Ancestry

I wasn't sure if I should blog about this just yet, but it's kind of a big deal for me so I've decided to go ahead and share. Writing about it will help me sort out my feelings about it anyway.

I've had an account on Ancestry.com for awhile, but only recently started to get into it, with being on summer break and all. I've been able to trace parts of my mom's family line back to Ireland, England, France, Canada (am I still allowed to make fun of them?), and of course, Germany.  I also traced Studdy Hubby's family back to England in the 1500s as well as Scotland.

On a side note, I got some junk mail the other day addressed to "Rachel Moore". Hasn't anyone informed the post office that she's gone? I briefly considered writing "Deceased" or "Not at this address" on it and tossing it back in the mailbox, but I refrained.

ANYWAY...

With all the searching for records I've been doing, I got to thinking about what records are out there with my name on it. Not many online as it turns out. And then I remembered that I was originally born Rachel Stoddard, my mom's last name after her first marriage, before she married my dad. But when I was born, she hadn't met him yet. When she did about 3 years later, they got married and he legally adopted me. So surely there's a record out there somewhere with my first name, right?

Not on Ancestry.com, well, at least not at this time. I tried doing a general internet search for Michigan adoption records and quickly learned that those are "closed" although the adult adoptee is allowed to request the record.

Hmmm...

A few short clicks, and I was staring at the form necessary to to get that information. It all happened so easily that I couldn't help but feel like this was the right time. 

Not long ago, finding my biological father or at least some information on him was hugely important to me. As I've worked through some other issues, I realized I had found peace with not knowing. And at the same time, I realized that I didn't try as hard as I could have to find him, or so it would seem. Otherwise, why wouldn't I have found this form before? What was holding me back? I'm not sure. Maybe there was a part of me that knew I wasn't in the right place to handle the information contained in the record. Maybe it had to wait until I was more at peace with the whole. Only God knows.

Saturday morning, I mailed in the form. They have 63 days to respond. If the father has signed something to where he doesn't want his identity revealed, then they can still share non-identifying information. If he didn't...well, I'm not holding my breath.

So we'll see what some of that. I'm trying to just put it out of my mind until August or until I hear something from them. 

Wish me luck!!

-Rachel

P.S. - Check this out: http://dna.ancestry.com/ I want to do this so bad!

House is a Four

I've talked about the Enneagram, the personality system, on here before. Recently, I've purchased a book about the system, in an effort to better understand my type and, more importantly, to learn how to use that information for growth. After "Fifty Shades of Grey", it's pretty dry reading. Interesting, but dry. And slow. But, insightful.

I've recently learned the Type Fours (my type) tend to be under-expressive in their emotions. At first I thought "There is no way this applies to me! I'm super emotional!". But as I read on, it explained that Fours feel just as much, however they channel those feelings into creative outlets, such as music, poetry, art or maybe blogging *ahem*. I put the book down and really started to reflect and examine this new revelation.

I get so caught up in feeling all these emotions, but I don't know how to broach the topic with people. I desperately want people to reach out to me. I have friends and family who I know are there for me, and have told me on multiple occasions that I can always turn to them. But I just can't do that. I don't know what I'm afraid of.

"You're so afraid if you change, you'll
lose what makes you special."
-Dr. Wilson to House 

The source of this is obvious. In my home growing up, we were not allowed to express ourselves. We were supposed to be obedient little Stepford children. If we cried, my sisters and I were told "Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about!" [May the good Lord strike me down if I ever utter this to my children!] I didn't know how to express any emotion appropriately. So I went to school and work and did my best to wear a mask, hiding the torment inside. Generally, I think I was pretty good at it.  I once had someone tell me that they assumed I had lived a "charmed life" because I just seemed happy. But it's not something I could just "turn off" when I was no longer being abused. It was a well-learned habit. There are times in life when this serves me well. For example, any job where I've had to deal with the public. "Happy" is what they are paying for, whether it be at the Burger King drive-thru, Blockbuster check-out or attending activities in the nursing home. The "mask" is appropriate at those times. 

But it becomes a problem when I'm unable to take off the mask around other people. People I could be friends with. The concept of the mask isn't really new to me, but understanding just how much I under-express feelings is.

Because of this, I naturally hold people at an arm's length. Which feeds the feeling of being different from others. Which feeds the act of holding people at an arm's length. Do you see the vicious cycle here?

This all also plays a part in holding on to feelings that make me feel different as well. Melancholy is defined as:

1. a gloomy state of mind, especially when habitual or prolonged; depression.

2. sober thoughtfulness; pensiveness.

It is pretty common for me to feel melancholy. I start to dwell on all my "deep, dark feelings". I get annoyed that "no one" understands me, and that I feel unconnected with those around me. It's taken some time, however I'm now able to recognize these feelings when I'm experience them. But it's still difficult to stop them. It's so comfortable. Like baked macaroni and cheese and Studdly Hubby's pajama pants. None of it is good or attractive, but man, does it feel comforting. 

I don't want to say I'm "stuck" here, because I am making progress. I understand this particular issue more and more all the time. But I don't like being in this space at all, because finding comfort in these feelings is not something I'm proud of. 

But it is the truth. 

I feel so close to the edge of a breakthrough here, so I'm not going to give up!!

Rachel