Willow Cross - Getting Over It

Building a Bridge

and

By

Copyright 2014 Willow Cross

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away toother people. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a non fictional work by authorWillow Cross. All names, characters, places have been changed toprotect the identity of those involved.

I thought long and hard about who exactly Ishould dedicate this particular book to. At two oclock in themorning, just a mere two days before publication, it finally dawnedon me who should be the recipient of this dedication. You. If youare holding this book right now, then this entire story was writtenfor you and only you. I hope you find solace and a path to peace inthe words written within these pages.

This book came about in an incredibly unusualway. Id been seeing so much pain in the posts on my socialnetworking sights--everything from marriages ending, to job loss,and even people having trouble with friends and family--that Ireally felt guilty. Not because it was my fault, but because Idfinally found a way out of the baggage Ive carried around for solong. Most of these posts came from people I care about and as Isat there watching my news feed, I thought about what Ive learnedso far and how much happier I am now than I was just six monthsago.

Ive never been one to share my emotions withpeople who arent seriously close to me. However, I felt like itwas time. It was time to talk about the pain and heartbreak, and itwas time to share the freedom Ive found. I didnt bother to putevery emotional circumstance Ive been through in these pages. Somehave been pretty extreme and Im sure those who know about themmight wonder why they arent here. The answer is simple. Thoseparticular circumstances involved other folks and their anguish aswell. I dont feel like its my place to share their pain whetherit involved me or not.

This novella wasnt intended to take theplace of therapy. If needed, therapy can be a wonderful thing. I amno psychologist, nor am I a grief counselor. What I am is a womanwho has dealt with pain, rejection, and loss the majority of herlife. In the same respect, it isnt intended to aid in troubledrelationships. This is my personal story about dealing with lifesheartaches and how Ive been learning to overcome the past andpress forward into the future. These instances, though possiblytrivial to some, deeply scarred me. This is a true story about howI found me, the steps I took to do so, and the rules Im living bypresently. I cant promise what worked for me will work for you.However, I truly hope it does.

Love,

Willow Cross

When I think of all the insecurity and painIve felt throughout my life, it reminds me of that line from JKRowlings Chamber of Secrets, It all begins with the mother. Ofcourse it doesnt in every case, but in my particular situation itdid.

Ive had three Moms in my lifetime. Strangeas that might sound to some, its the truth. My first Mom (birthmom) made a terribly difficult decision. She was incredibly youngand having no way to support me, allowed me to be placed foradoption. I only had her a few short weeks before Mom #2 came intothe picture. Mom #3 came later in life, but well get to that in awhile.

My second Mother raised me from 10 weeks oldto grownup status. At times our relationship was strained. Shetruly only wanted the best for me, but her idea of what my futureshould hold and mine varied greatly. Now dont get me wrong, wedidnt fight. Fighting of any sort wasnt allowed in my secondfamily and if you broke that rule, there was no rod sparing goingon. However, we didnt see eye to eye on just about anything.

From the very beginning Ive been an oddduck. Ive spent most of my life desperately wanting people to likeme. All people, everywhere, all the time. And I worked hard to makethat happen. Those times, and there were many when it didnthappen, absolutely crushed me. Im not entirely sure why beingaccepted was so important to me. Even now, looking back, I cantpinpoint where that particular idiosyncrasy started or why. Maybeit stemmed from my mothers favorite saying to my father, Whatwill the neighbors think? Or possibly it was just the way I waswired.

I cant remember discovering my adoption. Foras long as I can remember Ive known about it. In my early youth Ithought it was cool. So much so, Id walk up to random strangersand say, Im adopted, with a huge cheesy grin on my face. To me,that meant I was chosen and that made me special.

Im sure the shrinks would say that was anindication I suffered from some sort of mental or emotional maladywhich caused me to need to be the center of attention. And theywould most likely be correct in that diagnosis. I did need to bethe center of attention. My siblings could swear to thetruthfulness of that statement if they were inclined to do so. Itdidnt seem to bother them, in fact, they did a pretty great job ofgiving me the attention I so greatly desired.

Being the youngest of six in my secondfamily, I received every perk the baby of the family usuallyacquires. My two oldest sisters, who were both grown and married,were especially considerate of this pervasive need. If memoryserves me correctly, I spent a huge amount of time with them in myearliest years and enjoyed every moment of it. My family cocoonedme with love and joy, and my life was nearly perfect.

Everything a child learns, all thosemilestone steps, I learned at an expedient rate. At three yearsold I could spell certain words, knew my entire alphabet, tie myshoes, and most of the things you werent supposed to be able to dountil you were five years old.

Yep, I excelled at many things, but you knowwhat I couldnt do? I couldnt make friends. Not easily anyhow. Imnot saying I didnt have any friends, but I didnt have many and Iwanted more.

Kindergarten was excruciating. All thosewonderful potential friends running around so happy and having fun,and I couldnt wait to be their friend. I was desperate for it. Aseach day passed, I discovered that I wasnt cool enough for mostof them.

My issue was that I wanted to be friends withall of them. I didnt have the right clothes, or the inshoes. Oh and I didnt have those cute little girl looks either. Infact, I wasnt much of a girl at all. Sure, I had all the rightparts, but being raised with two big brothers and a nephew that wasa bit older older than me, I acted more like a boy than a girl. Igrew up on a farm in the country, so they doubled as my peers andplaymates. We spent more time in the barn playing with Matchboxcars in the dirt than doing anything else. I had girl toys, but ifI wanted to play with other kids, it was the boys or nothing.

Ill never forget the Christmas my motherbought me a huge porcelain doll. The box was enormous. I ripped thepaper off as fast as I could and almost cried when I saw what wasinside. Id been certain it would be a big red fire truck like mynephew had opened. A doll? Really? What was I going to do withthat?

I soon realized I had to learn to act like agirl if I wanted to fit in with the other kids.

Learning was my thing so thats exactly whatI did. When we went school shopping, as I grew older Id pick theshoes I saw the popular kids wearing. Same thing with clothes.However, my parents were humble folk. Paying high dollar for shoesand clothes that would be outgrown too soon was not part of thebudget and it just wasnt going to happen. And thats not a badthing either. As life progressed their lessons became an importantpart of learning to get over it, but well get to that later.