Echoes of the Past

A Journey Through Adoption, Faith, and Genetics

This is a song based on this writing, Kind of my life story…so far

In the tapestry of my life, woven with threads of mystery and struggle, lies a narrative deeply rooted in the traditions of the Catholic Church and the silent battles waged within the womb. My mother, a young woman of 20, cradled within the Catholic faith, found herself at a crossroads when she bore me. Unwed and ensnared by the church’s gaze, she chose adoption—a path seemingly paved with virtue but shadowed by a deeper tumult.

This tale isn’t just about the act of giving up a child; it’s a reflection on the unseen scars left by emotional turmoil experienced during pregnancy. It’s a contemplation on how the church, perhaps unknowingly, fostered an environment where a mother’s distress could seep into the very essence of her unborn child, planting seeds of anxiety and fear.

As I delve into the complexities of my existence, I can’t help but ponder the notion that this distress, echoing through the womb, was not just a byproduct of societal shame but a catalyst for the anxiety that has shadowed me. The theory, while not steeped in conspiracy, gains texture from the recent revelations that stress and trauma can etch themselves into our DNA, manifesting in physical and emotional pain that cycles through generations.

Reflecting on my own journey, marked by persistent leg pain from the tender age of two, I see a pattern. This pain, once dismissed as growing pains or misdiagnosed conditions, now bears a name—Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. Yet, I believe its roots lie much deeper, in the prenatal stress endured by my mother, stress that I now understand could have triggered my condition from birth.

This narrative is not about casting blame but about seeking understanding and healing. It’s a story of resilience, a quest to break free from the cycle of pain and fear, to find peace amidst the echoes of the past. As I navigate this journey, I hold onto the hope that understanding the origins of my pain will guide me towards liberation from its grip.

My birth took place in a hospital within Maine, known more for its notoriety than its excellence. Over time, it seems the building was demolished, erasing any chance I had to revisit the place of my birth—a detail that, while not central to my story, piques my curiosity.

At the time of my arrival into this world, my mother resided at a facility often referred to as a nunnery, designed to support young mothers in the process of giving their children up for adoption. This practice, I suspect, served more as a mechanism for the Catholic Church to exert influence and control, a notion that aligns with theories of societal programming. The concept, which I recently encountered in a show, suggests that our lives are akin to being in a computer simulation, where our “programming” is heavily influenced by our birth circumstances, including the environment and the stress levels experienced by our mothers.

From the moment of my birth, I was thrust into a world of unfamiliar faces, deprived of the immediate maternal bond that is so crucial. Surrounded by nuns tasked with caring for multiple infants, I was just one of many, lacking personalized attention and the familial connection that shapes a newborn’s development. This early separation, while not reflective of a lack of love, undoubtedly impacted my initial stages of growth and my understanding of connection.

Throughout my life, I’ve grappled with pervasive anxiety, a constant feeling of not belonging anywhere. Despite having a loving home with my adoptive parents, who were wonderful given the era I was raised in, this sentiment of displacement lingered. My upbringing in a devout Catholic household added another layer of complexity to my personal narrative, entangling me in the church’s influence from the very start.

The turmoil surrounding my adoption—marked by arguments, emotional upheaval, and a significant family rift—cast long shadows over my formative years. I learned of the discord between my biological mother, her siblings, and her parents, which revolved around the decision to place me for adoption. This family conflict, as recounted by a newly discovered cousin, created a lasting estrangement within the family, a topic never broached by Gloria until my own investigative efforts through DNA testing unveiled hidden truths.

My journey into genetic discovery began with a “23 and Me” kit, leading to an unexpected twist when Gloria’s results were absent, hinting at a mix-up with the testing service. This prompted a deeper dive into our genetic tapestry, culminating in the use of “Ged-match,” a tool that bridged gaps “23 and Me” could not. It was here I uncovered connections to closer relatives, including a first cousin once unknown to me. This cousin, younger and also engaged in drafting and design, revealed a shared lineage of creativity and passion for design—a trait I’ve embraced throughout my 32-year career as a CAD teacher.

This revelation not only connected me to lost family but also to the inherent talents that define us, offering a profound insight into how genetics weave through our lives, influencing our passions and professions. Even from a very young age I was drawn to architecture using either legos, erector sets, or just drawing on paper. In fact in my baby book it says I wanted to be an architect when I grew up. I didn’t become an architect but my entire life has been spent drawing, designing and teaching people how to use drafting and design in architectural design, still a very satisfying career.

The journey through my family’s past, fraught with challenges and discoveries, highlights the intricate ways in which our origins shape us, weaving a complex tapestry of identity and belonging.

Going back to exploring my theory on whether we are essentially beings of light, I consider the fascinating occurrence at conception: a photon of light is emitted at the moment sperm meets egg. This emission, a small but significant spark, scientifically observed, symbolizes the commencement of life. It’s at this instant that DNA from both parents melds to create a new, unique genetic sequence—my own. This blend of genetics, a mix of my mother’s and father’s, hints at the complex nature of our beings, potentially rooted in light.

Science now suggests that environmental factors, such as stress, can activate certain aspects of this DNA. The process begins smoothly, unaware of the impending changes, until a significant event—like discovering a pregnancy—introduces stress, influencing the genetic unfolding from that point onward.

From the earliest stages of my development, before my senses fully formed, I was enveloped in an environment that felt almost hostile. As my body grew and my cells divided, there was a palpable sense of stress, as if I was in a place where I wasn’t meant to be, an error of some sort. This notion that I was a mistake permeated my very being, influencing my development even before I could hear or see the world around me.

Once my ears developed, the cacophony of emotions, the yelling and screaming, became a part of my reality. Although there must have been moments of peace and happiness from my mother, those were not the memories that left a mark. Our relationship lacked the openness for such conversations, and any early attempts to connect on this level have since faded into a blur of emotion, leaving me with little recollection of our initial meetings.

It wasn’t until years, actually over two decades later in 2019 when I was diagnosed with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome which led to a diagnosis of Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome( EDS)

This early exposure to stress, I believe, laid the groundwork for my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) and the accompanying anxiety and fear that have characterized my life. It’s led to a compromised autonomic nervous system, manifesting in conditions like dysautonomia or Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), where even simple daily activities can trigger a dramatic increase in heart rate, dizziness, and nausea.

Because of the nature of all my symptoms I was forced to retire early from my teaching career. Managing these symptoms has become a part of daily life, necessitating adjustments like wearing compression garments to improve blood flow and reduce pooling in my legs, wearing K., A., F., O.,( Knee Ankle and Foot Orthotic) leg braces, elbow braces, wrist braces, crutches to walk with, lift chair recliners to sit in and a motorized wheel chair. Despite these measures, the question of how to normalize my condition remains. EDS is a genetic condition that, once activated, is a lifelong companion. However, I hold onto hope that there might be ways to mitigate some of the impacts, especially the autonomic issues.

I discovered meditation, mindfulness and breathing techniques in 1992, but never really did any practice on a consistent basis. It’s only been recently that I’ve been exploring various strategies to mitigate the impact of my conditions. These practices offer a glimmer of hope, a potential path toward managing the symptoms of dysautonomia and finding a way to participate more fully in society. Yet, the genetic nature of EDS means that while its activation cannot be undone, perhaps its side effects can be managed, allowing for a better quality of life. The journey toward healing is ongoing, but with continued effort and exploration, I remain hopeful.