I hate Thanksgiving, there, I said it, the thing you’re not supposed to say. It is a day that reminds me of what I don’t have. I don’t have a family to spend it with, my children spend the week with their dads’ family. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they do that, I would never want them to miss out on that.
Getting back to me, my parents are deceased and I don’t have any siblings. I know what you are thinking, I could spend the day with friends. I did have an invitation, but the thing is, I feel out of place. Like I’m intruding on someone else’s family.
I’ve felt that way my entire life, like I’m intruding, not really belonging. My birth mother should never have had children, she had four, she gave all of us away. But not before we were scarred.
I’m happy I was adopted, I had great parents, but I didn’t belong. Their children made sure I knew that, I was introduced as Angie, she’s not real, she’s adopted.
So, I hate Thanksgiving, it just shines a light on my inability to belong.
I know this is a day I’m supposed to reflect on everything I’m grateful for, but it’s hard for me. I am thankful to God I have a roof, food, job and amazing children.
I’m thankful I get to spend time with my granddaughter. I’m thankful both her mother and father allow me to spend time with her.
It doesn’t take away from the fact that this day is hard as I feel like it gives me a glance into my future. That I am not real, I don’t matter in anyone’s life, when I die I won’t be missed.
I’m happy for all who have families they get together with and celebrate this day with. But I genuinely hate Thanksgiving.