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My parents used to stay in Jhashuguda. They used to fight a lot. Not exactly a fight, my father would beat her up badly almost every other day. My mom had dark spots of bruises all over her body.

She was in an abusive relationship with my father. I was in class 5 th I guess when my parents asked me to move to Jhashuguda to live with them.

That was the point, my life started changing. My father would beat us with belts and sticks and treated my mother like a slave.

One day my mother got a call from her brother, and she had to go and visit him for a few days, I cannot remember what the exact reason was.

That left me and my younger brother with my father. Being a military person, he knew how to cook and do other simple household stuff.

Therefore, he managed to convince my mother that he will take care of us. I can clearly recall, it was a hot afternoon when my father asked me to come to his room.

He was stitching some of my clothes. I went inside and stood next to him. He got up to close the door and came back.

He asked me to unbutton my pants. As I did that, he made me take them off and lie on the bed. He went away, I thought he has gone, so I got dressed and was just about to leave when he returned.

He had gone to get some oil. He again made me take off my pants and other clothes as well. He did the same to himself, and applied the oil to his penis.

He pushed himself inside me, and did it repeatedly. After he was done, he ejaculated on me which I earlier thought was piss. I got dressed and left.

He asked me to never tell this to anyone and he will give me chocolates for that. The second time it happened was just a couple of days later. He was drunk this time.

I was making teddy bear in my drawing book and watching Jurassic Park with my brother when he came to our room. He asked me to follow him to his room and my brother to continue with the television.

There was no one whom I could tell all that. I was too scared of him now. The next time my father forced himself inside me was when my mom had gone to attend a funeral.

It happened just like before. After my mom came back, he continued abusing her. She is a nice person.

When I heard my mom telling how he forced her as well to have sex with him, I finally blurted out everything. My mom and my aunt hugged me and cried.

None of the buas and chachas supported us. They treated me and my mom badly. They would make me sit in front of everyone and ask me to tell in detail about what happened.

During that stay, one of my cousins also tried to do things with me. When I was asleep one day, he lied next to me and started kissing and running his hands over my body.

And at that very moment there was a power cut, and other people came inside the room. Where would the conversation go? For a moment, just the tiniest moment, I shifted into my mommy alert mode—would something be said that would make my youngest feel…different or like an outsider in our family.

Such is the lot of a mom in a blended family. Son 1 is mine by birth; Daughter 2 is mine by adoption. Why would I go into alert mode for such an innocuous remark?

We discuss sex, drugs, rock and roll, and adoption more often than our kids would like. Especially the sex and drug part. Son 2: Dad, was it really necessary to take so many crotch shots???

I feel their pain since there are some early breast feeding pics that could use some editing as well. Our guest experts on the Creating a Family show on blended families responded about the need to create lifebooks for adopted children to explain their early life history.

We have a lifebook for our adopted child, and we strongly encourage every parent to create one. The Creating a Family resources on Lifebooks can be found here , including our podcast on how to create attachment through lifebooks.

When I really think about it, my avoidance surprises me. We are a family, in many ways, defined by our differences. I know this is the case in all families, but it seems especially the case in mine.

Some are extroverts and some introverts; some live for athletics and others avoid sports like the plague; some breeze through school and others labor through some or most classes.

I think one of the strengths of our family is our acceptance of differences. So why do I avoid this one difference?

As a mom, I want to protect my kids from all the harms and hurts of life, and one potential hurt is adoption.

I love the institution of adoption and all that it stands for, but in the shadow of adoption is loss. I know that birth into our family is not a prerequisite to family membership, but I want her to know it on that deep gut level.

One way I have tried to protect her is to deemphasize the pregnancy and birth stories of her siblings that were born into our family.

This type of thinking is falling into the trap I warn others about: treating our adopted kids as if they are more fragile than they really are.

I have no real reason to think that this child needs to be protected from the hurt of not being born into our family and not knowing her birth story.

I think she values her place in our family, and we talk about how she could only be who she is because she was born to another mother and father.

We honor their contribution to who she is. And even if she did need help coping with this loss, avoiding the discussion is certainly not the best way to help her.

So who exactly am I trying to protect here??? I love living in a blended family. There are so many different combinations that make us the family that we are.

We have different strengths and weaknesses, different likes and dislikes, and yes, different stories. Some have birth stories that we know, and others have birth stories that are only partially known.

I can however, give them a family to fall back on and a place to come where they are loved completely and totally regardless of how they came to be a member.

Had to wait to stop laughing to comment — the story and the whole aspect of how you talk about important stuff Waaaay more than your kids would like….

I have a bio son of 16 and a daughter of 12 who was adopted. And yet, and yet…they end up like yours did I cried when I read this.

I think it was so sweet and so special; it just overwhelmed me. I love the concept that we cannot protect any of our children from hurt, loss or pain but we can love them and be with and for them through it.

Keep up the good work! Thanks for writing this! I can relate so much. My oldest is adopted, and he has watched me go through two pregnancies.

He gets that he grew in a different tummy. I am thankful for photos of him with his birth mom, and I think looking at that book regularly when he was little has really helped solidify a healthy outlook on the whole thing.

Unfortunately, Pennie just never got pictures taken while she was pregnant. My daughter right now is all about breastfeeding.

But talking it through is another way for us to help her process her adoption story, which has inherent loss. I need to think more on this and talk with the hubby about it.

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