Jazz Blog: Unconditional Love

The mother how had unconditional love for her girl but could not cope.

When I was first born I had some problems but we are not saw what. my mum
love me so much but could not cope because her mum had bereavement when my grandad died when he was 28. he was a fishmon ad he got kill by a bom at sea ad thats wear my famley trubble started.

then my mum got older ad get put in a children home ad she got sexley abrust. then she was home less ad she met dad ad it’s a bit of a weird one because he was a older man ad he had 4 kids.
he was in the army but then his wife died and then got with my mum. then they had my big Bro Michael and he died at berth. then Justin then one more miss caridge then me then my little brother Freddie. she found it hard because she had three kids 1 3 yearold 1 2 year old 1 year old ad she us to hit me ad I seam to rember her shouting at me then she was all over me ad it was a bit of a head fuck er.

Then I got put in to fosta home seprut to my brothers ad then mummy bear came ad then when I was 8 I got rey a nightid with my mum ad dad. then when I was 19 dad died ad I blame my mum because she was not very nice to my dad. well that how I fell ad now I have day dreams of killing her ad how nice that would fell like but then I fell so much love for her.

I some times fell that I wish it was my mum dead not dad I very very angry with her but I I’m a mums boy ad I fell so angry ad hate her so much because I us to get the shit end of the stick ad then she would be all sorry then angry again ad it’s left me not trust in her. ad skerd of her ad some time shit my self it might all kick off again.

this I think is what she thinks hey jazz i so sorry I love you I just had a shit time in my live I would not hert u u are my number one. ad this me think well its to late u stupid cow u should fort about that in the first place it’s to late I’m not for giving I wish you wear dead. mummy bear is my mum now u had your chance fuck of ad out of my live then I think no give her a chance I love her to much.
But mummy bear is my mum no one els.

This song is like how I feel

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Ra-Om7UMSJc

My Name Is Jazz: Name Changing

When I was born I was jasmin rea powdrell and when I got adoptid my mum change it and it rally pissis me of because it’s not up to them it not thear child.
I fell it is rely rong because it’s hard i nuff that been taken a way and a lot of the time thay don’t have a chose and thay don’t no why ad I fell it should be agest the law because it not ther child and it’s not up to them at all.
when I got adoptid I got name jasmin rea b*****n ad I fell it’s up to the person when they older to see.
if I had a chose it would be jazz rea powdrell because I would of like to keep that jean because my mum ad mums side was called that ad it rally mack me angry not because off my mummy bear because I love our family but the powdrell r my rail family and I do love mummy bear ad the b*****n’s. I just won’t to be with my mum and dad and brothers and when I see family all to get her it macks me fell very jealous and angry that I couldn’t have that and i no famley don’t alk ways get on but I crave the fact they live in the same house eat the same food shop together go to school together.
Argue together cry togetther, shere feelings watch telly together go to bed in the same house aloud to go out on thear on with the brothers. tell your mum that u love her and u going to be thear no matter what have a job have the famley.
kids do need thear rile perrents ad when my cousin jhonny comes I allwas think your so lucky you live with brothers and sister and u got a popper mum and u live with you rale mum and when all of my sport worker’s come I think that.

 

 

But then I look and think I’m lucky the fact I got adoptid and not in a children’s home and my mum had the guts to go and find my famley and stuck by my site every time.

First 100 (To challenge the paperwork gets a free lolly).

Contact, a simple little word that has so much complexity, confusion, love and fear behind it. I have had that little but big word in my head constantly for the last fifteen years.Thoughts of it are never far away. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it damaging? Is it therapeutic? Is it a moral issue? Everyone should do it, Should I ever have done it? Is it a great big pain in the backside? Will resolution and harmony be the end result?

As my daughter to be arrived to live with me there were no real arrangements at all for birth family contact. The paperwork supported the “they are dangerous abusive people not worthy of consideration” view. I was, through a process of government regulation and assessment, to become the cultural rescuer, the life saver, the fairy good mother balancing out life’s ‘dysfunctional’ with life’s ‘normal’

Alongside that was a gaping void of meaningful information about why and how the decision to permanently severe her from her roots, siblings and all, had been bought about. There were reports of many attempts to support that had failed. Irresponsible behaviour, aggression and non compliance from the parents. But no real family history as such. What had happened to them, what were their life stories, how did they end up not being able to parent appropriately? Who were their extended families and especially where were they? When I thought of the parents in my minds eye they existed as two isolated shadowy people in a dark cloudy bubble of danger and uncertainty.

