around; or did they leave because I showed them in one way or another that I didn’t need them or anyone for that matter?  I wonder if I had opened my heart to give them a chance would they still be around?

I think today is a good day for me to come face to face with these questions and this solitary life I have chosen to live.  Not to mention the fact that I spent three hours of my Saturday listening to a 55 year old man depressed about his solitude.  As I listened to him go on and on about being alone, I could tell that his solitude was self-induced because he felt (as I think a lot of us in foster care do) that he was for whatever reason a burden to his wife and family and felt he should just distance himself.  I just kept thinking … you actually have people around … people under the same roof who undoubtedly care (something I specifically inquired about), but because of these absurd assumptions, he was sitting in front of me mopping about feeling alone.  But you know what, I saw a lot of myself in him (which I suppose is what kept me there for three hours) and that was just depressing.

So…I sit here now and wonder about all of this.  Would I prefer to continue to keep everyone who comes into my life at arms length in an effort to protect my fragile heart, or do I want to take that risk and give those who want to know me a chance.  I am writing this because I still don’t know the answer to this...cause in reality for us it is not an easy question and the stakes for some of us are just too high.  But as I near the end of this post, I find it important to ask that question a different way, which just may make it more bearable to answer.  Do I want to continue to give my parents (people I have never met mind you) this type of power over me?  Because of my past…would you believe that to this day I still feel uncomfortable and distant around my foster mom (whom I’ve known since age 12) and my best friend (whom I’ve known since 2002)…both people who have been nothing but good to me?  They are the few “close” people left in my life and I still can’t really let them get close because I continue to wonder when they will too be gone.  But after writing this, I know one thing for sure…NO way do I intend to be 55 years old sitting in a coffee shop talking to some youngster about being alone when I know I have the power to live otherwise.  As a start I will have to keep my absurd assumptions and self-induced solitude from pushing those that I know love me away. 

So there, that’s a start…I urge all of those leaving the foster care system to start there too.