Last night, my daughter had her Senior Prom. She's been dating her boyfriend, Brandon, for about a year. They fell in love last summer during a trip to Japan they both went on with other students from their school. Brandon is a great kid, and he also happens to be a Korean-born adoptee.
So, last night before prom, parents came to our house to take pictures. I had the opportunity to spend some time talking with with his mother. Brandon is the middle of three children, each adopted from different regions in Korea. His mother isn't aware of my personal views, only that I am an adoptee and a birthmother. Brandon is a talented musician, a drummer, and he writes his own music. He was drawn to music without his parents urging because they didn't and couldn't have known themselves. His mother and I were discussing this incredible talent, and I saw it as a perfect segue into an issue I've been thinking about recently. I explained to her that, as adoptees, we don't have the map for our future that children have when they are raised by their natural parents. Children are given this map as a way to see areas where they may excel or have a genetic bent toward certain subjects, trades, or skills. Without this parental/familial model, adoptees are left to figure it out on their own- we often flounder through our teenage and college years, trying to figure out what it is we are really good at, or what we want to be when we grow up. After explaining to her this map scenario I asked her if they had put him in drum lessons at a young age. She said no. She said he didn't need the map, he did it on his own. She made it sound like he was literally crawling across the floor towards drumsticks, picking them up and making sense of it before he could even walk. This is so profound to me, that he knew because it's just part of who he is. Most adoptees aren't so lucky. It's like we have these untapped parts of our lives that could change our entire trajectory, our future, but we just. don't. know. It's yet another reminder for us that we are different and it reiterates the importance of genetic ties to family and who we are.
I've avoided much talk about adoption with Brandon. I know he has moments where he struggles with it. I know he loves his family, but I also know he wonders, like most adoptees do, about who he is and where he came from... for some reason, I just can 'go there' with him. But, he knows that I know, and I know that he knows. It's like a current surrounds us, bringing us silently together in understanding.
In the adoption community there are so many differing opinions to take into consideration and I'm not sure whose is most valuable, so I take them all and sort through each one. My personal opinions have shifted from one side of the spectrum to the other in the last 6 months. There are very strong women and men in both camps- we have pro adoption and anti adoption. We have adoptees and birth families that want records unsealed and adoption lawyers that want to keep them closed, family members we are afraid of hurting, and people that would've lived on this earth a little longer had they been given their medical history. We have adopted teens attempting suicide, and teen moms celebrating adoption. There are birthmothers that are pissed...so pissed because their children were ripped away from them without their consent, adoptive parents willing to give birthmothers a video tape of their child. There is open adoption, private adoption, children in foster care, international adoption, orphans, child trafficking... the layers are endless and because of it, people are left bleeding all over the world.
The adoptions I knew about were neat and tidy, they were packaged up in a pretty bow on a baby, making parents dreams come true-giving the impression that being adopted was a favor to the birthmother and that everyone's life was much better for her selfless decision. That's the myth but the truth isn't so comfortable. There's a dark side and sometimes it isn't revealed until your precious little baby gift becomes a really messed up teen. If any of those parents were willing to scratch the surface of their happy adoption story, they would find that lives were turned upside down and the process, from the other side, wasn't pretty and very likely, a corrupt acquistion. The modern day adoption industry is a multi billion dollar business and as I've said before, with numbers like that the folks on the adoption side will do just about anything to get that baby.
I had NO IDEA the magnitude of this, the scope of angry, lost adoptees and birthmothers that are screaming about the wrong-ness of it all, and they have every right to be angry. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. I don't fault my parents. I love my parents and I believe they did the best they could with the information they were given. They just didn't know any better when they adopted me in 1970, so naturally when I turned up pregnant, that was the simple solution I was given as well. I willingly chose adoption for my child. I wasn't given options, but I was confident with my decision. And I regret it. Often I hear these young, fresh birth (natural, first mothers- there's proper verbage to use in this community, you know) mothers that are so thrilled with their open adoption experience. They are loud and vocal, just like I was at that stage, and they want the world to know they had a baby and selflessly gave it up (surrendered, relinquished- proper verbage) for adoption. When I hear this, I just shake my head because they have NO IDEA how this loss will manifest itself in the future. Just wait.