I was advised to keep my daughters identity and whereabouts secret and not to go with her to her nearby home town. The psychological effects of this on us were much bigger than I was able to vocalise at the time. What other families, and particularly children, have to hold elements of themselves secret, risk assessed, pixilated in fear of discovery? It’s got elements of witness protection and identity reconstruction.

Of course at the time I was compliant and wholeheartedly accepted the authorities view that the security was for a good reason and that my child needed such protection. I had shameful feelings of hatred towards her parents. In the few photos I managed to eventually get by persistence with the LA, they looked in my minds eye like something akin to photos you see on the news of child abusers. Faces with nothing but negative associated with them. You could see the hard life etched on them. Signs and symbols of poverty and lack of opportunities.

Initially my daughter and I were thrown into life with each other. There was no time to consider anything or anyone else. As things ‘settled’ the murky cloud of her parents and her history was behind us most of the time. Like something that could potentially jump out of the shadows. The elephant in the room. An elephant that neither of us could discuss properly because we didn’t have the right information. Of course I fielded young questions with the reassurance that her mum and dad couldn’t look after her, they had hurt her, it wasn’t her fault, she was safe now. As time went by it wasn’t enough.

Two things mainly triggered my urge to meet them for her sake. First was the the best bits of her. The really great sense of humour. The massive grin. The loving and generous nature. The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. The uniqueness. The courage. Then the difficult bits. Fear, anger, anxiety.

My thought process went something like; There must have been good bits about her family life for her to have gained certain inherent qualities. Foster carers surely couldn’t have changed her personality in the year they had her?
The difficult bits seemed to exist for obvious reasons to me. They had frightened her and neglected her, life was chaotic and uncertain. It was loud, harsh, smokey and it smelt a bit of wee. Her belly was often empty and her hair was often pulled.
As I began to learn to understand her difficult bits, to forgive violence against me, to live with abuse in my home, to keep therapeutically calm and failing badly at times, they came to my mind more and more. Why did they do this to her?

Her behaviour didn’t make me judge her negatively. In fact I loved her more. I was mainly forgiving and empathic and spent a large proportion of my life attempting to get all those around her, family, schools, friends, doctors, police to view her in the same way as I did. To understand that her anger was justified if mismanaged. I hated it when others viewed her as dangerous or delinquent and many did. Other children were gently steered away from her and invitations to social gatherings were rarely forthcoming.
As she grew older and bigger, sympathy and forgiveness for her visibly drained away. She transformed from child victim to teenage perpetrator in the eyes of others and in the eyes of the law. I had to do intense work to avoid her being criminalised. Trying to explain that although her behaviour was at times violent and anti social she was a good person in her heart and intentions, that we loved each other deeply despite it all. That they didn’t ever see the ‘real’ her that she kept buried as protection from possible grief and pain.

She was by birth an extension of her parents. By my logic that meant they could also be somebody’s damaged child. Somebody’s damaged child that perhaps didn’t get taken in by loving kin, quality care or attend therapy with a psychologist or sessions with a social worker who championed them in meetings as inherently good.
I personally don’t believe in born evil. I think we all have a bit of bad in us. Stress, violence against us, hunger and fear is likely to make most of us have mental health issues and behave in anti social ways. Education and life opportunities often help the lucky ones to stay away from the darker sides of human survival. Having said that of course there are many educated well off people abusing their and other peoples children whilst hiding behind a moat of respectability.
I think mental health is a cruel condition to manage in the culture we currently live within. Addiction even harder. Homelessness impossible.

So I thought, if I can have compassion and forgiveness for her behaviour could I have it for them? She knew they had been taken out of her life because they hurt her. She lived in fear that I would be taken from her because she hurt me. If I couldn’t promote forgiveness or at least understanding of emotional and social circumstances for her parents why would she ultimately believe I would do it for her?

