Author Archives: Laureen

Six Things This Adoptee is Thankful For – #NAAM

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It’s been a while. Trust me, though, not a day goes by without me thinking about adoption. The healing continues. My strength grows, and sometimes wanes, but overall, it’s a journey that never ends.

I’ve taken a break from some adoptee-centric groups and forums, for my own mental peace. We have to find our own space in this complex adoption community. I have several great friends that I’ve met over the years–adoptees and first-mothers–who have nurtured me through the healing process, and I hope I have been there in a meaningful way for them, as well.

I’ve been wanting to write something for #NAAM (National Adoption Awareness Month), and I’ve decided to meld my thoughts about adoption/adoptee awareness with Thanksgiving. Being “grateful” is a touchy subject for most adoptees. But honestly, being thankful or grateful is nothing to be ashamed of. So, here goes.

1. Normalcy; a Fair Childhood.

My parents did their best in the 1960s to raise my adoptive brother (no relation) and me. They weren’t perfect. Neither were we. They believed in the “blank slate” theory they were fed when they adopted us. That’s not what they got. Oh, hell no. Surprise! It wasn’t bonding. It was survival mode. My dad worked; he was hardly around when we were children. My mom stayed at home, but she was distant. Oh, so distant. I know now that my experience with my mother wasn’t unique. But, I survived. My brother and I had a discussion about this recently. We have no complaints about our childhood. But when we look back, we look through a lens of knowledge. Knowledge about how adoption affected us. Knowledge about the trauma and the fear and our individual coping mechanisms. We did okay. Well-adjusted, as they say.

2. The 1970s.

Back in the 1970s, parents did not even think twice about things like UV rays, weird grown-ups/strangers lurking around every corner, the dark, etc. Parents allowed their kids to play outdoors, away from the front yard, as long as they wanted without even keeping an eye on them. My mom even sent me, on occasion, barefoot, on my bright pink banana-seat bike, to the local liquor store to pick up a carton of cigarettes for her. I would buy some Bottlecaps or Gobstoppers for myself with the change. And, remember this? “It’s 10 pm. Do you know where your kids are?” It was an actual commercial that played on the television networks at 10 o’clock every night, reminding our parents that they actually had responsibilities! My best friend’s mom used to have an alarm set between The Love Boat and Fantasy Island to remind her to go outside and yell for her kids to come home! We were allowed, and encouraged, to explore. It was an opportunity, however dangerous, to discover our identities. I had a great time in the 1970s with my friends.

3. Roe v. Wade

At age 17, I could have been destined to a fate similar to my birth mom’s. What could I do? I found myself pregnant at age 17. Thankfully, a good friend of mine had already gone through an unwanted pregnancy and an abortion, so I had someone to lean on for advice. Who knows what I would have done without knowing someone close to me who had gone through it previously? I never told my mother. I only told that one friend. My boyfriend, luckily, had a job at a local mini-mart, so we were able to pay for the procedure. We were just children. I am sad for younger self. I have no conscious memory of that day.

4. Traveling Abroad

I put myself through college. I went to the local state university in my hometown. I’m thankful to have had that opportunity so close to home. I worked 20-30 hours per week and carried a full course-load each semester. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined. I don’t know why I had such ambition-no one in my (adoptive) family had gone to college. I lived at home and worked and commuted to school. It was a grind. For my senior year, I was determined to go big. I applied for a study-abroad program to study politics in the United Kingdom. I was accepted! I spent nearly a year in Yorkshire, England, at the University of Bradford. It was magical in so many ways. Living away from home and in a foreign country allowed me to discover who I really was, away from the influence of my adoptive family and without the constraints of what people expected of me. I could be who I wanted. Who I really was. I could question things. It was truly a journey of self-discovery. The experience moved me to search for my biological family. To discover my true identity. 

5. The Advancement of DNA

In 2015, I submitted my spit to the company 23andMe. Not so much to find relatives (I had already found my bio mom in the 1980s via prison records, and she refused to meet me or have any type of ongoing correspondence), but to find out about any health concerns. I thought it might be a good idea to find out if I should be concerned about anything healthwise as I approached middle-age. Thankfully, DNA testing revealed a clean bill of health. But that’s not all. It gave me my biological father. It also allowed me to connect with aunts, uncles, and other relatives on my bio mom’s side. So, even though she wasn’t willing to acknowledge me, other family members willingly spoke with me and gave me some answers to the questions about my bio mom and her family that had haunted my heart for years.

6. A Connection

My bio dad and I enjoyed a heartfelt reunion. I didn’t expect much, because he didn’t even know I existed (not to mention the experience with bio-mom), but I was able to convince him, with the help of DNA, that I was, indeed, his daughter. I helped him connect with his own father’s legacy (my grandfather!), and family members that he didn’t even know existed. It was satisfying and for a while, magical. I know he loves me. And I love him. But real connection and family are tricky things for adoptees. We share no history of conscious memory. And we live nearly 1300 miles apart. 

The issues after reunion have to do with information learned on both sides that may be disconcerting to the other party….and this is the period where that information starts to sink in….and the emotions attached to that information start to come into play. My bio dad finding out about my mere existence was a shock to him. Any memory of my bio mom still evades him. And I know that bio mom’s secondary rejection of me haunts him. He has never reached out to her (I don’t blame him). 

