This comment, had me looking for an image – Saw a post where a lady has an unplanned pregnancy 2 months into dating. One comment said “adoption is an option”. This woman said – Yeah and a boatload of trauma in the child’s life.
When I found this image, I followed the LINK>Blessing Invalidates Trauma. She writes – When your biggest blessing invalidates my greatest trauma it sets me up for a lifetime of pain, suffering and isolation. It facilitates a lifetime of suicidal ideation, because the pain is just too great to process. It makes me feel more isolated and alone than non-adopted individuals can ever imagine. It makes me wish I was aborted and feeling like I want to die for most of my life, because my pain is greater than my desire to want to live. It drives me to attempt to take my life as a teenager, because you fail to admit I have lost anything. It drives me to a place of addiction, because at the end of every day the only way to manage every day life is to numb the pain. When you use bible scriptures to defend your blessing, it makes me question the bible and the God you are speaking of. When your biggest blessing outshines my reality, it makes me feel unimportant and insignificant. When you refer to me as a blessing, it hurts because you are invalidating my adoptee and relinquishee reality.
She goes on to share a common adoptive parent response to a child’s question – Mommy, did I come out of your tummy? That adoptive mother’s answer goes like this – She loved you so much she gave you to me to raise, and I will always love her and be thankful for her decision.
She goes on to say – I was approximately five years old when this conversation took place, and it’s clear to me that my life was never the same. Every day, I was haunted every hour and every minute wondering, wishing, and dreaming about finding HER.
She also notes – No matter what questions I had or what mental torment I experienced from this moment forward, my adoptive mom’s joy and happiness trumped everything. My feelings didn’t matter when I was her biggest blessing in life, and her joy of being a mother trumped my feelings of sadness every damn day.
She suggests – Today is a new day and a new year. It’s 2020, and when you know better, you do better. More importantly – READ her entire essay !!
Giving a baby after giving birth is not the end of the story for many birth mothers. To be fair, there are a lot of links about adoptive mothers suffering post-adoption depression. Mostly due to unrealistic expectations about getting what they wanted. Some become depressed because adopting didn’t fix their underlying issues. Few think about the birth mother after she gives up her baby. Post adoption depression is the depression that a woman feels when her child is adopted away from her.
The reported rate of clinical postpartum depression (PPD) among new mothers is between 10-20%. In many cases of postpartum depression occurs within four to six weeks after birth because of the extreme hormonal changes; however, symptoms can appear up to 18 months after birth. Many birth mothers believe that they can’t experience postpartum depression after adoption. However, postpartum depression after adoption is as common.
I found content at this website – LINK>Texas Adoption Center – helpful for discussing the issue. There is much more there than I have time to cover in this blog today.
What are the signs that you are experiencing post-partum depression after giving up your baby ? Postpartum depression is defined as an episode of major depression associated with childbirth. Almost 600,000 women are diagnosed with postpartum each year and many cases of PPD go undiagnosed and untreated.
The symptoms of regular and delayed PPD are the same. However, the symptoms of postpartum depression and the “baby blues” are different. The “baby blues” refers to the feelings of sadness, worry, fatigue, and self-doubt that nearly 80% of birthmothers feel after delivery. This typically only lasts for a few days or weeks and resolves on its own.
In postpartum depression, estrogen and progesterone levels decrease significantly after delivery. As you work to balance the physical and emotional demands of giving birth and placing your baby for adoption, these changes can affect the chemistry of your brain. Physical exhaustion, sleep deprivation, self-esteem issues, and the emotions of making the best decision for you and your baby play a significant role in developing delayed PPD. Postpartum depression after adoption is similar to other episodes of depression that can occur during life. While the “baby blues” typically go away within 10-14 days, PPD is characterized by a daily loss of interest and joy in life that lasts.
The most common signs include:
Loss of interest in activities you used to enjoy
Weight gain or loss that isn’t associated with your diet
Changes in your appetite
Unexplained crying or constant crying
Fatigue
Loss of energy
Feelings of guilt, worthlessness, or hopelessness
Changes in your sleep patterns
Suicidal thoughts or attempts
In addition to talking to a doctor or therapist (postpartum depression is a medical condition), you can be kind to yourself. Focus on your health and well-being. Don’t isolate yourself and be patient as you process such a major event in your lifetime.