Based upon on the above I searched them out. My initial intention was information gathering not reunion. After sometime and much preparation I took her with me. We eventually met Mum and Dad, Granny, Aunty, nephews, nieces, half sisters and brothers over many visits. I took her to the hospital ward she was born in and she collected a wrist band with the exact time and date (it was as the drums of Eastender’s played out at 8pm). We learnt of Grandad whose tragic death on the roll of a fate dice sadly changed her life chances forever. We saw the places that held her family history both bad and good. The memorial to her Grandad, the place her Mum hit the social worker.
We learnt it was her Mum that struggled, she was learning disabled and a child victim of abuse, the manifestation of which was very challenging behaviour. We learnt she had a good heart, an infectious laugh, no justice, no education and no money. We learnt she responded very positively to empathic therapeutic responses and clear boundaries. Her sister, a police officer, told us of systemic failures to help them as a family to keep her safe and understood. We learnt of how different things could have been with quality early intervention and support. Tons of paperwork existed but there was no investment made for the future. An expensive false economy.

With this information my daughter could make better sense of it all and with security, understanding and therapeutic support be enabled to make informed choices to forgive or not, to forget or not. As an adult she’s glad we did it although it was challenging and at times extremely sad. That’s our individual and personal experience.

In a wider context I feel that the chances are that if you have an adopted child, behind that may be a history of at least one of the following; poverty, mental health, addiction, domestic abuse, sexual abuse, poor housing, lack of opportunity, lack of attachment opportunities and love. The chances are high that your child was born into a family dealing with poverty. I have doubts that behind it lies people beyond support or ‘redemption’. Where there exists those who have committed such heinous crimes that they are beyond forgiveness, surely we have to question what society did to firstly see it coming and secondly prevent it. The children of ‘the unforgiven’ also deserve the very best support possible to come to terms with their experiences.

Losing connection to your family or having a child removed from your family are unimaginable to most of us in terms of trauma and loss. It’s the most severe punishment. Do thousands of families and extended families a year in this country really deserve such a punishment? If yes….what the hell is going on? What are we spending our riches on? If no…what the hell is going on? What are we spending our riches on?

Based upon our personal experience and wider knowledge it concerns me that adoption systems, promotion and regulation exist against an entrenched cultural back drop of mass consumerism, corrupt corporations, social exclusion, discrimination, elitism, sexism and racism all topped off with social care, health services and legal aid cuts.
I’m sure in some and probably many cases this leads to injustice and unnecessary harm to children and vulnerable adults.

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The F***** Up Kid

When I was 4 I was all ready damage but I got put in a foster home and then when I was five I got adopted by mummy bear and I felt like I could not trust Ey one. I still dont and what has been left in this damage person is nothing but Under denial anger and I fell so angry with how I was left buy mum fuck up mum and I just hate her so much but love her to. I have rally dark thoughts like chainsaws blood clown and and fell like a big massive ball off anger and Anxiety and I’m left with felling scared. I so fucking angry the fact I was born in to a crap mum and born with the hobble feelings ad left with fear off every one leaving me and not been there.

And I lash out a lot atm because I keep on having these felling shite and I hate been like this to all off my FRIENDS and I crave not felling like this ad I fell I just won’t to bee normal and not to have Under denial felling and I keep on try my best and be brave ad carm and strong then it hits my rally hard it like a masive cut all over my chest and it herts like spiderman has and fell like it’s not going to go a way.

And a plaster not going to help or Stitches or ey thing I fell like an x army person and I fell so much in pine and I’m hurting and I blame my berth mum because if she tried hard in nuff I would not have this masive cut on my chest and it’s not small it right a cross my chest and I fell like runny a way from it and go and try and heal it some how and I cart sleep when mum is not hear or next to me and this is so pine full ad I cart deal with it ey longer and its my mummy bear get the shite end off the stick from stupid mother fucker or sould I say the head fucker.