More importantly, the information and revelations I was able to provide to him about his beginnings and his own father and mother (my grandparents!) I’m sure affected him even more. He’s told me more than once that all of these discoveries in his seventies (about me, his parents) have transformed him as a person and although he has a better understanding of “why he is the way he is” (his words), he struggles with questions that will never be fully answered. So here is my father, nearly eighty years old, struggling with his identity, even though he has lived a full, successful and colorful life. I’m nearly sixty and I absolutely know how he feels. There is still an unbreakable connection between us, even though we don’t see each other or talk often. Our souls are forever connected by the threads of adoption, family lies, and ties.

RED COUCH REBUTTAL

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I’m so proud of my peers and friends in the adoption community: adoptees and many birth mothers who are brave enough to share their voices in the face of the evil, backwards for-profit adoption industry. We recognize that the adoption industry continues to commodify children and when we are witness to such blatant money-grabbing emotional-pandering as seen in the documentary-cum-fundraising film, “Stories From the Red Couch,” we band together.

This video comes on the heels of my last post, written as a review or reaction to the film. Apparently, and thankfully, I wasn’t the only one disgusted by the film and the continued, age-old tactics of The Cradle to promote and facilitate adoption and discourage (putting it mildly) family preservation.

Red Couch Rebuttal

The voices in this video are only a handful of the brave adoptee-voices (and one lovely birthmother) who had something to say in rebuttal to “Stories From the Red Couch,” and the questionable practices of The Cradle. Tune in to the National Association of Adoptees and Parents‘ Adoption Happy Hour on Friday, April 15, 2022, to join in the discussion.

Adoption – All Sides Matter

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A commentary on the film “Stories From the Red Couch”

In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the trailer.

If you have the time, here’s a link to the forty-five minute video.

The trailer was released a month ago. The film was released just a week ago.

It’s promoted as simply a “Hollywood produced film about adoption,” and described as a project meant “to capture 99 years of [The Cradle’s] work through emotional, inspiring stories of adoption.”

It’s “Hollywood produced,” alright. It’s a polished, obviously professionally produced and edited documentary-style film. But to say it’s “about adoption” is terribly misleading. What it’s really about is fundraising. To facilitate adoption.

The Cradle is a private adoption agency that’s been around for nearly a hundred years. The film is presented and stylized as a celebration of The Cradle’s work by showcasing several “successful” adoption stories from the perspective of the heroic savior adoptive parents and the counselors employed by The Cradle. The fairy tale-like stories portray adoption as something “magical,” and The Cradle as someplace where “dreams come true.” Lofty words and phrases describing The Cradle and its work, such as “destiny,” “meant to be,” “special place,” and even “divine intervention,” are sprinkled throughout the forty-five minute campaign.

What’s missing? It’s obvious to adoptees. Whether we’re “well-adjusted” or struggling, in the fog or out, wrestling with identity issues, facing secondary rejection, muddling through a reunion, or fighting against the powers-that-be in a closed records nightmare, the emotional turmoil of the adoptee is sorely missing from The Cradle’s fables of the adoptive family. Even adoptees who claim a happy childhood and successful family life growing up adopted face issues related to adoption trauma. It’s a fact. The deep emotional experiences of great loss and grief are a common theme in the life of a adoptee. The trauma related to being separated from one’s mother and family at birth or soon thereafter is real. It may not be something an adoptee feels as a child growing up, but it often surfaces later in life, particularly during milestone events like marriage, childbirth, or death of an adoptive parent or someone close to the adoptee.

In the film, The Cradle claims to be a place that recognizes and nurtures a pregnant mother struggling with the decision of whether to keep her child. How does a mother even get to that point? How is the option of adoption introduced to a pregnant mother who is under duress? I turned to The Cradle’s website for answers.

The Cradle is proud of their on-site nursery. The website proclaims: “The Cradle is the only adoption agency in the country with an on-site nursery offering a safe, neutral place for infants to stay while their parents take the time they need to decide if adoption will be the plan for their child.” So, the mother and child are separated while the mother “decides” if adoption is right for their family situation? This is where the “options counseling” comes in. There is little positive or encouraging information on the website about the choice to parent. And there was even less mentioned in the film. What about options for parenting? What about support for the mother and child together rather than a nursery that separates mother and child? The website’s page for “options counseling” is sparse, and includes a simple comparison of “ADOPTION” and “PARENTING” that lists the things an expectant mother should consider (according to The Cradle) if she is thinking about parenting her child:

  • Your daily schedule and child care needs
  • Your budget, including housing, living expenses/bills, baby supplies, transportation, child care, etc.
  • Health care and medical insurance
  • Supportive people (family, friends, professionals) – identify who those people are for you, and talk with them about the kinds of help you can expect from them

That’s enough to scare the living motherhood out of me. Where are the answers? Where are the resources? And to make matters even more one-sided, the page on the website that features the nursery also features a big window with continuous scrolling photos of hopeful smiling potential adoptive parents with the caption, “Choose an Adoptive Family.” Problem solved.