Another story from The Guardian – this one about the Scottish care system. LINK>‘This book kept me alive’: Jenni Fagan on writing a memoir of her childhood in care. Some excerpts –
“The government take me from place to place. They pay people to keep me. Each new person opens a door like a bird’s wing and I have to go into their nest. Then they close the door. It could be good, or it could be something else. Some people have eyes with nothing behind them. They are nowhere people.”
“Each of the women in all of the houses that I go to live in is called a mother. It doesn’t make them all the same. They are often like each other but all of them put on a face for when people are there and then there is another one when the others are gone.”
“The sky is usually grey, and the sea is grey or black or dark blue, and people’s skin is pretty grey and their minds are grey and we live in this freezing-cold rainy grey country called Scotland.”
“She calls the government. – You have to come and get ‘it’, now! I am not called by name here now. I am called ‘it’. She strings words together with hot rage. They must send a car to come get me quick, or else. The social worker says I’ve moved over ten times now.”
“Twenty years ago I began writing this memoir as a suicide note. I was trying to sum up my life in one small letter. After I had written The End, I locked it in a flight case and vowed never to look at it again, or discuss its contents with anyone. With that one act that note turned into a book that kept me alive.”
“On the day the Freedom of Information Act came in, I picked up the phone at 9am. It took me 24 years to get my social work files. I picked up a vast heavy load of them. Hundreds, thousands of pages, most redacted in black lest they validate something that would allow me to sue them. I had lived in so many placements, had multiple name changes, foster families, adoptions, children’s homes and hostels. I had been through more as a child raised by the state than I ever thought possible to get my head around. I had never got to have my say, legally, or otherwise. I suffered from lifelong brainwashing telling me I was the issue. I’ve never met an abuser who owned what they did, or a system that wanted to be accountable.”
“This is a story about a girl who found her way to books and found in a world of words the only place I ever actually belonged. I didn’t have any family I’d ever met that I could remember and so I turned to culture and asked it to raise me, to teach me, to – in my most isolated moments – let me have somewhere to rest, and return, and belong.”
Now I must offer back my own. My lighthouse on a distant shore.
I get notifications from Tony’s substack – LINK> “This Is Not A Legal Record – Irregularly timed dispatches from my travels in the world of adoption.” Tony recently got married.
He writes – “I invited him (his adoptive father) and my biological aunt and uncle to my wedding not to force a reckoning—neither to heal a wound nor to inflict one. I did it because they were among the people I wanted present. And I did it as a protest against the expectation that I would have to choose who my “real” family was. I was conscious that no one in the world was asking for this convergence of souls. There are no cultural expectations or rules governing it, no script to follow. If anything, the co-presence of my adoptive and biological families signaled a breach in the covenant that we assume closed adoption to represent: that the family of origin shall disappear from the life of the adoptee, who shall be “as if born” to the adopting family.”
I say – good for him, pushing back on expectations !! He goes on to share –
On his last night in town, as I was driving him to his hotel, I told him that not only was I thankful for his kindness to my biological family, but it healed something in me to see him in a literal embrace. He replied with what I later learned he had also said to my aunt and uncle that day: that he was grateful to them for giving me to him. This remark, generously intended and deeply unsettling (I am no one’s gift; they had no role in it; my birth mother did not relinquish me for his sake), reminded me that my father will never grasp the nettle of adoption.
He concludes with this thought – “The legacy of the trauma and secrecy of adoption is that I remain isolated in my freedom.” I understand from my own sadness. Learning the truth about my parents origins, while answering lifelong questions, left me bereft. Not fitting in with either the adoptive or biological families – in truth. The ties that bind get cut and like Humpty Dumpty can’t be put back together again. Sadly, this is the truth about it. He notes that “Every move is risky.” regarding reconnecting and risking alienation from the people who raised you.