Ironically, the deeper I dig into this black hole, the more clarity I have. I see it .. the wrong-ness that everyone is screaming about and I just wish I had known all of this sooner.
Being an adoptee is most noticeable within the adoptive family. The differences scream at you loudly and often. Your appearance, your interests, your strengths and your weaknesses are reminders that you have genetic ties elsewhere. My brothers are biological. Like my parents, I know they love me, but my impression is that they observe me with a perplexity, like a difficult math equation, or an unexplained bruise. Nature vs. Nurture. I was raised in the same home, with the same rules and unconditional love, but in my case, nature was clearly the winner.
Birthmothers and adoptees are a patchwork family held together by an invisible thread of loss . When you meet one and realize you have a shared adoption experience, it's like being given a precious gift, "Ohhh! So am I! How old were you?, etc.." ((hugs ensue)), then the bubble that briefly insulated us from the rest of the world pops, and we go back to whatever it was we were doing before. From that moment, we're related. This thread spans across the world- we are the same race, gender, sexual orientation, and age. I now have mothers and siblings all over the country, with the singular moment that ties us together forever.
In this deep sea of lost adoptees I've been so fortunate to meet others just like me- on an often futile search for truth, identity, and belonging. We're on the Island of Misfits, each of us waiting for our plane ticket out of here.
A few days ago, I was having a heated conversation with my 18 year old daughter about this blog and the issues that surround it. I suggested she 'follow' it and her response was, "But, I don't agree with you." I appreciate her opinions and I respect her. I know she has her own reasons. For example, her boyfriend is a Korean born adoptee, her mother is an adoptee, her older half sister was placed for adoption, and her cousin was adopted from Russia. She has been a quiet observer, yet entwined and directly effected by the world of adoption.
Sometimes, I forget to step outside of my own head. I assume that because my perspective has been altered then those around me should be also. This paradigm shift didn't happen overnight. I recognize that there are adoptees and birthmothers with opposing views and I believe their feelings are valid. I may not agree but I'm certainly not in the business of persuasion (yes, I am.) I'm not trying to sound insensitive, but the views of adoptive parents don't carry that much weight with me. Their vision is tunneled by the gift of someone else's child and that's the extent of their adoption experience. But, I'm willing to listen.
My hope is that this opens up dialogue among people on all sides of the adoption triad (yes, even adoptive parents) and that we will see the complicated layers through one another's eyes.
Dear parents,
If your daughter comes to you, terrified, and tells you she's pregnant, please take a moment to just...breathe. It's a baby, not the end of the world. It may feel like it, but it's not. I beg you to consider your choices. The truth is, if you tell her that adoption is the "best choice", she will believe you. She trusts you and though she may not act like it, deep down she wants your approval. However, if this is the option you give her, you're causing more harm. It's not about the infertile couples or the people that just want to grown their families, it's about the heart and soul of your daughter and her child. It's deciding the fate of a baby that doesn't have the voice to say, 'No thank you, I'd rather stay with my mother.' I know you "don't want to raise this baby", that you've "already raised your children", and that you feel you shouldn't have to "pay for her mistakes". I've heard it all before. How about this option? If she has already decided not to terminate the pregnancy, fantastic. That's a decision most girls in her position don't make. Now, how about discussing with her -first- every single possible scenario in the entire universe so that she can parent her child. Dig deep and figure out how you can help her. Exhaust every option, resource and support. Call in the troops (it takes a village). This isn't just her baby, it's yours too. I can assure you that you won't regret it. Adoption may seem like a quick fix but the long term damage is almost certain.
Sincerely, A birthmother
Sometimes, I get so tired of thinking and talking about adoption.
Let's talk about something else... like surrogacy! Unlike adoption, it was 100% positive and life giving, for everyone involved. There was a happy ending and a beautiful little girl that made a family complete. And, it was NOT my child, it was someone else's. I had no moral conflict with this decision.