The film does mention that a parent who has taken advantage of The Cradle’s services, like counseling and the nursery, can, of course, decide to keep her child and simply come and get the baby and take her home. Good to know. If The Cradle actually does this work (like counseling in favor of keeping your child and directing a mother and/or father to usable resources, etc.), why not highlight in the film a few of the stories where this sort of happy ending resulted? Or at least provide some statistics. I know I would have loved to have seen a few of these real-life fairy tales where mother decides to keep her child. I mean, really . . . this sounds like a much happier (and more natural) ending to any story than a child separated from his or her biology and family and thrown into the arms of strangers.

Note to adoptive parents: That baby isn’t bonding with you. It’s a matter of life or death for the baby–her needs must be met. It’s survival mode.

But there are no family preservation-style happy endings shown in the film. That’s because The Cradle is about adoption; more specifically, facilitating the brokering of babies. Period.

More to come on this topic–look for “Red Couch Rebuttal: Adoptees (and Others) Talk Back to The Cradle,” coming to NAAP Happy Hour soon.

Dirty Looks

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My dad interrupted himself in the middle of his rant. “Don’t look at me that way. Wipe that look off your face!”

It was just my face. I didn’t know what else to do with it, so I looked down. The scolding continued. I watched my tears fall and melt into the mottled brown carpet.

I can’t remember what I had done wrong, or how old I was the first time I heard my dad mention it, but it became a thing in our house. My dirty looks. My adopted brother, who is sixty years old now, still talks about how I used to get in trouble by just glancing at Dad.

I’ve been told I have a very expressive face. I cannot hide what I’m thinking. I’d be terrible at poker, I guess.

In my adolescent years, apparently, my face really started talking. Dad would tell me that my face could say Go To Hell with just a glance. Were my dirty looks some sort of superpower? I wondered. I became self-conscious.

I spent hours staring into the bathroom mirror, trying on different faces, different expressions, trying to figure out which “look” was the one that would trigger my dad. There was something about my face that angered him. Was it a scowl? I tried to make a scowl in the mirror . . . a sort of frown mixed with a furrowed brow. How dumb I looked.

More staring.

Try a smile. Ugh, no. Not like that. Try again. Smile with your eyes. Don’t show your teeth. Well, maybe a little. Don’t smile too big, though, or your face looks all scrunched up. Do I have dimples? No.

Thus began a life-long obsession with my face, my expressions, and my burning desire to find someone with the same dirty looks as me.

Who do I look like? Whose face is this? Whose crooked smile? Even when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see a familiar face. There was always something wrong with it.

I didn’t know it then, but now I realize what I was missing out on was genetic mirroring. To explain it simply, genetic mirroring is essentially being able to see yourself in your family. This is most obvious when you think about physical characteristics (for instance, my husband definitely has the same nose as his mother), but is not limited to that. In fact, genetic mirroring can be seen in mannerisms, talents, athletic abilities, intellectual strengths and weaknesses, simple likes and dislikes, and in a number of other ways. There are reasons why we see repetitive generations of lawyers, healers, scholars, actors, artists, etc. in natural families. It is not just a matter of continuing a family business or tribal tradition. It is a matter of like characteristics, traits, and personalities being nurtured, generation after generation, by genetic mirroring.

Seeing and recognizing traits in another person close to you means you are more likely to feel good about, or at least be comfortable with those traits.

When you look into your genetic mirror, into the face of a biological parent, or sibling, you know those traits have been passed down from your family. It’s comfort. Familiarity. Acceptance. Having a genetic mirror helps you to feel that you belong – helps you feel that you’re okay as you are because there is someone else just like you.

Growing up adopted, of course I didn’t have a genetic mirror. When I was teased about various aspects of my appearance at school, I couldn’t turn to a genetic mirror for comfort. I couldn’t see myself in anyone else. I felt different; unacceptable. And when my dad criticized my expressions and expressed displeasure at my face, it really hurt. I’ve never gotten over it.

I like to think of myself today as a well-adjusted grown-up. But, I know that I am still affected by the void of genetic mirroring in my life growing up. I’m fifty-seven years old, for crying out loud! But when I’m speaking with someone I know well, a friend or someone I love, it’s difficult for me to look directly into their eyes. I fear what they may see in my face. Even in deep, emotional conversation, I tend to look over someone’s shoulder. Willing them not to look directly at my face.

I know now that it is important to talk about this. To acknowledge that genetic mirroring is real and is a big deal in the development of a person’s personality and identity. This is just one of the things that is missing in an adoptee’s life. As adoptees, we should be allowed and even encouraged to think about this and even grieve it. It is important for adoptive parents to understand this, to be aware of this, to recognize the subtle nuances and unsaid words (and words that are actually said) that fill an adoptee’s mind with wonder. With longing. With sadness. With anxiety.

I’d like to be able to replace the longing, sadness, and anxiety with acceptance, contentment, and comfort. I’ll start by looking into the mirror.

Write It Out!

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How writing can help you work through your stress, grief, or trauma.

This article is shared and reprinted here by permission from the National Association of Adoptees and Parents. It was originally printed in its 3rd Quarter 2021 Newsletter.

