- A Question of Trust
- Intro: The Birth of a Blog
- You and Me Could Write a Bad Romance: Part I
- Bad Romance, Part II: The Couch
- Bastard Package #1
- Hallelujah
- Born This Way
- Baby Girl X
- Another Victim of Love
- True Life
- The Girls Who Went Away
- Love and Other Drugs
- 11 Things Adoptees Love to Hear
- Uh, Never Mind
- Adoptee Kid Lit
- Bastard Princess and the Search for the Holy Grail
- MYOFB
- Awkwardness
- Baby Steps
- Faith, Hope, and Catholic Charities
- Special Delivery
- Green-eyed Monster
- !@#$
- Pandora
- Fantasyland
- Adoptees You May Have Heard Of
- Big MAC Attack
- Material Girl
- VISA and Mastercard Accepted
- Don't Hold Your Breath
- Our Love is Like a Constipated Cat
- A Question of Trust
- Adoption, Hollywood Style
- All in the Family
Material Girl
Material Girl
I love to plan and research my interests and future projects, daydreaming about my options and exhausting every possibility before making a big decision. I even get a kick out of tracking the wanderings of my past whims by in the contents of my laptop’s “favorites” file. It’s like going on an archeological dig inside my head; the strata reveal my brief obsessions, laid out like stepping stones: “three-stone diamond rings,” “Ponycity.com,” “international medical copyeditor jobs,” and “San Francisco travel.”
In recent years, Jeremy’s become more concerned about what he considers to be my abnormal constant searching for the “next big thing” in my life. Last fall, my target was a Boston terrier puppy, which I was determined to have even when I knew Jeremy didn’t really approve (fearing the fallout, I backed down at the last minute but still ended up on his shit list). Even after I get what I want, I’m on to the next search. My dad noticed this habit when I was a young adult and asked what kind of hole I was always trying to fill by throwing money into it. Back then, I didn’t have an answer. Now I know.
In my own defense, who doesn’t like to shop? Everyone loves a new toy. Just because Jeremy hates shopping (even when it’s something for him), it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t enjoy it. But why do I enjoy it? Maybe I just enjoy research projects. Most of the things I check into aren’t that big or expensive, anyway. And a lot of those purchases, such as real estate and minivans, require extensive research.
The problem arose when Jeremy starting taking personally the fact that I was endlessly searching for things he couldn’t give me, such as the horse I’ve wanted all my life. It bruised his ego, so he looked for someone to blame. Is the problem really mine alone? Yet, he insists that I’m not materialistic. Well, duh--my cell phone doesn’t even have a texting option, and I’m a regular Goodwill patron. We’ve joked that if I were only after his money, then I’m the world’s dumbest golddigger.
Yeah, I love to shop and surf the Web. I’m an Ebay junkie--selling as well asbuying. And I have lots of company. At least I’m not crazy/compulsive, spending tons of money on things I’ll never use or hoarding old newspapers or animals; I don’t think you’ll see me featured on an A&E reality show anytime soon.
Is this a serious problem? Mark thinks I’m addicted to searching. Surprised? It makes perfect sense that I search in order to fill my emotional voids; maybe it symbolizes my unconscious craving for the missing relationships in my life. However, I can’t assume that finding my biofamily will eradicate my love of shopping—it seems too easy. Can’t I just enjoy being a hunter-gatherer? It seemed harmless enough until it made Jeremy feel inadequate.
On the other hand, I’m so goddamned sick and tired of feeling guilty about everything good in my life. Guilt about wanting a new diamond ring to replace my poorly made original engagement ring. Guilt about enjoying shopping and appreciating our nice house and neighborhood. Guilt about not putting out enough. Guilt about being a stay-at-home mom while Jeremy hates his demanding job. Guilt about wanting to have a nice life and be good to myself. Guilt about being allowed to live while millions of other babies unfortunate enough to be born to a single mother or to possess an X chromosome instead of a Y are aborted or murdered at birth. Jeremy recently told me that I need to stop feeling so bad about so much and enjoy life more. If only it were that easy to feel like I deserve good things in life.
I recently read in one of my books that this compulsive searching behavior is very common in adoptees—we can’t help looking for something that will make us feel whole again. However, even reunion—finding the ultimate prize--won’t necessarily cure us. What will it do for me?
I love to plan and research my interests and future projects, daydreaming about my options and exhausting every possibility before making a big decision. I even get a kick out of tracking the wanderings of my past whims by in the contents of my laptop’s “favorites” file. It’s like going on an archeological dig inside my head; the strata reveal my brief obsessions, laid out like stepping stones: “three-stone diamond rings,” “Ponycity.com,” “international medical copyeditor jobs,” and “San Francisco travel.”
In recent years, Jeremy’s become more concerned about what he considers to be my abnormal constant searching for the “next big thing” in my life. Last fall, my target was a Boston terrier puppy, which I was determined to have even when I knew Jeremy didn’t really approve (fearing the fallout, I backed down at the last minute but still ended up on his shit list). Even after I get what I want, I’m on to the next search. My dad noticed this habit when I was a young adult and asked what kind of hole I was always trying to fill by throwing money into it. Back then, I didn’t have an answer. Now I know.
In my own defense, who doesn’t like to shop? Everyone loves a new toy. Just because Jeremy hates shopping (even when it’s something for him), it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t enjoy it. But why do I enjoy it? Maybe I just enjoy research projects. Most of the things I check into aren’t that big or expensive, anyway. And a lot of those purchases, such as real estate and minivans, require extensive research.
The problem arose when Jeremy starting taking personally the fact that I was endlessly searching for things he couldn’t give me, such as the horse I’ve wanted all my life. It bruised his ego, so he looked for someone to blame. Is the problem really mine alone? Yet, he insists that I’m not materialistic. Well, duh--my cell phone doesn’t even have a texting option, and I’m a regular Goodwill patron. We’ve joked that if I were only after his money, then I’m the world’s dumbest golddigger.
Yeah, I love to shop and surf the Web. I’m an Ebay junkie--selling as well asbuying. And I have lots of company. At least I’m not crazy/compulsive, spending tons of money on things I’ll never use or hoarding old newspapers or animals; I don’t think you’ll see me featured on an A&E reality show anytime soon.
Is this a serious problem? Mark thinks I’m addicted to searching. Surprised? It makes perfect sense that I search in order to fill my emotional voids; maybe it symbolizes my unconscious craving for the missing relationships in my life. However, I can’t assume that finding my biofamily will eradicate my love of shopping—it seems too easy. Can’t I just enjoy being a hunter-gatherer? It seemed harmless enough until it made Jeremy feel inadequate.
On the other hand, I’m so goddamned sick and tired of feeling guilty about everything good in my life. Guilt about wanting a new diamond ring to replace my poorly made original engagement ring. Guilt about enjoying shopping and appreciating our nice house and neighborhood. Guilt about not putting out enough. Guilt about being a stay-at-home mom while Jeremy hates his demanding job. Guilt about wanting to have a nice life and be good to myself. Guilt about being allowed to live while millions of other babies unfortunate enough to be born to a single mother or to possess an X chromosome instead of a Y are aborted or murdered at birth. Jeremy recently told me that I need to stop feeling so bad about so much and enjoy life more. If only it were that easy to feel like I deserve good things in life.
I recently read in one of my books that this compulsive searching behavior is very common in adoptees—we can’t help looking for something that will make us feel whole again. However, even reunion—finding the ultimate prize--won’t necessarily cure us. What will it do for me?