Of course, he is right about this – “There is no such thing as the successful resolution, or closure, of an adoption.” And closing with “There is still much that I cannot say, hurts that I dare not inflame. There is still no inclusive we. There is only me, standing in particular relationships to the particular people I care about. It’s a kind of paradox: the further I go along the path of reunion, the more fully I perceive this atomism into which adoption fractures the idea of ‘family’.”
From an adoptive parent – just a brief reminder to people raising other people’s children and preparing for back-to-school. A lot of educators are well-meaning but not adoption-competent. Elementary school teachers will often do Mother’s and Father’s Day crafts, middle and high school teachers will tell kids it’s rude to refer to their parents by their first names.
The child’s classroom teacher or school counselor, depending on grade level, may benefit from a brief rundown on honest adoption language. Kids adopted at an older age, often don’t share their adoptive parents’ surnames. These young people may refer to their adoptive parents by first name or even a nickname. (Another one shared how she became “Banana” due to giving the fruit to her young charge.) Many do not keep their foster care or adoption status a secret from their peers. This mom found a heads up + “please don’t tell them they’re lucky” to be highly beneficial. For Americans, note that 504’s / IEP’a / BIP’s should be written from an adoption or foster care trauma-informed perspective.
A trauma-informed plan would take into account that your child may not react the same as other children to classroom management styles, classroom discipline, etc. (Of course not every child is 504 or IEP eligible, in that case you can just talk to the teacher.) Here are some examples: No isolation as discipline including closed lunch, being sent to the hallway etc, minimize interactions with teachers / staff who have triggering characteristics, no timed tests, big clock in view at all times during tests, preferential seating, excused from certain assignments or alternate assignments (lots of triggers in middle and high school ELA assignments), no taking contraband from student unless it poses an immediate safety risk, instead have parent come to take it. It all really depends on the child’s needs to begin with.
IEP refers to Individual Educational Program. Here’s one resource – LINK> Trauma-Informed Practices: Considerations for the IEP Meeting. Another adoptive parent added – In first grade, we asked for access to a calm/sensory space whenever needed, access to noise reducing headphones as needed, access to food/snacks as needed.
Yet another adoptive parent writes – I have written into their IEPs that, when confronted directly about something, they will lie. Connection and safety have to be established first, prior to discussing a situation with them. If a teacher skips this step, then I will advocate for my kid that an honest response cannot be expected. However, in response to this a former foster care youth noted – There just has to be a better way. If my teachers didn’t believe me I would have gone hungry some days. If they hadn’t believed me I wouldn’t have spoken about my sexual assault. If my teachers hadn’t believed me they would have failed me. If they hadn’t believed me the kids in my classes would know just by the nuances they threw that they weren’t listening or giving me the time of day.
The closed, sealed adoption records of yesterday are much easier to pierce with today’s inexpensive DNA testing. Today’s story from Severance Magazine.
It begins this way – in 1967, I’d given birth to my first-born child in an unwed mothers maternity home in New Orleans, Louisiana. I had been a typical 17-year-old high school senior with plans for the future that evaporated overnight. In the sixties, it was considered close to criminal for a girl to become pregnant with no ring on her finger. The father of my child had joined the Army, preferring Vietnam to fatherhood. After my parents discovered my shameful secret, I was covertly hurried away and placed in an institution for five months. There, I was expected to relinquish my baby immediately after giving birth to closed adoption and I was repeatedly assured my child would have a better life without me. After his birth, I was allowed to hold my son three times. My heart was permanently damaged when I handed him over the final time. The home allowed one concession—I could give my baby a crib name. I named him Jamie.
In the Spring of 2016, this woman and her husband submitted DNA tests to Ancestry.com. By October 2016, a ‘Parent/Child Match’ message popped up on her iPhone, causing me to stop me in my tracks, as my knees gave out from under me. After 49 long years, Jamie had found her. Who was he? Where was he? Would he hate me? How would this affect my life? My family? His family? She had always dreamed of finding Jamie but never thought past that point.