It was difficult for me to write certain parts of my memoir. As with many adoptees, my story dealt with a difficult childhood, the trauma of abandonment, the severing of my identity, secondary rejection, and generally navigating a life put together by others with purposeful deceit. I was expected to live a certain life, love certain people as “family,” and be accepting of and comfortable with it all.  

So why write about it? Why relive the pain and trauma? 

Well, ignoring it wasn’t working. For years after my birth mother cruelly rejected me in 1987, the trauma of that secondary rejection manifested itself in many ways. Seemingly innocuous incidents would trigger my trauma and I would find myself reliving my past anxieties and stresses, and sometimes taking it out on other people. Relationships were difficult. My trauma led to anxiety, anger, and withdrawal. And exhaustion.  

I let those anxieties and stresses cause chaos and uncertainty in my life for too long. 

Some thirty years later I started blogging about my adoption journey. I finally took control of my story. Why did it take so long? 

I’ve always enjoyed writing. I’ve done legal writing in my career as a paralegal for years. I also had a food blog for a few years. Sharing my love for cooking, along with my adventures in the competitive cooking world was fun, but it wasn’t easing any pain. What I did realize through this type of writing was that expressive and creative writing was beneficial for me. Creativity (through the cooking and the writing) helped to relieved stress related to my work. 

I still had anxiety and issues related to my adoption, however. I just wasn’t dealing with them. Then, one day, I stumbled on another adoptee’s blog. She told the story of her search and the complicated reunion with her birth mother and the maternal side of her biological family. As I read, I reflected on my own story. Her story forced me to think critically through my own emotions and experiences. Reflecting on another person’s similar story gave me the ability to understand and make sense of my own life experience. I had a sudden urge to write my story. 

And so I began. 

The health benefits of writing about trauma are well-documented. For me, blogging helped me reflect on my situation, accept it, reach out to people through it, and finally, heal. By reaching out through blogging, I was able to connect with others with similar situations. I found other adoptees and those with unique family situations dealing with their own trauma and difficult emotions. By giving a voice to my pain and emptiness, I was learning to accept them as a part of me. In accepting, I was healing. By sharing my story, I was emerging from my isolation.  

Soon after I started blogging, I started reading adoptee memoirs and other adoption-centric books. This brought me more validation and strength. I used the strength to write my memoir.  

Before you emerge strong, you’ll inevitably feel the pain again. I did. Don’t let it stop you. Through the writing process, whether you are simply journaling, blogging, writing personal essay, or writing your memoir, you will learn acceptance. You will learn to accept your emotional scars and learn not to be afraid to share your vulnerabilities. Writing will help you discover what makes you part of a larger universe. What makes you vulnerable may be a direct result of personal trauma, but that trauma and the emotional turmoil caused by it are informed by systems, processes or problems in society on a much larger scale. Maybe sharing your experience will help others. By writing your story, you can take ownership of your life and shape it the way you want.  

Adoptee voices matter. If you have a story you’d like to tell, or if you’d like to start journaling with more meaning, or if you are currently blogging or want to start a blog, join me, Lynn Grubb, Marcie Keithley, and Paige Strickland at the NAAP Conference in September for our panel discussion, Adoptee Voices Matter—Options for Writing Your Truth. Panel presenters will answer your questions and share their thoughts on writing memoir, personal essay (non-fiction), writing about grief and trauma, and how to keep organized and focused when writing about such an emotional topic. Hope to see you there. 

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COVID Craziness

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This article is shared and reprinted here by permission from the Indiana Adoptee Network. It was originally printed in its 2020 Holiday Newsletter.

I wanted to post it here to reach as many people as possible, because we’re all still dealing with the unfortunate effects of COVID in some way (some are having a more difficult time than others) and it’s comforting to know that you’re not alone.

Case in point: early last week, my husband tested positive for COVID. Luckily, he was already doing some work at our condo in another city when he found out–so we decided he should stay there, alone, until this passes. His sister, who lives nearby the condo, was gracious enough to deliver some groceries so he wouldn’t need anything during his quarantine. This meant that he wouldn’t be home for Christmas. It also meant that Garrett and I may have been exposed. We scrambled trying to arrange for testing before Christmas. Garrett got tested on Christmas Eve and I got tested on the 26th. Luckily, we both tested negative. According to protocol, we stayed isolated here at home and had a quiet Christmas–just the two of us, while Guy ate a quesadilla and instant ramen for Christmas dinner (his cooking skills are limited). We had been looking forward to my older son and his fiancee joining all three of us on Christmas Eve for dinner and spending the night for Christmas morning and gifts and good cheer, but it was not in the cards for us. Damn COVID.

Fortunately, my husband had very mild symptoms and felt fine most of the time during his quarantine. He’ll be coming home on Thursday (New Year’s Eve) and we’ll all be getting together on New Year’s Day to have our Christmas celebration.

So, hang in there. I’m thankful we didn’t get hit hard by COVID. Some of you may have already, or may in the future. I hope not. Please, stay safe, healthy, and sane!

COVID-19, Coronavirus, the “Plague.” Whatever you want to call it, we’re all still dealing with it. STILL!