Jen is my best friend. We grew up together. We were roommates during the college years and after. We were young, living in the city where we spent our days rarely doing what we were supposed to, and our nights being seen, in the scene. I don't think we ever slept during that time, maybe for an hour, then we'd wake up and start all over again the next day. Every morning we'd run into the others room, laughing until we cried, about the gossip and hilarity from the night before. It was excessive, and beautiful, and I wouldn't trade those memories for the world. Nothing important mattered, except perhaps, what we were going to wear.
Then, we both grew tired of it, so we got married. I had babies while she tried and tried to do the same. I spent hours on the phone with her, hearing her agonize about wanting a baby that never came, the failed IVF treatments, and her fear. "You will have a baby" I would tell her. During one of those phone calls, she said they were considering surrogacy. "You can't let a stranger have your baby" I said. So, I offered, which seemed like the logical thing to do. And so it began...
On Mothers Day we transferred two embryos ("perfect" blastocysts) and two weeks later it was confirmed. I was pregnant (with only ONE, thank God). Two weeks after that, it was also confirmed that Jen was pregnant. Fertility specialists, shots, blood work, attorneys, full psychological evaluations, 60 page legal contracts, preterm labor, and two months of bedrest. I was pregnant with a girl, and she was pregnant with a boy. We went through all of it holding hands every nauseous step of the way. I went into labor one month early. Jen and her husband were in the delivery room with my husband and I, she was pregnant, her baby due 5 weeks later. They named her Arden Jo (my middle name). We had our own room, they had theirs with their baby. I pumped colostrum, handed it over, and couldn't wait to get home to my kids. (Let her deal with the sleepless nights :) My job was done.
People ask me if it was hard to give her away, or if I was attached. It was never hard. Maybe because of my adoption experiences, or because I knew all along why I was doing it, I don't know, but yes- I am attached. Arden is a sweet, thoughtful 10 year old and she calls me her "surro-mom". She's part Jen and when I look at her I see the efforts that were made to bring her into this world. I couldn't love her more.
I've had four children. The first one was an unnecessary loss. The next two were planned and everything was done the "right way". The last one was an unconventional gift, and I was the vessel. Being a surrogate was one of the best decisions I've ever made.
I have no recollection of my birth. But, I imagine it being similar to the day I delivered my daughter. I see nothing but darkness. I remember it being so dark that I could hardly make out her tiny face. The doctor and nurses were all fumbling around in a dark room, mumbling words I couldn't understand. It wasn't, of course, but that's how I remember it. I could only hear her cry.
I often wonder my first mothers circumstances. Was she sent away, hidden from her family and community? Did she see me after delivery? Was she alone? What is her name? Did she willingly choose adoption or was she coerced? After all, This was New York in 1970. Adoption was shrouded in secrecy.
I was placed in the foster care system for almost 9 weeks, even that makes me wonder if she was undecided during that time. According to my adoptive parents, my foster mother was a single, elderly woman that had difficulty hearing. When my parents met me for the first time they said I, literally, had holes in my bottom because my diapers were never changed. They said they would put me in my crib to sleep and they wouldn't know when I woke up because I never cried. My mom thought I was more content in my crib than anywhere else because that's where I was left for the first 9 weeks of my life. They said I was really hungry. I was 8 lbs at 9 weeks. When I say these things out loud, I don't feel like I'm talking about myself. I'm just telling a story about a baby that was neglected. (Read: Primal Wound)
Those images and stories are the thoughts that swirl around in corners of my mind, clouding a day that others celebrate. Birthday. Day of birth. Secrets. Darkness. Separation. Loss. I really do try, but it's not all it's cracked up to be. And, there's only one thing that will answer so many questions. My birth certificate. The real one. The truth.
Today, in New York, there is a real fight happening by the thousands of adoptees that have been silenced for decades. We want access to our original birth certificate. www.nyadoptionequality.com Each one of them have stories similar to mine. Or worse. Or better. But, we're all connected by the scarlet thread of adoption. There were no legal documents that promised anonymity to our biological families. We want our medical information, genealogy, family history and roots, just like everyone else. Our birth parents forfeited their right to everything when they signed that surrender document. Protection from what? Pull it together, we're coming for you.
