I have read so many stories about adoptees that were abused in some way (whether physical, mental or emotional) by their adoptive mothers. I know my own mother’s experience with her adoptive mother growing up and into adulthood was not easy. I had my own difficult experience with that woman as well. But she could also be very thoughtful and generous as well. People are simply complicated.
So, your struggles as adoptees are not my own life’s experience and I have no ready answers. I was reading a story this morning about one man’s struggle to forgive the abuse he suffered from his father and I liked the concept that is the title of this blog today.
Things have been intense and then upsetting. I have neglected this blog. I do intend to begin posting here again, if not tomorrow, hopefully by next week – after I process through some more of my own disappointment that the future (for the foreseeable next few years) is not what I had hoped. Take good care of yourselves. Temper your willingness to attempt to understand those who have hurt you as a kind of forgiveness that has good boundaries to protect you from future pain, whatever your own particular boundaries are.
Short on time, as is usual on Tuesdays. So I am just sharing a birth mother’s story.
Initially, I had the most open adoption experience with my son’s adoptive family. Saw him the day after we left the hospital, at least weekly for the first three years of his life and so often since. He’s nearly 21 and is close with me and my family. For years I would have called his adoptive mother one of my best friends. But we have no relationship now and I’ve been angry for a long time.
It started when I started listening to adoptees, began to understand the trauma, and told her I regret not parenting. We continued our relationship but I felt things change that day. Then, I left our previously shared faith. She was not able to continue after that and asked for a “step back” in our friendship. I didn’t know what that looks like. She crushed me when she said “we’re not family”. I literally felt broken.
But after that, I began to be able to see old things more clearly. I could look back on my pregnancy and see how coerced and unsupported I was. I kept a journal from that time, so even though memories are tricky, I have evidence of some of this. I wrote how badly I wanted to parent. I wrote about the time she (the adoptive mother) asked how she could pray for me and I said “pray that God will let me keep my baby”.
The adoptive parents were family friends, so I already knew them but they never offered me any support other beyond taking my child. She knew childcare was my biggest obstacle. She was a stay at home mom. She had already given the gift of childcare to another young single mom previously. She had the ability to help me with my biggest obstacle and supposedly prayed for me and supported my choice – but she never considered helping me.
The thing is back then I believed the rainbows and unicorns narrative of adoption. I didn’t know what I didn’t know and I didn’t go looking. Obviously, I understand now that we should always listen to the people most impacted in order to learn about a thing. (To learn about homelessness, we need to listen to unhoused people). And I have no excuse for not knowing that back then. But I didn’t. And she didn’t know about family preservation either (although she knew a little about the trauma he would experience).
My sister also offered me childcare and then rescinded her offer because she believed it was “God’s will” that I choose adoption and she didn’t want to encourage me to go against God’s will. We have since talked through a lot of this. My sister is willing to listen, has remorse and regret and has asked me to forgive her.
Even though my family was coercive and unsupportive, I continue to have a relationship with them but I want nothing to do with my boy’s adoptive mother. She continues to give me Christmas gifts every year (sends them through him) but I give her the cold shoulder, since she asked for a change in relationship.
But bitter and angry isn’t who I want to be, so I was thinking last night about what a reconciling with her might look like. And I know what it would take. I would need her to say “I didn’t know what family preservation was back then. I thought we did what was best when you decided to relinquish. I’m sorry I didn’t support you in parenting like I could have. Imagine what a beautiful thing we could have done together – our family supporting yours.” I don’t think that will ever happen and obviously those words can’t take away the loss and the pain – ALL the missing times. But those words could allow us to form a new relationship I think.
I’m NOT talking about my son here. He and I talk openly but he isn’t sure how he feels yet, isn’t ready to acknowledge or talk openly about trauma. I’m not ignoring his feelings but I won’t put the words in his mouth. I just want you to know that I’m not forgetting about him. He’s the most important piece – but this is about my relationship with her.
Kristin’s birth mother has passed away but thankfully, she was able to reconnect with the woman and spend 10 years knowing her. She tells the story (about the 3:50 mark) in an interview with Katie Couric in 2019) that her uncle said to her birth mother “There’s a girl on there (Jay Leno’s show) that acts just like you.”