Back in March, Lynn Grubb (No Apologies for Being Me) and I did a lighthearted Indiana Adoptee Network Happy Hour Zoom “meeting” (IAN’s first one) about the subject and how it might affect adoptees and those in the community in ways different from the average “Joe.” We talked about silly things, too, like substitutes for toilet paper (the shortage was real!), and Zoom mishaps in this new age of video conferencing (like forgetting to turn off video when you step into the bathroom—oops!)

But the real issue was, and still is, how to deal with this new stressor (COVID), when many of us in the adoption community are already dealing with trauma, anxiety, and isolation? How is dealing with COVID different for adoptees and others in the adoption community?

It’s a fact that adoptees are a vulnerable population.

  • Adoptees may have felt like outsiders their entire lives—different in some way. We grew up separated from our biological families. Society as a whole does not truly understand how isolating that can be—not knowing who they are, or knowing who they are, but not having contact with them for some reason or another. These feelings are normal for an adoptee, but add social distancing, stay-at-home orders, and even quarantining to the mix and our sense of being alone in the world is heightened.

Adoptive Parents need to be aware of the anxieties and feelings adopted children may have.

  • Adopted children may need more frequent reassurance from adults during these uncertain times. Some children may be thinking about how COVID-19 is impacting their birth family. Adoptive parents should not shy away from bringing up these concerns or fears, if the child is old enough to understand the situation.

For both adoptees and adoptive parents, anxieties can merge.

  • Disruptions in family life due to the pandemic, such as economic hardships, transition to online learning, and cancellations of social and recreational activities can bring up feelings of confusion in adopted children, and helplessness in adoptive parents. The journey to forming a positive identity as an adopted person may be impeded by these events, which further disrupt continuity. Again, depending on the age and developmental level of the adopted child, parents can, and should, initiate conversations with their child about these issues.

There are so many complexities and nuances. How it affects each of us is going to be different. How do we cope? Lynn and I had some suggestions for that, too.

First, understand that anxiety is completely normal in this situation. Accept what is happening and make space for it, even if you don’t like it.

CONNECT! We think this is the most important thing of all. IAN created a platform for us to get together and share our experiences, including our struggles and our successes. IAN Happy Hour is bringing the adoption community together every Friday (and sometimes on Mondays) with helpful topics and discussions as a healthy way to engage with others in the adoption community. We are fortunate to be living in a time of technology which has given us the ability to connect from our homes. In addition to IAN  Happy Hour, there are Facebook Groups, and other organizations across the country that offer support and engagement for those in the adoption community.

You may find strength and comfort in other communities, too, like your faith-based community. Find ways to continue to rely on what makes you feel safe and happy. Many churches are putting their services online. There is also a myriad of podcasts that provide reinforcement and encouragement, whether you are looking for connection through your religious affiliation or through other genres of spirituality.

Another way to cope–stick to your routines. Or, if your routine is too much with the added stress, relax your routine. Self-care, whatever that looks like to you, remains important. For some it’s meditating, for others it can be as simple as taking a bath or a walk.

Some other things to keep you busy on a positive level:

  • Make time for hobbies! If you don’t have one, get one! Get creative with crafting, cooking, collecting . . . appreciate once again your the small pleasures you derive from your creativity.
  • Connect with people by talking on the phone, Facetime, Skype, or Zoom. In addition to video live-chat apps like Snapchat and Whatsapp, which I can guarantee that your teens have on their phones, there are some others that seem to be drawing the “more mature” crowd, like Marco Polo. The average age for users of Marco Polo is adults, ages 25 to 54, who simply want to stay in touch on a more personal level than just texts, but who maybe don’t have time to live chat on demand. Try it!
  • Read an adoption memoir (and write a review).
  • Write that adoption memoir you’ve been thinking about. Or, just do some journaling. Journaling can improve your mood by helping you prioritize problems, fears, and concerns. It can also help to reset that positive self-talk you need to hear!
  • Spend time with your pet! It’s proven that interacting with a friendly pet can help reduce blood pressure and improve overall health by causing our brains to release endorphins that produce a calming effect. This can help alleviate pain, reduce stress, and improve your overall psychological state.
  • Listen to some music. Music therapy always lifts the mood (make a playlist of quarantine theme songs!).
  • Research and plan your next vacation for when travel restrictions are lifted. It may seem like we’ll be in this lockdown status forever, but I promise we won’t!

While staying connected is important, there is nothing wrong with a little introspection, as well. Take some quiet time to assess where you are in your life. Contemplate if you’re content with who you are and what you’re doing. Be honest with yourself. There is no benefit to pretending that everything is okay if it isn’t. Adoptees are good at adapting, but move past your comfort zone and really look at your situation. If you are not happy with your professional and personal life, now might be a good time to start developing a plan or a strategy to achieve your goals. Ask for help or get a mentor. Some of us will be building a new future out of necessity after this is all over. Plan accordingly.

Unfortunately, there is going to be suffering. The goal is coping. And most importantly, STAY HEALTHY! Together we’ll get to the other side of this!