She relates – that night I heard my son’s voice for the first time. The wonder I felt when he said, “I know your voice” transformed me. In minutes, the secret of my son changed from fear of anyone knowing about him to wanting to shout out to the world, “My son has found me!” She also learned she had three new grandchildren. Within four days, her son flew from Louisiana to California to meet her. She describes that first meeting as magical. She says, “My son was back in my life, and suddenly I was whole.”
Due to severe depression brought on by the COVID pandemic as a messy divorce, the loss of his job, and unhealthy isolation began to destroy him, she worried from a distance. In February 2021, they had what would be their last conversation. Before hanging up, her son said, “I love you, Mom. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Two days later, the son she had mourned for 50 years, the son who had found her, left her again. He took his own life. Now she had lost him twice and this time was forever. Even so, she cherishes that phone call.
She ends her story with this – “I wish I could speak to all the birth mothers out there, who continue to carry the shame and guilt that society placed on us. For those who refuse to allow their relinquished child back into their lives. I want to say I know your fear. I know your uncertainty. I lived it and still live it. It is deep-seated in us, regardless of the circumstances that resulted in us leaving our children. Please know if you are brave enough to welcome that lost child into your life again, you may create a peace and a bond worth all the fear and guilt. There is nothing quite like reuniting a mother and her child, and you may be giving a gift of connection to that child and yourself, as it should have been all along.”
Let’s talk about domestic abuse and child custody.
For everyone who is convinced that children only end up in foster care and/or adopted because the parents were abusive, guess what? Women in abusive relationships are especially vulnerable to losing custody of their children. Spouses/intimate partners use custody of children as an abuse tactic.
Examples:
–If you leave me, you’ll never see your children again.
–Filing false/malicious child abuse reports if you succeed in leaving with your children
–Deliberately impoverishing you so you can’t afford to provide for your children to the standard required by social workers
–poisoning authorities against you by using things like depression, addiction, etc. to paint you as an unfit mother
–deliberately getting you pregnant to make you vulnerable and unable to leave the relationship
Domestic abuse services are notoriously underfunded and unsupervised. Unscrupulous providers can get away with neglectful or even downright harmful treatment of the vulnerable women in their care because it’s non-profit, charity funded, and people assume that they’re doing good things.
Someone in an abusive relationship is in the most danger when they try to leave the relationship.
A tactic abusers might use is to always keep one child with them (as a way to make sure you can’t leave without putting that child in danger).
Abusers might explicitly favor one child over another, creating a situation where one child contributes to the mistreatment of the other child.
An abuser might groom a child to make false accusations against you (projecting and protecting themselves, the real abuser).
Of course not all cases are the same, but there are too many situations in which the mom would be a perfectly fit parent, if she just had enough support. All the things that we talk about – help getting a job, affordable daycare with flexible hours, supplemental income for pregnancy and maternity leave periods, actual maternity leave, and in this particular example, trauma therapy/mentoring/emotional support.
Someone who has fled an abusive relationship often has to cut off contact with family and friends. If there are children involved, this might be a requirement from social services (such as: if you move back to that area, you will lose your child because you’re being a bad parent putting them at risk).
That means being especially isolated when you’re already vulnerable and unwell and stressed. If your case goes to court (and many don’t, due to lack of funds or resources or simply not being able to cope), this can trigger more danger for you and your children. Some women successfully flee an abusive relationship with their child(ren), only to have their children taken away later.
Now imagine that you’re a foster carer or adopter in this situation. You’ve been told by social workers that the child was removed from an abusive family and that you’re “rescuing” them. You’re told the parents are a danger to the children. You’re told about addiction and jail time and all kinds of fairy tale reasons why you now have custody of the perfect parentless child who is yours to shape as you will.
You then go onto social media and repost this false story everywhere. Launch fundraisers, complain that your stipend “isn’t that much,” and say that you need respite care because caregiver burnout is so awful and claim you have “Post adoption depression.”
The reality is that you have no idea what the hell these children have been through. You have no idea what their parents’ situation was like.
Case in point – “Most recently I’ve watched a young lady whose abuser isn’t the parent of her children. He manipulated, punished, and such – until he was able to get the two children to their biological father by feeding him false information. This caused the biological father to be able to gain emergency custody and a restraining order against the mother. All while this same abuser has promised he is “going to help her get her kids back so they can be a family.”