She has spoken about meeting her biological mom for the very first time – “I walked in the room and she went, ‘It’s you?!’ And I said ‘hi!’ and [it was] just like looking in the mirror.”
blogger’s note – I’ve had similar moments when I saw photos of my mom’s birth mother and my dad’s birth father – how much my parents were like their genetic parents. It’s that genetic mirroring that is so often lacking in an adoptee’s life with their adoptive parents, and sometimes extended families. Each of my parents had one sibling who was also an adoptee.
Chenoweth has said in interviews before that her adopted parents always made sure she knew she was adopted and loved, while growing up as a child. “They always said, ‘The lady that had you in her belly could not take care of you the way she wanted to, and she loved you so much.’”
Kristin goes on to describe her birth mother as an incredible person. She notes that upon the two of them meeting, her birth mother asked her “Can you forgive me?” Which she does and says “I’m so grateful for her.”
Chenoweth goes on to say “So many things became clear to me about myself when I met her and came to really know her. Those of us who knew her loved her light. Her love of music and all things artistic. An artist herself!”
Kristin adds, “In her belly, I became fans of Stevie Ray and Jimmie Vaughan, Doyle Bramhall, Jimi Hendrix, and, of course, Billy Ethridge – my bio dad. The two of them gave me the innate artistic ability I have today,” Kristin continued.
(LINK>Bassist Billy Ethridge replaced Lanier Greig, shortly after ZZ Top was first formed. Ethridge was a bandmate of Stevie Ray Vaughan. He quit because he didn’t want to sign with London records, so Dusty Hill took his spot. )
On her birth mother’s passing, Kristin notes – “Mamalynn prayed for me every year on my birthday, hoping I was having the most perfect life, which of course, I was.”
“I snuck away and prayed for her too, wishing that someday I would be allowed tell her ‘thank you,’ Which I did on 12/12/12. A beautiful day!” she said, adding that the two “didn’t leave anything unsaid in the end.”
“I will miss her till the end of my days,” Chenoweth continued. “But then, I will fly into the sky, where she will be waiting to greet me, and she will say, ‘start singing Babygirl!’ And I will. RIP Mamalynn.”
“Kristin, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Rita Wilson wrote on the tribute. “What a blessing you got to know each other over these past years. And that she got to know you. Your gratitude in this tribute is so bright and clear. Love you. May her memory be eternal.”
blogger’s note – my mom was a singer – she even sang and played her guitar at my wedding. She and my dad both died knowing next to nothing about their genetic parents. I did think that each of my parents met their birth parents after they passed and instantly knew more – than even I know now – about their genetic ancestors. What I know now is hugely more than my parents knew about them during their own physical lifetimes.
My adoptee father was never interested in learning about his origins. I get it. Sometimes, DNA testing brings an uncomfortable truth to light, as it did for this woman. She shares her story at Right to Know >LINK Gloria Taylor.
Gloria writes that “In 2019 I finally got the nerve to confront my then 89 year old mother when she came to visit from California. Little did I know when I asked the question that I would experience another shock. It turned out the man I believed to be my biological father was instead my uncle. His younger brother was my BF. My mother met him while working at a State Mental Hospital where he was a patient. All that played over and over in my head was I was conceived in a mental hospital. I felt like I was trapped in someone else’s nightmare.”
“I felt sick, and I remember thinking not my perfect mother. Suddenly the memories of my childhood came rushing in; never feeling like I belonged, overwhelming sadness, not looking like anyone in my family, and always feeling something was off about me. I was crushed. I was surprised to learn I am 52% European, 40% African (with 9 % being Afro Caribbean), 5% Asian, and 3 % Hispanic. I was shocked to learn of the Asian, Caribbean, and Hispanic heritage.”
She further shares – “I have always had this self loathing destructive side. I would look in the mirror and think how ugly I am. I often thought about suicide, and I would cut my arms to relieve the pressure in my head. I still struggle with finding something good about myself. I have always self identified as black, although it was always apparent in my family growing up we were of mixed ethnicity. My maternal grandmother was also multiracial. Discovering my ethnicity breakdown, led me down a another road of emotional turmoil. I’m still trying to figure out where I ethnically fit. At this point in time I choose to identify as mixed.”
