Olivia speaks up. “It was my fault. It was too hard.” She looks at me. “I didn’t know how to act around you anymore. I was avoiding my feelings for you. It got easier when we went to different schools a couple months later anyway.”
I wipe my hands on my jeans and focus on Olivia. “On my side, it felt like you abandoned me. I was bitter about your rejection, and you ghosting me didn’t help. I didn’t reach out to you because I felt like you wouldn’t want me to.”
Dr. Francine taps her pen against her lips, then points it toward me. “Gage, do you think your adoption might have affected how you reacted?”
I consider it. “Yeah,” I say finally. “I’m already sensitive about people leaving me because I lost Maggie when I was still a baby. Even though I saw her regularly while I was growing up, and even though I eventually understoodwhyshe gave us up, it’s been a sore spot for me.”
Olivia turns to Dr. Francine. “So, my go-to move of avoiding problems played right into Gage’s fear of abandonment.”
Dr. Francine folds her hands in her lap. “That sounds likely.”
Olivia squeezes my hand and meets my eyes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t sensitive to your fears. I know I hurt you, but I won’t leave you again. I promise. I’m in this forever.”
While her words are reassuring, and I trust that she’s sincere, it doesn’t stop the fear I feel when I think about the possibility of Olivia breaking up with me.
When I say as much, Dr. Francine turns to me. “Gage, I want you to recognize that ‘abandonment’ implies leaving somebody helpless. An infant, for example, can be abandoned because he can’t fend for himself. The infant that Maggie ‘abandoned’—or so it felt to your psyche—still lives inside of you and fears being left helpless again. But you can’t be abandoned now. You’re an adult; you’re not helpless. You can take care of yourself. People may leave you, but you will survive it.”
Dr. Francine has made similar statements in my individual sessions with her, but today, for some reason, the words hit me particularly hard. I’ve heard the idea before, and it made sense to me logically, but today I can feel it sinking into my bones.
I’m not helpless. I can survive people leaving me.
Does that make the thought of someone—of Olivia—leaving me easy? No, but it does keep the thought from overwhelming and paralyzing me.
“We’re almost out of time for today, but feel free to continue this conversation without me. You’re both making a lot of progress in this short time with being open with one another. Can you feel that?”
Olivia and I hold each other’s gazes, and she offers me a soft, watery smile. Because we’re with Dr. Francine, I hold back from wrapping Olivia up in my arms with her head nestled on my shoulder.
Instead, I smile back at her.
“Yeah,” I answer Dr. Francine. “I’m feeling more secure in our relationship every day.”
“Me too,” Olivia says. “I’m still hesitant to be vulnerable, but I know that if I’m having doubts about how Gage feels about me, I can talk to him about them.”
Her words warm me from the inside out. I don’t want Olivia to have doubts at all, but when she does, I’m glad she knows she can talk to me.
At the same time, I know Olivia isn’t the only person in my life I’ve held back from because I’m worried about being rejected.
Mostly, I’m thinking about my parents. I’ve never talked to them about my doubts and fears about my adoption. I didn’t want to worry them or make them feel guilty or like they failed somehow.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned this summer, it’s that holding back damages relationships, while honesty, even when it’s hard, can strengthen them.
A few days later, my mom, my dad, and I are all home at the same time, so we sit down together for dinner. My dad makes taco soup because the temperatures have dropped into the seventies here in early October, which is as close to feeling like fall as we get in Austin.
Sitting at the table, I wait until everyone’s almost done eating before I shore up my courage to start a conversation about my feelings.
“Mom, Dad, can I talk to you?” I start. They must hear something in my tone because they instantly give me their full attention.
“Of course, son.” Dad sends me a reassuring smile.
“Always,” my mom adds.
I take a deep breath and launch into a rambling monologue about the developmental psychology class I took in college and how it led to me coming out of the fog and processing some of the hard emotions I’ve held onto about my adoption. I talk about always feeling like I needed to prove to them that I was worth keeping when I was a kid.
I keep my eyes on the plate in front of me because I’m worried about their reaction, and I need to get the words out before I can face the consequences.
When I finally finish talking and look up into their faces, my parents aren’t angry. They don’t even look hurt or disappointed. Instead, the emotion I see shining in their expressions is … love.
“Oh, Gage,” my mom whispers as she reaches across the table to take my hand. “I’m so, so glad you’re telling us.”