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Find Your Tribe

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During this crazy Covid-time, it helps to connect with family, friends, and others who share a common bond. For me, it’s helpful at times to connect with other adoptees. This article is shared and reprinted here by permission from the Indiana Adoptee Network. It was originally printed in its 2020 Holiday Newsletter.

“Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter,and those who matter don’t mind.” –Bernard M. Baruch

It took me a long time to find my voice. I mean, my real voice. The real me. I’m not even sure I know who I am fully at this point in my life.  I’m fifty-seven years old.

I grew up adopted, raised in a middle-class, normal(ish) family. I went to college and had a career in the legal field, where I worked as a paralegal for over twenty-five years. I’ve been married, divorced, and married again. I have two grown boys. I even wrote and published a book—a memoir—about my adoption experience, my search for my identity, and my journey to find biological family.

I’m still insecure. I have anxiety. But I know I need to move forward every day. But how?

I took a big leap in 2019 after I published my memoir. It was a big leap for me, anyway. I wanted to share my story with adoptees and others connected to the adoption community. I searched online for groups or sub-communities near me here in Southern California where I could share and talk about adoption. There really wasn’t much locally. I toyed with the idea of starting a social group with a few adoptee friends of mine. But I wanted more—I really wanted to connect. I wanted to learn about the experiences of others and how other adult adoptees were faring in this crazy world. I eventually landed on the Indiana Adoptee Network website. As it turned out, at the time I found IAN, they were getting ready for their March conference. The website was all a-buzz about it. How fortuitous for me.

But wait . . . Indiana? Was it for me? Was I really going to travel over two thousand miles to hang out with total strangers? The workshops looked interesting, and there were going to be other adoptees, but would they welcome me—an outsider from California—into the fold?

At the same time I was considering attending the conference Indiana, my anxiety was hitting me hard. I had just birthed my book and my crazy adoptee story was out there for the world to see (and judge). Who did I think I was writing this memoir about my small experience? Who is really going to care? What if they don’t like me?

I waited until the last minute to register and book my flight and hotel. But I did it—I was all in. And I’m glad I did. What a revelation! Let me tell you, it is really something to be in a room full of other people who just get it. Everyone was friendly and helpful and caring. There was no shortage of sharing and learning. There was yoga, meditation, comedy, and a movie. There was even an art display put together by a super-talented adoptee-artist. That might sound a little strange to non-adoptees—how is “adoptee-ism” a genre? Or a subject? But, believe me, it IS! There is a connection . . . a common thread. Really, more like a common direction, or lifeline. I made new friends and met so many smart and vibrant people that are truly committed to the support and encouragement of adoptees and others dedicated to adoption issues from all angles. My tribe.

2020 is a disappointment, for sure, with the unavoidable cancelation of the fourth annual live conference. I was really looking forward to seeing everyone again, meeting new people, and getting my dose of adoptee harmony. But not to worry, IAN is dedicated to continuing its work to uplift and support those in the adoption community. I hope you are all joining in on the Adoption Happy Hour. It’s such a great way to stay connected until we can meet again.

Randall – A Study in Coming Out of the Fog

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It’s no secret that I am a super-fan of the NBC television show, This Is Us. It sucked me in starting in Season One, with the complex family story, which included threads about everything from drug and alcohol abuse, weight shaming, obesity, fierce sibling rivalry, adoption, and so much more. The masterful storytelling kept me coming back with all the surprises, clever and well-placed flashbacks, and shocking plot-twisting endings to almost all of the episodes. What’s not to love! The characters are so real . . . so honest . . . so flawed.

The Season Five premiere earlier this week confirmed that the show wasn’t going to shy away from the reality of current times. In the first few minutes of the show, the challenges of the coronavirus were incorporated seamlessly, with Beth’s revelation that “Tom Hanks has it,” and Kevin and Madison’s pregnancy reveal to Kate and Toby at a safe distance. The current Black Lives Matter movement also played into the storyline, especially for Randall’s immediate family. The scene where Randall, Beth and the girls were watching the news about the death of George Floyd was especially heart wrenching. Randall insists he’s not having a breakdown. He’s just “really, really sad.”

Some viewers didn’t like the inclusion of COVID and the racial tension in the storyline, saying that they watch television to escape reality. That doesn’t work for me. I generally don’t enjoy watching or reading something that is obviously not rooted in reality. This is why I’m not a fan of books, movies, or television shows with the genre or theme of science fiction, fantasy or superhero fiction. To each his own.

Let’s get back to Randall. Most adult adoptees in real life know about The Fog. For those not familiar, for adoptees, the phrase “coming out of the fog” refers to adoptees coming to terms with feelings–often supressed emotions–and realizations about adoption and their adoption experience. It is an awareness that evolves, or comes on slowly, that the reality of the adoption experience may not fit the mold society or adoptive families have constructed for adoptees. You are immersed in The Fog if you are an adoptee who believes that relinquishment and adoption are completely positive events and have no effect on your life or your emotions at all. Adoptees living in The Fog are mostly grateful and may believe that they were “saved” by their adoptive parents from a sad life of being an orphan, or being raised in poverty, or worse. These ideas are often instilled in the adoptee by his or her adoptive parents. Adoptees are often told they were “chosen” and are “special.” Adoptive parents may mean well by telling these stories, but for an adoptee, the reality will hit at some point.