She ends her essay with this – “I am no longer angry, and have forgiven my mother. I understand there are things that happened in her life that probably led her down this road. I think sometimes we forget our parents are human too. I still can’t seem to find my place in either family, and feel I exist in a space somewhere between both worlds. I grieve for all that was lost, but am hopeful that in time I will find my place.”
It occurs to me that not only adoptees (who have a multitude of reasons) but probably most people has some issue with their parents that they would be better off forgiving. I know as much as I loved and valued my two parents (both adoptees) some of the discussion points in the graphic above would apply. One of my Facebook friends shared this and I immediately recognized it as relevant to the adoption related issues I cover in this blog and to my own experience of being parented.
My own parents most likely had unresolved trauma – whether they were aware of it or not. My mom seems to have been somewhat aware of her own adoption related trauma. My dad seemed to block it out of his consciousness and believed he probably didn’t want to know the truth about how he ended up adopted (he referred to my mom’s search as potentially “opening up a can of worms” – fisherman that he was).
When my mom married my dad, she didn’t know how to cook or keep a house clean. Her adoptive mother just didn’t have the patience to teach her. Therefore, she was determined to teach her daughters the skills that my dad taught her and that she refined over many years. We had chores to contribute to keeping the house clean, including sometimes washing the dishes and sometimes cooking the dinner. She also worked full time outside of the house and so was tired at night.
My mom was a very warm and loving person but her mother was a bit distanced, as indicated by my mom having to call her “mother.” I was born on my maternal adoptive grandparents wedding anniversary which helped to soothe whatever upset my mom conceiving me out of wedlock while still a high school student may have caused them as my were socially active as a banker and his wife. My dad could really trigger me and his anger was frightening, even though he never laid a hand on us. He was outgoing and sociable. Turns out his genetic father was too.
Certainly, my parents did the best they could with what they knew and the limited resources they had. My dad’s adoptive parents were poor and so we always had this extreme contrast with the wealth of my mom’s adoptive parents. My dad’s were very influential in my life, even into my adulthood. The cultural norms when my parents were adopted in the 1930s were sealed records, name and birth certificate changes and presenting one’s adopted kids as if born to the adoptive parents. To my adoptive grandparents credit, both of my parents always knew they were adopted but not much beyond that. The deaths of my adoptive grandparents revealed only some names but those gave me my start in reconnecting the broken threads of our cultural/genetic origins.
To my understanding, any parent who manages to get their children to adulthood relatively “intact” physically, mentally and emotionally has fulfilled their duty as a parent. Anything extra is grace and/or luck.
I was reading some thoughts by an adoptee (Elizabeth Casalaspro) in her blog LINK>A Roller Coaster Ride on the subject of forgiveness but for me it echoed my experience related to reunions. She says “Adoptees do not choose to be adopted. They still have the desire to ‘know’ where they come from. Most adoptees mean well and have a burning desire to learn about their biological family. Most adoptees just want answers.” My mom certainly had that but was blocked by the obstacle of a sealed adoption record.
When she died, I wanted to somehow fulfill her wish. My mom had a brother who had been adopted from the same agency. One of his daughters called me one day to tell me she had been able to get her father’s adoption record, that it had many pages and didn’t cost all that much – still it cost more than I could afford to spend at that time but at least I knew I could get some answers. Eventually, I did have that much disposable money to do it and in the Autumn of 2017, I received her adoption file and what a revelation it was.
I didn’t think of it as a burning desire but somehow, once that fuse that connected me to the truth of my origins was lit, it simply propelled me along. Certainly, I did have some encouragement to keep going into my dad’s origins from my nephews. The entire journey I had the support of my husband to learn my own truths.
It is a rather odd place that I have now arrived at. I do feel “whole” in ways I did not for 6 decades of my life. I know from whom and geographically where I come from and though it leaves me in a rather awkward uncomfortable place regarding “my family” I am grateful for what I now know. I am still processing this 6 years later. There is the “family” I grew up “knowing” and the “family” I do not share memories with – except for one who I spent an afternoon with and was given the history of those long years on my mom’s paternal side. And there is a cousin I’ve not met in person but who was supportive and provided me with many pictures that fill in some of the gaps of my father’s family history.
