Honey

When I was born, my biological mother was too young to be able to care for me and finish growing up herself. Her older sister took me to live with her new husband when I was a toddler and they eventually adopted me.

My circumstances were explained to me at a young age and yet no amount of explanation could possibly quell the confusion that has followed me ever since, like an extra shadow at my heels. Being adopted added a complex layer of experience that drastically altered my understanding of childhood, family, relationships, authority, and of course, attachment and abandonment. After many years of allowing thoughts and feelings surrounding these issues to churn and change shape beneath my consciousness, I’m ready to take a look at where I am and how I got here.

I’m extremely suspicious of the feelings and ideas I remember and have now as a result of the drama of my childhood. Many people, all adults, were very vocal in their opinions of what was best for me and what I was feeling and going through. Without siblings or close friends understanding of my dilemma, I usually took these adults’ words as gospel, making their ideas and their feelings my own. I know that I got lost in there somewhere. Lately I’ve been feeling things that I don’t really remember feeling before, and so I think that these must be my own and that perhaps my own experience is bubbling to the surface and ready for me to explore.

I’ve been wondering a lot about that pivotal moment, the moment when I was told that I was adopted. I’m not sure how old I was, maybe 5 or 6? I vaguely recall being more fascinated by the supporting intelligence of where babies came from than where I came from exactly. I wonder what the standard age is these days for telling a child that he or she is adopted. Does the 18 year old resent his parents for waiting and deceiving him his entire life? Does the teenager use their adoption as fresh ammunition against parents they already struggle against? I assume that my parents told me I was adopted at such an early age because we were close to the extended family and someone was going to tell me and it might as well have been them. I’m glad they told me as soon as they did. I don’t know if I could have easily forgiven them for not being completely honest throughout my childhood.

I had what is considered an “open adoption”. Open adoptions are becoming more and more popular as parents of all kinds try to find the right way to go about a difficult situation. I think the general idea is to try to lessen the suffering of the child as well as the birth parents. It would seem that transparency and open communication would lead to a healthier, more honest experience for the child, allowing for important, life-long relationships to form. Unfortunately, as emotional beings, parents grasp relentlessly to the traditional meanings behind parenthood and family, falling into the dysfunctional traps of possessiveness, selfishness, competition, and ownership. In an effort to protect the child, which is perhaps the number one goal for most parents, outside familial forces are not entirely accepted. This goes for the adoptive as well as the biological parents.

Even though my biological father was not part of my legal extended family, the relationship I formed with his parents (my grandparents) was very meaningful for me growing up. In many ways, I felt lucky that I had the opportunity to bond with people who were my direct ancestors. I could look for and recognize myself in them. I could feel like I naturally belonged in relationship to them. I also had infrequent contact with my birth father. Although our visits were awkward for me, I cherished the time we spent together. Of all those adults that had so much to say about my adoption and its aftermath, my birth father never talked about it. We were able to form a brand new relationship that had nothing to do with where I came from, and for this I was always grateful.

I guess I have a lot to say about being adopted, probably more than I can fit in one post. I would love to hear other peoples’ experiences with being adopted, too. Are there any books I should be reading for deeper understanding? And for all those adopted or not, how do you sift through your own tangled experience?