Coming on the heels of yesterday’s blog, I encountered this article in The Guardian – My brother has two new children – and it’s making me sad. When you want to be a parent and can’t, this is a loss to be mourned, says Philippa Perry.
A woman writes – My partner is older than me and has a grown-up son. He is not keen to have more children, so I feel I’ve missed the boat. I also feel a lot of guilt and shame in my response (to my siblings having children). It is causing problems within my family because my older brother has stopped communicating with me. I’m unsure how to relate to these new children and also to my brother now. It’s constantly nagging on my mind. I feel like a terrible person and very alone.
Ms Perry replies – Reading between the lines, I wonder if there isn’t a whole lot of loss here to process. We think about mourning when we lose someone close to us: when we lose a parent or a friend everyone around us expects us to be sad or angry or confused, in denial or simply deadened for a while – wherever the journey of mourning takes us – and even if it is a hard journey, we know that unless we allow ourselves to mourn, we won’t recover our equilibrium. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross has usefully charted this complex journey, and her thinking is instructive. Above all, we learn from her that the only way beyond loss is through it. When you want to be a parent and, for whatever reason, you can’t be, this is a loss and like all losses needs to be mourned.
This point is made frequently in my all things adoption group. The need to mourn infertility, rather than papering over it with adopted children.
The advice columnist goes on to note – It’s much harder, isn’t it, when the loss we experience is situational rather than personal? Often nobody notices or names it, and there is no expectation that we may have work to do. Instead of finding loving support for the process of grieving, we can lock ourselves in a silent, agonizing world in which we feel increasingly isolated.
Whether it is choice or circumstance that has led to you not having a child, you’re clearly sensing that as a loss, and I wonder whether now that those who are close to you seem to be abounding in new children, it is easier to cut off, or feel jealous, or over-rationalise, rather than having your feelings. Gaps are tough – and they’re real, at least to us. Reality is often disappointing.
You do not say why your brother isn’t speaking to you. Echoes of some long-distant childhood rivalry playing out, maybe? Or has something happened to create awkwardness. You’ll know – but I’m wondering what part you not engaging with your sadness and loss may be contributing to this awkwardness? After all, when the task of processing loss doesn’t happen in us, we find other ways of dealing with our feelings: projecting disappointment and envy on to others, rather than owning it ourselves. This makes us unhappy and creates avoidable friction with others. And, no, I don’t think you are a terrible person – just a person in pain with nowhere to place it.
Then there’s what you describe as your own loving relationship. You don’t say how long you’ve been together, nor whether there was a chance to consider having a child, but what is now encroaching is this sense of a gap. What, I wonder, would happen if you were to name it – not in terms of any “right” to have had a child, nor in terms of “blame” that the two of you aren’t having one, but simply in terms of the sense of loss and sadness it is creating in you? It’s not that he has to fix it by having a child with you, but not speaking about it may stop you keeping your relationship as “loving” as it can be. If you are not being heard and understood by him it may deny you the support you need to move forward – speaking simply about it may open up whole new ways of being fulfilled together. We might feel that if we own the disappointment and name the gaps, our feelings will become more intense and unmanageable, but more often the opposite is true. To talk about your loss will begin to process those feelings and will be, I think, the first steps to healing all of this. I don’t want you to carry that “chasm of sadness” on your own. But even in the most loving of partnerships we cannot be everything we need for each other and if your partner is more of a problem-solver – no one wants to hear the “well-you-should…” in response to their pain – you may try for extra listening and understanding from a therapist.
When you can own, then contain, your sadness I am hoping you will be able to relate to these new nephews and nieces in your life, not as reminders of what you are missing out on, but as new people to have rewarding, lifelong relationships with.
The girl in the photo is NOT known to me or who this blog is about today. It comes up from time to time how much a teen in foster care who finds herself pregnant can use support. The main thought is enough support to break the cycle she grew up within and parent her baby.
The discussion was in response to a video about someone who was doing that – creating a supportive environment for a pregnant teen still in foster care. I won’t be sharing that video here but the thoughts related to it.