Adoption will never and can never feel organically normal. Most children grow up with the parents who conceived them, as I did. Adoptees are transplanted humans. Transplant rejection and other serious complications can and do occur. Adoptive parents have the challenge of matching their adoptee’s needs and there is an unavoidable stress in creating a relationship with a non-related person. Characteristics may not match up well enough to result in happiness for the people impacted.
Elizabeth may have been on the best track by acknowledging a need to forgive, quite generally, so much.
Candace Cahill lost her son Michael twice, first to adoption and the second time when he died at age 23. The story follows Cahill from the moment she makes the decision to give birth to her baby, to her tortuous decision to relinquish him to adoption, through the subsequent years of doubt and yearning, to their reunion, and finally, to his heart-wrenching, untimely death. It is an intimate story of child relinquishment and child loss as well as a sensitive and intelligent exploration of motherhood and forgiveness. Today’s blog is thanks to LINK>an interview of Candace by Michèle Dawson Haber for Hippocampus Magazine.
As a writer, trying to get my own family’s story told, her insights into the publishing experience are informative. I know about the need for a cliff hanger at the end of each chapter to keep the reader wanting to read more. Candace says “I wanted readers to feel as if I was sitting next to them telling the story. It was about finding the right balance between exposition and scene.” Writing is harder work than I once believed. She also made an interesting choice for her narrative arc – “I originally opened the book with the scene when I hear Michael has died, and then I interspersed my pregnancy and his childhood. It worked, but not as well as when I arranged the events chronologically. I’m much happier with this structure; it feels more intuitive.”
Michele notes – Your story about . . . one first mother’s experience of adoption from pregnancy, relinquishment, years of no contact, and then reunion, is an important contribution to the discourse on the impact of adoption. To which, Candace noted – until recently, stories from the point of view of a member of the first family have been mostly non-existent. In sitting down to write it, her only thought was, “I’m just writing my story for me, it’s not going to be published. It was only when I got about halfway into it that I realized it should be out there, because it is a story you just don’t hear.”
In this blog, I do advocate for family preservation, even though I would not even exist if there had not been the adoption of both of my parents. Michele says “There are many who believe that adoption should be abolished altogether. These advocates say that the effort and resources that are put into adoption should be redirected to family preservation.” Candace realizes that “My story puts me on both sides of that issue. It could be used by an abolitionist, and it could be used by adoption proponents as well. Writing my story has helped me come to see that two things can be true at one time. I don’t believe that we are ever going to get to a place where adoption isn’t needed at some point. There will be times when the natural parents are incapable, unavailable, pass away, or whatever it may be, and there are no other kin that can step in. But we do need to make much more of an effort at family preservation, or at the very least, we need to quit stealing children’s identities.”
Michele notes – “only after reading your book did I consider that a first mother might also undergo an identity crisis. Do you mind telling me what you discovered about your own identity over this period?” Candace replies – “My biggest struggle was recognizing that I was a mother. That, despite the fact that I relinquished my child, I still was a mother. I’m not a parent—I was never a parent. But I am a mother.” As a mother who really didn’t raise my own daughter beyond the age of 3, I understand this perspective.
Candace says I “started querying agents in February 2021.” Then she mentions, Legacy Book Press. She thought it was perfect because they only do legacy stories. That is when she decided to skip the agent thing and go straight to publishers. She says that “Legacy accepted right away, and I decided to move forward.” In the interview, I learn that Candace had training as a social worker. I have great respect for the field because my beloved, decease mother-in-law was a member of that profession. She says that the field – encompasses empathy, the ability to recognize and see other people – and I would say from my own experience that was very much true of my mother-in-law.
Candace expresses her intention this way – I am using my memoir as a case study to develop a curriculum that can be used in social work departments and as continuing education materials for adoption professionals. I also hope to help adoptive parents and hopeful adoptive parents learn to be more open regarding everything related to adoption, but especially in talking with their adopted children openly and honestly. Michele ends her interview acknowledging how that – “work is so necessary to help transform understanding of the impact of adoption and forge a path toward systemic change.”
Do other adoptees feel as though they have never been a priority ? I struggle to explain it. Often it feels like I am just in the background of the lives of the people I love. Sometimes it feels like I am a tool they use to make their lives better. It rarely feels like people choose to be in my life for me. I can’t be the only one.