The reality is: biology does matter. Being separated from your mother at birth or even later causes trauma. This trauma can affect the development of a child on many levels, including physiologically, socially, and emotionally. Identity confusion is common for adoptees. As the realization of this trauma comes to light for an adoptee and evolves, the feelings and emotions start to flow: rejection, grief, confusion, mourning, denial, anger, bargaining, and, hopefully, acceptance. This is coming out of The Fog.

Truly, what I’m writing here is such a simplified version of what adoptees may go through when coming out of The Fog. Libraries are full of research articles by experts and books written on the subject. It’s a real thing. And I believe that Randall is just starting to come out of The Fog.

Randall has been under an enormous amount of stress since the beginning of Season One. He’s a people-pleaser. He’s an over-acheiver. He didn’t think that his stress had anything to do with his adoption, but it obviously did. During the first season, he searched for and found his biological father! We all grew to love William during their ‘reunion,’ but there is no denying that this event confused Randall, and challenged much of what he believed about himself. Also revealed to viewers were the secrets that his adoptive mom, Rebecca, had kept from him. The secrets, on top of all of the other stress, force Randall to face his demons. He goes to counseling.

I actually wrote a post after Randall lost it last season (remember when he chased down the purse snatcher and beat the crap out of him?). I think this was the start of Randall coming out of The Fog.

Now he’s facing the racial issues of the current social climate as a black man who had been raised in a white family. His identity is being challenged even further by his emotion and the reactions and feelings of those closest to him. He realizes that they (Kate and Kevin) are not able to fully understand what he is going through. Again, all of this is pushing him out of The Fog even more.

I’m looking forward to seeing how Randall’s story evolves. There must be an adoptee or two on the writing staff or consulting with the writers because, in my opinion, they seem to get the adoption storyline right every time. And it’s only going to get more interesting now that we know (SPOILER ALERT) that Randall’s birth mother didn’t die after she gave birth.

Interested in another adoptee story? My book is on sale at Amazon!

I Have a Dream . . . of Anxiety

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It’s pretty common. Our anxieties can haunt us in our dreams, and make themselves known to us in strange ways.

There are two recurring themes in my dreams. One that I had quite often when I was younger was about being in the water. Mind you, in real life, I’m a very good swimmer–I was even on the swim team in high school–so I know the underlying fear or anxiety that goes along with this particular dream can’t have anything to do with the actual water or swimming. So what does it mean? The water dreams I had always took a weird turn. I’d be swimming in a pool or in the ocean and I’d realize I’m very far from the surface and I need to get air soon. I panic. But then, I realize . . . or remember . . . that I can actually breathe under water. Like a fish. Nothing to panic about! Whew! And then I invoke my aquatic super-power and start breathing. And I’m fine.

I’ve also had a different version of this dream where I am falling from a great height and in the midst of the fall and my panic, I remember that I can fly. So I do, and I’m fine. I’ll just fly around above the trees, trying not to be seen, and wondering if I’m the only one that has this awesome superpower. I consider these flying dreams to be in the same family or theme as the breathing under water dreams. I call them my Superpower Dreams.

I’ve never figured out what these Superpower Dreams mean, or what the anxiety (or the superpower) may represent in real life. Oddly enough, I don’t have the Superpower dreams that often anymore, so whatever the stressor was, perhaps it has resolved itself. Or maybe I’ve lost my superpowers.

The other recurring dream theme I’ve had over the years (and still continue to have) revolves around being lost. It’s always a scary kind of lost, with an accompanying desperation to escape from something or to find a place or people or an important thing (like my missing purse or passport). Sometimes I’m in a foreign country, or a strange city, or traveling on a train that is going the wrong way but I can’t get off. And almost always, my purse, phone, or something else of great importance has been stolen or is missing. And I am always unable to remember the phone number or address of a person to contact for help. Or I get somewhere where they are supposed to be and they are not there.

Last night I had one of those dreams. I was lost. I was in a foreign country and couldn’t speak the language. I had lost my purse. I remembered that I had left it on a train or a tram or something, but I was wandering the streets trying to find my way back to this tram–that probably was already gone with my purse. I also knew I had luggage somewhere; back in the hotel, maybe? But I had no idea where the hotel was, because I had been wandering around aimlessly looking for the damn tram. I was surrounded by people speaking in a foreign language . . . large buildings . . . . it was getting dark. I was completely disoriented. And alone.

I woke up from this dream in a total panic. It’s been twelve hours now since this dream and I still feel the prickle of anxiety when I think about it.

Whenever I have one of my Lost Dreams, as I call them, I’ll lie in bed and wait for the anxiety to wane. Then, I’ll inevitably assess my real-time emotional landscape. What is going on in my life that is causing me distress? Usually, nothing of the magnitude of the dreamscape’s anxiety, but the feeling must come from somewhere.

So I did a little research. Maybe if I figure this out the nightmares will stop.

