Emotional IQ

There is a book about emotional intelligence that I read several years ago. It was recommended by my boss, evidently he had read it and found it helpful. Now, I know that I have the emotional IQ of a five year old. I will cry inconsolably at the worst times about things other people can probably just hold in.
Like the other day when I found out my company had removed my title as supervisor when I returned from maternity leave. It was ridiculous and unprofessional but I couldn't help it. I sat in the office trying to make my point and they trying to make theirs, and in the end I had to excuse myself not only from the meeting but from work because I was crying. My eyes were red, nose puffy, I just couldn't help myself. Thank goodness it was close to the end of the day.
My temper is not much better. It used to be so bad that I would just loose my temper not even knowing that I was nearly that upset. Over time I've learned the signs, such as slightly racing heart, holding my breath a little longer before exhales, clenching my teeth and the end all sensation that my head is about to explode and things go dark for a split second. It is at that point there is no going back.
And love... when I give it it is given with reckless abandon. Yes, I have huge trust issues and don't let people get close often but when I do I frequently think that person is Gods gift to earth, unable to do wrong. Somehow time after time I find myself hurt by these people, Gods gifts to earth.
Now, the true Gods gifts to earth... my babies.

In the child protective system

I was with my adoptive parents from the age of three and a half until once again the state took me away because of child abuse at the age of twelve. Throughout the next four years I moved in and out of foster homes, group homes, two mental health facilities and juvenile hall. I had quickly mastered the art of running away. I was constantly AWOL. Running away became a sort of sport. I was taking control of my life and having fun outsmarting the parents or staff I was placed with. The courts, of course, did not like this little game. Which is why I wound up in juvenile hall repeatedly.
Nobody visited me, not in juvi, not in my group homes and not in the foster homes. Most of the other kids would go home on weekend passes or at least have frequent visits. After a while I got used to it. Used to birthdays coming and going like any other day. No one to depend on, no one depending on me... I found myself... free.

Loss

In my life I've lost many people. Yet only one person have I lost to death. My earliest losses, of course, were that of my biological parents. Followed by my adoptive parents and brother, then the many friends and foster parents I grew close to while I was in the system. I'm still struggling to understand how this has effected me, this life of loss. I know that I have become controlling, distrusting and always holding back. Very few people know "the real me". Others see me as aloof and distant. Perhaps they believe that I think I'm better than them. It's only a shield. And I'm trying to take it down. I long for friendships like the ones I had as a child, yet I'm afraid to have them. Because, in my mind, everybody leaves someday.
Eventually I hope to prove myself wrong. I still have my husband and I know he loves me. Just as I know my daughter does and my son is learning to. Other family (the biological family I reunited with at the age of eighteen) still stands by me. I want to believe that they will not go away but lingering in my mind is the knowledge that, even if they don't choose to leave, we all die someday.

Adopted

How can a mother let go of one child with no remorse, seemingly no regret? How can she let the courts take not one but two of her children away from her, one several years after the other?

In the name of forsaking all but god, the god of her cult, that is what my mother did. Rather than change her lifestyle and find a permanent home, she let the courts take me. It's hard for me to understand the brainwashing that it takes to make a mother turn off that part of her brain and in her heart that screams of longing for her child. The part that would make her walk through fire to keep them from harm. There is a chemical connection that bonds a mother to her child as it grows within her womb. How is the influence of a cult so strong that it could sever that bond?

My story in a nut shell.

Born in southern California to two cult members, I quickly became a ward of the courts and was adopted by the time I was three and a half. When the adoption failed due to abuse, I found myself once again in the "system" bouncing from foster home to foster home, in and out of group homes and juvenile hall until the age of sixteen. At that point I was returned to my adoptive parents and abandoned to the streets within the same day. Eventually I became one of Hollywood's many homeless youth. And, as many of the kids in LA, I ended up addicted to meth.

I find myself today, sitting in my home, in a cold state far away. A home I bought with my husband two years ago. A home that shelters the heads of my two beautiful children (one of whom is only two months old this week). I find my self blessed. I graduated college about five years ago and have a great job. In the next few months I plan on staying home with my baby for as long as possible. He's beautiful just like his sister who will turn twelve this year.