Adopteeland

One constantly intrusive thought in my head that’s been with me since I was a child has always been, “Am I alone? Am I the only one who feels this way?”

Until about 6 months ago, that is, when I found a world that I like to call “Adopteeland.” It’s a community of adopted people who fiercely advocate for and support one another through the long, daunting process of healing from adoption. Being a part of it has revitalized my soul and cultivated my unshakeable strength.

I haven’t met many adoptees in person. That means that usually, in every room I’m in, I’m the only person who was relinquished and separated from my mother at birth and raised by strangers. That makes for a pretty lonely existence. Especially when you are conditioned to self abandon and keep it all inside to be “polite.”

Opening up about adoption.

I was never provided with the forum by family or society to feel safe enough to freely speak about the longing and loss I’ve always felt. In fact, I learned early on in childhood that opening up about adoption was unwelcome for a variety of reasons. Either it is perceived as being ungrateful to the adoptive family who “saved” me, or it just plain guaranteed me the Lifetime Buzzkill Achievement Award. Talking about being abandoned by your bloodline and feeling like an alien in the world because of it is generally seen by most people as a conversation best had with your therapist while on their couch.

“I was never provided with the forum by family or society to feel safe enough to freely speak about the longing and loss I’ve always felt. ”

Most non-adopted people oversimplify and invalidate the grief of adoptees because they assume that our families are just like other families. They say things like, “Yeah, but you were adopted by good people, right? So what’s the problem?” Or, “You don’t even look adopted!” Or, “It’s not like you knew your biological mother. So, what do you mean you miss her?” (…For the record, that’s insane, considering I lived inside of her for nine months. I feel like we got acquainted. Anyway…)

“Most non-adopted people oversimplify and invalidate the grief of adoptees because they assume that our families are just like other families.”

Trying to exist in two worlds.

For me, being relinquished and adopted has been about trying and failing to maintain a sense of self and of self-preservation because I am trying to exist in two worlds; one that doesn’t accommodate my longing for the other, which is filled with ghosts. No one in my life ever asked me what it was like to lose everything the day was born. No one provided me with comfort over the loss of my first mother. I was expected to develop as if being raised in a family not my own was somehow the same as if they were. But it wasn’t, and I didn’t.

I always felt like the “other.” An uncomfortable topic in the form of a person; chronically misunderstood and lost. An adaptation of myself who has spent all of my time pretending to know my way around life and adulthood so no one could detect that I felt like a disappearing, inconsolable child inside.

Finding the adoptee community.

Finding others who have always felt the same way I do in Adopteeland has been like coming up for air after 33 years of drowning alone. I can be myself, once and for all. All of us can. We’re family. Community members generously share what has helped them heal and overcome daily. They offer understanding, solidarity, and encourage meaningful conversation about empathy. They are full of innate strength, resilience and brilliant solutions. Their collaborative spirit inspires me, and has filled me with a true sense of safety and belonging for the very first time.

Now, I don’t have to pretend. Community is saving me and guiding me home to myself.

Now, we are strong enough in numbers to rewrite the narrative of adoption together.

And for that, I am full to the brim with gratitude.