And it’s not fear on mummy bear but she is the one how I can show it to and Kat gets the shite end off the stick to and I sick off felling like it. I just going to say I do not deserve my mummy bear how is so good to me and my berth mum will never hear that from me or the words hey look Iv for given u or the truth is I love u ad need u. what she will hear is I hate u I will not bee your kid u will never be as good as mummy bear and it’s all your folt ad I still fell like this after 15 years so get out off my life. I still burning ad hurting after 15 years and my anger has not been solved.

hang on I think I need to cam down but I’m just f**** off

I need to pull up my socks ad get some help. that girl needs therapy lol

But I fell if I don’t have berth mum I would not be a live but I won’t to cum out off mummy bears tummy I also need to get some help ad ad to be brave ad srong and put the past in the past and tack risks and be a better person and count my blessings and be thank full I’m loved and got rabbits ginny pigs dogs cats the not like some people high rise with nothing ad I’ve got support workers and a good strong stable Friends and family how love me and would do ey thing for me

The end

Adoption Stories: Fact & Fiction

Adoption in itself brings together the many stories and experiences of several people. Birth family, adoptee, adopters and adoption workers. All family stories are important and often treasured, hidden, embroidered, repeated, or celebrated, but when a continuity is broken they can also become confused, muddled and mistold.

My adopted daughter came into my life with a scrapbook put together by her brilliant foster family, showing her time with them, happy events and fellow foster children. There was no detailed life story book. It was as if she were born aged four. The social services gave me verbal stories of her inadequate parents, chaotic and abusive home life…her mother had “knocked her front teeth out” and how she may have been born out of prostitution as her skin colour suggested “another ethnic background to that of her siblings”.

I was shocked and quite scared when I was told to avoid certain geographical areas due to the threat of potential attack by her mum.

After a few months of placement I felt I really needed more background to “the story” in order to understand my daughter properly. It took me a long time to piece together the bits of information I could get hold of. It helped enormously when I was able to contact a birth aunty who was a calm and reasonable police officer. I managed to get enough history to feel comfortable enough to meet Dawn and Fred. One of the most important things was hearing that Jazz lost her baby teeth when one of her siblings accidentally let go of her toddler reins and she fell over. I heard Dawn had a learning disability and behavioural problems which made her hard to engage with. I heard Fred was a lot older and his pride got in the way of him accepting support.  Another important piece of the jigsaw was hearing she had an African descendant, maybe a great grandfather, and her mums skin colour was beautiful like hers. How this became translated into her mother being a prostitute I still don’t know.

I was still really scared to go into the social services office to meet the parents, especially as the social worker was not altogether impressed with the idea due to the “no birth family contact” order given in court. My heart was racing feeling sure they would hate me for having their child. Instead Dawn hugged me and we cried together.

From that day on we have worked together to give Jazz a fuller picture of her life. It hasn’t been easy and I have had to encourage Dawn not to blame everything on the social services and own up to her failures as well as to own her successes. Jazz has needed support and to be given control over the level of contact.It has resolved things for her and bought about forgiveness, mainly of herself. I have grown to love Dawn and Fred like I do my birth family, sometimes we bicker and annoy each other but the ties are strong.

Jazz’s family history is much like many others. It has sad bits, happy bits, bits that bring shame and bits to be proud of. Now it has melded into my family history and become a part of my story and my history.

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Loss: My Name Is Jazz

Blog number 12

when I was littel I was taken away my mum and dad and my 2 brothers. And then we all had a good by contact in a whizzy wakey werhouse tap off place.

when I was taken from mum and dad the Ss band my head on the side of the door and I was sceeming begging my dad to let me stay and I proble cry and cry.

i don’t remember and went in lots of diffent Forster homes and now I rally angry to words my mum for been such a shite mum but I love her but hate her at the same time and when I see happy family’s it rally herts.

i blame mum and the ss but at the end of the day mummy bear is my mum and no one els is and Claudia is like a mum and my mums friend Dave is like a dad. And my mums very good friend Andi is been like a dad to me and my brother.

my littel bro I’ve haven’t seen for a long time and big bro is living in Whitby and it bricks my Heart not been with them.

i fell rally giltey because I some time think it my folt they haven’t got ther littel and big sister because I was the girl and proble hardiest to look after but I love them both so much.

the end.