What adopted children still face as adults.
How you can be more sensitive to what you will never understand.
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That’s a cool name. Very unique, I said over the phone while chatting with a car dealer.
Thanks, she replied. I had another name but my adopted parents gave me this one.
You’re adopted? Me too.
We paused a beat.
We’ve been through some things, huh? I said.
Sure have.
We immediately switched and continued discussing a potential deal. It never panned out for the car — but we were already bonded. I admired that she so freely gave such personal information but perhaps she already sussed me out on some level as belonging to the unique club of adopted adults. Or perhaps she had been asked so many times about her name that it was a rote answer.
Either way, I already understood her.
Adopted adults have a story that they may — or may not — wish to share. It’s our right to decide when and to whom we will share our story.
I used to hate when people would press about my adoptive family, especially girlfriends who wondered why I didn’t speak with pride or have any photos of them. They didn’t understand why I used to freak out over birthdays and once dreaded holidays. This was in my 20s when I’d emerged from the church and was figuring out my sexuality, so being asked about my family was simply too much. It added to my sense of shame that I didn’t have the words for such a complex issue and because they weren’t adopted, they’d never understand which truly, no one who is not adopted will. I required lots of therapy to sort out emotional wreckage and PTSD from my adopted family before I could even approach a normie way of speaking about the past.
That’s why it took nearly 25 years after that time to write my book on adoption Home: Notes on Belonging, though I had hinted around the story in earlier books. I had to feel safe enough to share my story, especially with an insecure, mentally ill adoptive father who would cause even more trouble if he read Home because his feelings of inferiority will always attempt to trump mine when it comes to adoption.
But I’m not afraid of him anymore — and I’m not afraid to share my story.
We are always looking for our bio family on some level. That’s normal.
Now, I only speak for myself here — every adopted person has a different take — but I will never know my bio father or his family. I will never know my bio mother’s family — and even I did, those years won’t return to me. That’s one of the ways I’ve been forged in this life but when I look in the mirror, I see my ancestors, especially my grandmother. I see her in my long, dark hair and eyes. I feel her energy when I dance. I thank my powerful, healthy genes every day. I acknowledge that they are still a part of me — my DNA — because I’m here, alive and generally well-adjusted.
It was up to me to create a happy continuum.
That said, DNA is a powerful force and cannot be denied. Whether you are adopted, from a sperm donor or other similar scenarios when blood still pulls, you will look for where you belong, even if you deny on the surface because it feels too painful or a hopeless quest. I would dare say that you are always looking for an answer to a question that only you can reframe.
I had the courage to seek out my biological mother and found her without any help or support from my adoptive parents because I would have been a broken person if I didn’t try — and more than likely, would have killed myself. It was my heroine’s quest, not knowing the outcome. Would she reject me? Be a drug addict, mentally ill person? Have another family who would reject me? It was fraught with unknowns but I went anyway.
It’s what I had to do to remember who I am.
We still deal with ignorant comments from people who do not understand — which is why we might be reluctant to share our story.
There are many woo people who speak of ancestors or ancestral trauma without really understanding that adopted people are not going to connect with their message. Some will twist themselves into knots, saying that it doesn’t really matter if you’re adopted because we all spirits and blah blah.
No. Nice try. I don’t think so.
Someone like me will say, Hm. Which ancestors? My bio ones who I don’t know? My crazy adoptive parents? How far back? I have double or triple trouble now with trauma?
Or there will comments — and yes, I’ve actually heard this — from people who say, So, that means if you and your brother got together, you wouldn’t have inbred kids, right?
Or, Your parents are your parents. Be grateful someone wanted you.
Or, You need to love your family — even if I didn’t feel like I belonged to this group of strangers.
Or, Have you met your birthmother yet?
Or they’ll look at me strangely and not know what to say because they simply are uncomfortable with the concept.
If you don’t know what to say to an adopted person, be silent. Don’t bother asking the question if you can’t handle the complexity of the answer.
If you want to adopt, educate yourself first. Go to therapy and make sure your kid gets therapy. Listen to adopted people. Read books. If international, visit their culture and do not prevent them discovering their background.
Many parents, including my own, thought that once they told me I was adopted when I was a child, that would be that. No further questions, your Honor.
That just showed how little they knew me — which really, we are strangers to each other in an illusion called family.
Having an adopted child is a crapshoot. Sounds crass — but it’s the truth. We come from elsewhere and no matter how evolved society is in the understanding of adoption, we do have another family. Another bloodline. Unfortunate genetic markers that may include depression, mental illness and drugs/alcoholism. We still have to deal with our own doubts, suffering and sense of belonging — even more heightened with full-blood siblings.
Only sensitive parents need apply for adopted children.
I once dated a Korean woman (before social media) who was adopted and grew up in a very white, rural area with white parents. She, like me, struggled with a sense of belonging — though my hood was much more diverse (my church/school was very white). Her parents never once thought to bring her to Korea or take her to a city for the weekend. I said one day, This stops now and we drove to an Asian market 30 miles away where we strolled the aisles. She was literally struck dumb by the sight of the people and foods as we shopped. Did it help her? I hope so — and hey, we had a really good dinner that night, too.
Ignoring the fact that your child comes from a different background/family is not a winning play — and will only cause a bigger reckoning for you in the end.
Thankfully, there so many adopted people who share stories on YT/social media and numerous resources for adopted people and potential parents. So many great books, talks and free advice from licensed therapists online. I am so grateful that the shadows and secrets around adoption are finally starting to dissipate. Finally. May all of the adopted kids benefit from this new world of understanding and have healthy, happy lives.