​**This situation was worked through using the Formula of Compassion last year before I started using a laptop to type them. I have copied this from the journal entry and edited it for publication. Some of the names have been changed for privacy reasons. A second entry was made recently due to lingering painful resentments and recurring dreams. That entry will be shared next.

***I am not a licensed medical or psychological professional. The views expressed on this website are that of my own based on my personal experiences. If you are having a medical or psychological emergency, please seek professional help immediately by dialing 911.


June 24, 2018

I remember looking out my bedroom window with excitement to see little Marisa outside popping tar bubbles in the road. I would always run out there and pop them with her. We must have been around five years old when we met and became friends. Sometime after moving two doors down from her and her family, I was told that my mother, Marion, died and that I was adopted.

This news must have devastated me, but I don’t remember the reaction. I recall where I was when I was told but can’t remember many other details. I remember my adopted mom and me being alone in what was called 'the sewing room' while I was being told. The reason this event was not a family conversation eludes me. I can’t seem to remember being upset or crying at all. I guess I blocked it out. I look back on this event now and think that I stuffed the pain deep down into my subconscious.