The first comment was related to food – both foster kids and adoptees often have food issues. My adoptee mom had food issues and she passed those on to me. My dad (also an adoptee) had food insecurity issues, so we always had more food on the table than could be eaten at a meal. At 67 years old, I’m still trying to overcome my own food issues. That said, I remember being ravenous and able to eat stuff I wouldn’t dare to eat now, while I was pregnant with my sons.
Here is the comment – What bothered me was the amount of junk food offered as items of comfort. I have food issues and am working to reprogram my brain from emotional eating and using food to soothe emotional needs. While I understand she mostly has teenage girls placed with her, and teenagers generally prefer these kinds of snacks, I just don’t think think this is ok. Give them other outlets for comfort. But again, I’m an adoptee working on my own food issues; I understand and appreciate that this is a different situation than what I experienced.
A comment in response was this – I didn’t love the way she was like “of course I have healthier food but this is like a piece of home.” It rubbed me wrong. Like we’re better than this but you know how poor people eat.” However, someone else noted – “I am mixed about this. Honestly, it seems better than the crazy perspective of many foster parents that repress foster children’s food intake and then post complaints about how much they eat. Food security is important.”
Another issue had to do with TV. I do like the part about suggesting a TV in their room. I see a lot of foster parents angry about screen time and cracking down with their rules, especially if they also have biological children. If a kid is used to sleeping on a floor in front of a TV, you can’t just say “oh we don’t do TV at night here!” and expect them to sleep. Sure, you can phase it out over time if it matters that much to you, but foster parents need to calm down when a kid is going through serious trauma. The teen may just need to be comforted to sleep!
Actually, when I was single and living in the city, until I met my husband (who lives in a very quiet rural location), the white noise of the TV was always on in my home – waking or sleeping – but I was not usually actually watching it. When I was in New Mexico settling my parents estate – it was the same – always on in the motel room.
There were also a few appreciative comments too. “It seems like a foster home I would’ve been thankful for but it’s still a foster home. What I don’t like is how she goes about posting it. It seems like she is looking for praise from former foster care youth.” And this, “I wish one of my foster parents was as welcoming as this?” And another one – “I think it’s absolutely wonderful, she’s doing everything in her power to make them feel as comfy as possible.”
I think a realistic comment was this one – my first thought on it is, she goes to great lengths to “get to know them.” I’m pretty cool with most of this, but the part where she wants to spend time with them to get to know them sits strange with me. Putting myself in their shoes, I’d think that I wouldn’t want to talk to some stranger about *anything* and I’d just want to be left alone to deal with whatever feelings I was having, instead of having to bear all to her. That might just be me, because I’m a quiet, lonely griever, but I can’t imagine that every child she brings into her home feels comfortable with the “getting to know one another” part.
Yet that was just one perspective. It seems that the woman in the video is an emergency or short term placement foster home. In some of the other videos she has made, it seems more like the teen can play games and watch movies and not so much getting to know each other. That makes more sense. There are other videos by her, where she talks about letting them do whatever they want to do, so that they can process their situation.
Yet another one said – I don’t like to be around anyone or talk to anyone while I’m going through things. I also like to cry quietly in my room and not talk to people. I’m kind of antisocial to begin with. I am pulled in different directions though, because if left alone too long, especially as a teen, I would let myself feel bad and dissociate as long as I could get away with. I feel like she should leave them to grieve and process (with therapy, of course) and maybe after some time passed, then make an effort to take them out and get to know them? Just let them grieve their situation first and give them some space.
Given my own maternal grandmother’s experience of pregnancy with my mom, this one really spoke to my heart.
My mom was shunned back in the 60’s for being an unwed Mom. She was basically kicked out of town and told not to come back with the ‘bastard’ (me). She was very kindly taken in by a Home for Unwed Mothers. She was able to continue working, given counseling and advice on adoption etc. Long story short, that home was my first home. You could stay for 6 months after birth. All Moms helped and supported each other when moms had to go back to work. Essentially first time Moms were getting some hands on experience and moms and babies were safe, happy and content. Today I run a place of safety for abandoned babies and often think if there were still places like that, perhaps we wouldn’t have such a high rate of abortion and abandonments.