And she is NOT.
From another adoptee – I feel like a ghost, an echo, invisible. It’s as if I am tolerated, even enjoyed sometimes, but not sought out or after. It is hard to explain.
And another – My whole life is basically me being used in one way or another. Even my closest friends mostly only call me when there’s a problem for me to solve. I guess that’s what I get for learning how to be the problem solver, because I learned early that I have only myself to rely on, while others have loving family to support them.
Yet another – Totally get that feeling. I’m in my 30s and still struggling. Except the way I’ve always felt with my family, my in laws, and definitely my biological family is the black sheep of every family. I really don’t feel like I belong anywhere.
And this – Only after I found out I was adopted did I start feeling like this. I question so many aspects of my life thanks to my adoptive mother and her controlling ways, I got so sick and tired of people defending her, saying she did it because she didn’t want to hurt me. As much as I hate to speak ill of the dead and given how much I loved her, (she died when I was 11, I didn’t learn the truth until I was 17) I can’t help but resent her and sometimes hate her because I feel like I was some sort of possession or weapon to be used against my biological mother. It’s a long and painful story to be honest, my family is pretty damn toxic, maybe I’ll be able to put it all into words one day, but right now…I just feel too much anger and resentment to be able to do so.
Another example – I never felt like I wasn’t a priority to my adoptive parents with to their own biological children, I wasn’t accepted. I’m older now and it’s even more apparent the last 15 years. My adoptive parents adopted 5 kids in total and their biological children didn’t want anything to do with any of us. Always shunned us out. Even now, they never want us around their kids etc. It’s sad. I think they were jealous in some way. But I always felt like I did something wrong or I wasn’t good enough. Rejection trauma hurts.
This response is all too common (my mom was like that and passed it down to us girls) – I think my insecure attachment led to this. I am such a people pleaser and I tend to hide my emotions, so I’m not ‘a burden’. I’m deep down scared that if I act in or feel a way that others don’t approve of, people with leave me. With therapy, it’s gotten a lot better but my first instinct will probably always be to fawn. Another agreed – I think part of it is my people pleasing nature, I let people walk all over me and put my own stuff aside.
As the child of two adoptee parents, who now knows what my parents didn’t, who our original families were, this has been my experience too and on some level I understand – I don’t share life history with these people, it feels more like an accident of my parents’ birth – “I am a part of 4 different families. After finding my biologicals, I still don’t “fit” anywhere. It’s not at all a negative reunion story, I just don’t fully belong,” and that includes my adoptive relations. It has been the surprising downside of learning our truth.
Another adoptee perspective – I rarely even prioritize myself. I find more value in those around me than myself and feel I’m wasting time when I focus on me. I end up thinking that’s probably how others view me too. I’m also not sure what being a priority would look/feel like… I question if I’d recognize it or accept it, even if it were happening.
It is so universal, the wounds are deep and it never seems to get better – Even when I can look at how someone is treating me and can logically tell that I’m valued and a priority, I still don’t feel it. For me I think that it comes from feeling like an outsider in my family, I’m always waiting for the rejection.
I feel like I have to be super helpful just to get recognition that I’m a good person. It’s screwed up. I don’t feel good enough or worthy, even though I know I am… I still do these things to feel noticed and wanted.
Finally this admission – I am a reunited adoptee, very much integrated into my birth family. I was raised the youngest of four adopted children in a family that contentiously broke up when I was three. I was left out so many times in adopted family and am now having the experience of feeling excluded from something in my birth family. It has totally triggered my abandonment issues. The fact that I generally feel left out and am often alone, in general, with friends and family. Once again, I turn to forgiving others for not being who I wanted them to be and forgiving myself for wanting them to be people they are not. It’s tiring though.
This is not my personal story but I do know at least one friend for whom it IS their story as well and so, I have become more interested in NPEs.
Cory Goodrich is a NPE or the recipient of a non-paternity event. This is when someone who is presumed to be an individual’s father is NOT in fact the biological father. This presumption may be on the part of the individual, the parents, or the attending midwife, physician or nurse.
“I’ve always questioned so many things about my family and my life throughout the years, and also about my own mother, who always seemed to be holding back,” Goodrich said.
