When I was 7 I joined the children’s choir at my church. We had just moved to a new town and my parents thought I could make friends that way.  The idea kinda backfired. It turns out I could actually sing.  New girl comes in and takes all the solos does not a lot of friends make. So I had a choir full of kids that disliked me to the point of tears.

Adults understood my talent.  This pattern of singing and crying brought me into contact with the first of my substitute mothers. She looked nothing like me. She was white. Not just white people white, but wispy white. Blonde and rail thin, she wasn’t much taller than the other children in the choir. She took a liking to me. She paid attention to me. And it wasn’t just because I could sing. I felt loved by her. But it stirred something.  The desire to be seen? The desire to know another mother?  The fear of never having her?

I can see now she probably hit on all the attachment trauma from my adoption. The fear and the longing consumed me and I would search for her with the confusion, awkward, desperation of a child. I created elaborate excuses to speak to her and stories to get her attention. The more attention from her I needed the more risky my behaviors became. This is the first time I scared someone into loving me.

It would not be the last

My mother hated her. They blamed her for my behaviors. They called her crazy and told me any adult who would want to be friends with a child wasn’t right. They didn’t realize how I had manipulated her into loving me.

And when it was over. When I had placed myself in a position where I could no longer hide she left. I haven’t seen or heard from her in years.

Now I knew how easy I was to forget.

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