With Asians on my mind this morning, I stumbled on this book when an essay in Time magazine titled “My adoption didn’t make me less Korean” got my attention. I can not locate a digital link for this (I will share some excerpts – her own words about being Asian at this fraught time – later in this blog). In my all things adoption group, there have been a number of Korean adoptees. The international adoption of Korean children by Americans was the result of a large number of orphaned mixed children from the Korean War after 1953. That is not Nicole’s story.
In looking for her book, I found a New Yorker review by Katy Waldman – Nicole Chung’s Adoption Memoir, “All You Can Ever Know,” Is an Ode to Sisterly Love. Like many adoptees, her parents believed she was a gift from God. Like many transracial adoptees, growing up among white, Catholic Oregonians in the eighties and nineties, students teased her for being adopted and for looking “different.”
Her adoptive mother couldn’t tell her much about her original parents. They “had just moved here from Korea” and “thought they wouldn’t be able to give you the life you deserved.” This brief story, one of love and sadness and altruism, “may be all you can ever know,” her mother told her.
After a protracted and unglamorous process of filing paperwork and wrangling lawyers, she finally uncovered the reality of her original genetic family, the Chungs. She discovered an older sister, Cindy. Sadly, her sister had been physically abused by their natural mother. She learned that her parents are divorced and not speaking to one another. Her birth father had told Cindy that Nicole had died.
Nicole explains why having a baby mattered to her so much, “I wouldn’t be alone anymore. There would be someone who was connected to me in a way no one else had ever been.” For her memoir, Chung wanted to explore “the quiet drama of the everyday adopted experience.”
Remembering the fiction she scribbled down as a kid, Chung writes that she “found a measure of previously unknown power” in envisioning “places where someone like me could be happy, accepted, normal.”
From Chung’s Time essay – What her adoptive parents struggled with was to fully and consistently see and understand her as a Korean American woman. She doesn’t blame them for this, she notes – “Acknowledging it flew in the face of everything ‘experts’ had told them when they adopted me in the early 1980s – the adoption agency, the social worker, the judge had all maintained that it wouldn’t, shouldn’t matter.” She shares the things they would say to be color-blind with her.
She also notes – “Often, people who’ve read my memoir will note my white family’s ‘color-blind’ approach and ask whether this led to me thinking of myself as white. My answer is always swift, unequivocal: no, I never thought I was white.” However, she goes on to say her adoptive parents did “assume that I’d be protected from racism because the world would see me as they did – their child, no more, no less – and as my race was irrelevant to them, they could not imagine anyone else caring about it either.”
She says, “While my adoptive family saw me as almost raceless and therefore safe from racists, I lived every day from the age of 7, when I heard my first slur from a classmate, understanding that my Korean face made me hypervisible where we lived – and that it could also make me a target.”
This startled me. I cannot imagine children that age knowing racial slurs. Then, I remember reading once that children learn racism in the family. I thought about WWII, the Korean War and more recently the Vietnam War. I could believe that some returning veterans, having done battle with Asians, might have brought bias home with them.
Chung describes how from the start of the pandemic and racial scapegoating, she has thought of other Asian American kids growing up in white families and white spaces, even as she knows their experiences are not interchangeable. She says, “I know it can feel like a unique burden when you witness or experience racism in a kind of isolation, unable to retreat and process your rage or sorrow with people who also know what it’s like to live in an Asian body.”
She speaks of the experiences of transracial adoptees – “asking, sometimes begging our adoptive relatives to acknowledge our experiences; to stand with us; to challenge the racism endemic in our society as well as our own families and communities.”
Her adoptive parents have died. She says, “I’ve had to accept that there are questions I’ll never get answers to, things we’ll never be able to settle. That my parents didn’t entirely understand or accept my racial reality will always be with me, part of my adoption story.”
In her final thoughts she says, “I know the last thing either of my parents would have wanted was for me to despair, or live my life in fear. And so, for their sake and my own, I won’t.”
Missing Mom 