“I finally decided to ask myself the questions: If a family tree falls in the woods, and no one is around to see it, do I even exist?” I do love this tree related quote !!
A promotional description paragraph sums up the book, Folksong by Cory Goodrich.
“It’s a story about the father who took her in, the father who took her away, the father who gave her away, and her 89-year-old mother, whose broken heart finally gave out while still protecting the secret to Goodrich’s identity. Sifting through the remnants of a life captured in letters and old Polaroids, Goodrich discovers a secret that sets her on a journey with life-altering consequences. In the era of Ancestry.com, DNA testing, and social media, Goodrich was able to gather together just enough pieces of a puzzle locked away for over 50 years to clearly make out the unfathomable image it depicted. Goodrich reminds that while things aren’t always what they seem, stunning fortitude and unexpected legacy can rise from the disorganized ashes of a toppled identity.”
Goodrich says, “I describe ‘Folksong’ as a memoir of love and longing, an ode to self-discovery, an emotional ballad of grief and forgiveness, and a heart-stirring look at the lengths to which a family will go to protect themselves and each other.”
Sometimes, a few breadcrumbs are all you need, as I discovered during my own family roots journey. Since my dad’s mom was unwed and she didn’t name his father on his birth certificate, I thought I’d never be able to know who my paternal grandfather was. I will admit that getting my DNA tested at Ancestry and some intriguing “hints” of some people I seemed to related to – actually were – right on target. When I finally had a last name for my paternal grandfather, the man I once contacted through Ancestry, who finally months later, wrote me – I wish I could help but none of the names you have given me seem related to me. Then, I gave him the new name – mystery solved – my grandfather was his grandmother’s brother.
Disclaimer – I have not read this book. Still I would recommend it to anyone feels they may also be a NPE.
The deception with tact, just what are you trying to say?
You’ve got a blank face, which irritates
You see dimensions in two
State your case with black or white
But when one little cross leads to
You run for cover so discreet, why don’t they
Do what they say, say what you mean
You told me something wrong, I know I listen too long but then
One thing leads to another
~ partial lyrics from The Fixx song One Thing Leads to Another
Jamie Foxx was born Eric Marlon Bishop (1967) in Terrell, Texas, to Louise Annette Talley and Darrell Bishop, who worked as a stockbroker and had later changed his name to Shahid Abdula. His mother was an adopted child. At just 7 months old, he was is abandoned by both his parents, leaving him to be raised and officially adopted by his maternal grandparents, Mark and Esther Talley. His grandmother had a profound impact on her adopted son and Foxx credits her as being inspirational.
“My grandmother was 60 years old when she adopted me. She ran a nursery school and had a library in the house. She saw me reading early, saw I was smart and believed I was born to achieve truly special things,” Foxx said of his grandmother. He has said that he had a very rigid upbringing that placed him in the Boy Scouts and the church choir and started piano lessons at the age of three at his grandmother’s insistence. Although strict, Estelle undeniably provided Jamie with a loving and nurturing home and was an incredible support to him. He was appreciative that his grandmother was there to give him the care and support he needed to become successful in life but, that never stopped him from wondering about his biological parents and why they left him. It was a constant struggle to comprehend that they never reached out to him. Jamie was only seventeen when his grandfather, Mark Talley, died. Estelle Talley died in October 2004 at the age of ninety-five.
Foxx had difficulty forgiving his birth father, seemingly unable to put his grievances with the man to rest, despite attempts at reconciliation. Foxx did successfully reconcile with his biological mother and also developed a bond with her husband, George Dixon, the stepfather who Foxx refers to as his “pops”. It was interesting to find our that Foxx’s grandparents had also adopted his birthmother. I have long noted that adoption tends to run in families. That is certainly true in my family.
His relationship with his birth mother has progressed quite far since the days when she was unable to care for him. She has been living together with Foxx in the same house for quite a while along with his stepfather. His relationship with his stepfather was an inspiration for the character of Walter McMillian in the movie Just Mercy. His father was incarcerated unjustly for 7 years. It was this that sparked the beginning of their living arrangement. He sent his father a letter while he was in prison promising to rescue him from the situation he was in when he was finally released from prison. That is a promise he has kept even though his mother, Louise and Georg had divorced. They both continue to live with him today.
Missing Mom 