Cathleen O’Connor, Ph.D., author of “The Everything Law of Attraction Dream Dictionary,” says that dreams about being lost or searching for something that is lost “usually denote anxiety.” Well, duh. “They evoke feelings of confusion and frustration, or even a sense of feeling you don’t fit in,” says O’Connor. “Usually, the meaning has to do with a current situation in your life where you are anxious that you will not find your way.”

Well, that’s disturbing, considering that I’ve had these Lost Dreams for most of my adult life. I’m 56 years old. You’d think I would have found my way by now.

After a lot of soul searching, I’ve decided to face my Lost Dreams head on. If I call them out, maybe they’ll stop. That means I have to nail them down. I’ve given them a name, but I also need to give them a meaning so I can work through the details and the triggers. That’s the goal, anyway.

Of course, dream interpretation is subjective. That’s okay. They’re my dreams. My anxiety. So here’s my own amateur analysis: I suspect that the Lost Dreams are speaking to me on a subconscious level about my adoption journey. What else could it be? I’ve had some form of the Lost Dream at least once a month for as long as I can remember. I’m lost. I don’t fit in. There is always something missing. This is actually the life theme of an adoptee.

It doesn’t make me sad or angry or anxious when I think about this analysis in my waking life. It is just the way it is. It’s a fact that the emotional challenges we adoptees experience don’t vanish when we become adults, they simply morph. Or they may go into hiding, until the fog is lifted. For me, apparently, these feelings creep into my subconscious and give me these super creative (and scary) Lost Dreams.

I feel like now that I’ve hashed it out with myself and faced it, these Lost Dreams won’t be so scary. I also know I have fellowship in the adoption community where I can share my feelings of not quite fitting in. We can share our feelings of being lost at times. It always helps to share and talk about it. Just writing about it helps.

On a lighter note, I do want to share with you one of my recent Lost Dreams that actually seemed to have a happy ending. Or a weird ending. I’ll let you be the judge. In the dream, I was downtown here in my hometown, but I had lost a very important backpack (apparently it was important, because I couldn’t go home without finding it). As I wandered around by myself looking for it, I ended up an area I wasn’t familiar with. It was getting dark and, as usual, I was starting to panic. I turned the corner and, low and behold, Judge Judy came barreling toward me, driving a tank. She was there to save me! Yes, Judge Judy. In a tank. To save me. Interpret that!

I wonder if any of my adoptee peers experience recurring dreams or dream themes? Let’s talk about it!

Pushy People Persevere

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I’ve never considered myself a pushy person. In fact, I’m mostly non-confrontational. As a child, I rarely spoke up for myself. I accepted what I got in life and was grateful. Adoptees are groomed for that. We’re people-pleasers, for the most part. It took me a long time to realize that my own thoughts and emotions mattered, find my voice, and then learn to advocate for myself.

When I first decided to search for biological family and learn about my origins over thirty-five years ago, I had just graduated from college. I had also just returned from a year abroad with a newfound sense of independence, strength, and swagger. Truth be known, I thought I was something of a badass. Then, I found my birthmother. And just like that–whoosh–I was cut right back down to size. Rejected. Ouch. I was not such a badass, after all.

I remember my first job out of college as a paralegal. The first attorney I worked for had a reputation of being an arrogant ass. He was. I took orders, basically, and did the work. It wasn’t fun, but I learned a lot. After about three years at that job, I went to work for a larger law firm. It was weird . . . they actually wanted to know what I thought. They wanted my opinion. Does this or that apply? Can we do this? Figure this out and tell me how we can make it work. I was still uncomfortable speaking with authority about anything, but I sure as hell could write a persuasive memo arguing just about anything.

So, no, I never thought of myself as pushy.

Recently, however, I was triggered by someone who called me pushy in relation to my adoption journey. Granted, this person is not an adoptee, so she has no idea what it takes for us, as adoptees, to own our stories and search for the truth. But it got me thinking. Was I pushy? Am I just too much?

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The word pushy just seems so childish. It has a teasing quality to it as though it originated on a playground. Its use can have the effect of reducing the significance of a goal to a sort of childish whine. Now that’s triggering! Talk about the infantilization of adult adoptees. Adult adoptees are often treated as  ‘forever’ children–delegitimizing our narratives and sidelining us from inclusion in decisions affecting us. Pushy? I think not.

Being  called pushy connotes an improper attempt to charge through a barrier to achieve a goal. Well, for sure I had to push through barriers to reach my goal. All adoptees do. When it comes to adoption, people lie and falsify documents to cover up the truth. Even the law, in some cases, is against us.  California’s archaic closed records laws still exist, despite the beautiful reality and truth of DNA testing. Yes, I pushed! But, I see nothing negative or improper about it. All I was doing was searching for the truth. Working toward a goal that is worthy of our time and energy often involves pushing for something.

And look at it this way–how about those lies and secrets, closed records, and forged documents? Why are those still being pushed on us? Why do we, as adoptees, have to settle for something that’s just not right?

So keep pushing. Be assertive. You can be assertive and still be aware and compassionate. I like to think that while I may have pushed pretty hard at times during my search and throughout my journey, I held on to my integrity and was still able to respect the thoughts and feelings of others, even if I disagreed with them (like my birthmother).

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Does this book make me look pushy?

Available at Amazon