Deconstructing The Fantasy

Today’s question from an adoptee – How do you guys start reframing your minds and deconstructing the lies and fantasy you were told ?

I’m 27. I was lied to – until I was 13 and then, told I was adopted and to not let my adoptive mother know, I knew. I hid it, was able to find my siblings and develop a relationship with them, and then, my adoptive mom found out and forbid me from speaking to them, till I was out of her house.

It was the usual spiel. “we CHOSE You.” We took you in, when your own family didn’t want you. You’re special because we picked you. Your parents didn’t want you. Your biological family chose drugs over you. They never wanted you, but they wanted your siblings. We cared for you and took you in and loved you, and you need to be grateful about that because you could have ended up somewhere so much worse. You owe us your gratitude.

Y’know. The usual drama.

Now at 27, my adoptive father, whom I loved dearly passed. I’m no contact with my adoptive mother now for nearly 6 years. My biological mom and I have a relationship but there is nothing maternal to it. And my biological dad passed away 2 years ago from cancer.

I’m trying to deconstruct my thoughts. For the longest time I was proud of being chosen. Proud of being wanted. But then, it became manipulative with abuse tactics and the usual nonsense, when you’re raised by a narcissist. And I realized, I was nothing more than a trophy to show off how good of a person she was. Anything off about me was squashed and medicated, so I appeared functional and perfect for her little charade. I was frequently threatened with medication changes, or to be sent back to foster care. Looking back, I’m realizing how much the things drilled into me, traumatized me. How much I struggled with feeling secure. How I never felt like I belonged. I struggled with all the questions about why I wasn’t wanted, why they wanted my sisters, why I wasn’t good enough.

I’ve done therapy. I’ve tried to process it but finding a good therapist that understands adoption trauma is hard. I’m tired of slipping up. Calling her my birth mom, not calling the other one my adoptive mom. I truly view her as nothing more than someone who attempted to raise me, but failed horrifically. She isn’t “mom”. I call her by her first name. But it’s so hard and confusing in conversations to not slip up or have to explain and answer the questions that follow.

How did you deconstruct your adoption and how do you handle using the terms that make you comfortable, when it causes confusion for others.

Another adoptee replied – I think that deconstructing anything is a life long process. Much like trauma. There will always be times when we get hit with those feelings and responses. We can just keep plugging away at the work. When those things pop up I write. Pretty much just word vomit onto the page. It keeps the thoughts from having too much power. But I rarely worry how others view the language I use to describe my experiences. I have a terrible first mother, I have a negative nickname for her that I use everywhere but this group. I don’t need other people to understand it, but just respect it. It is all so hard and you are not alone.

Another woman who has been through the mill (I won’t go into all the ways because that isn’t necessary in this context but good to know where her feelings and perspective come from), says – collect the things you were told by your adoptive parent. And next to each, write what is the truth. And regarding her biological mom – don’t chase Love that was never given to you. Keep a superficial relationship and be thankful for what you’ve got. Some adoptees don’t have a biological mother that loved them or wanted them. Cherish the small wins. You did not receive unconditional love owed it to you by not one but two women. Now you need to be a parent to your inner child and keep repeating to yourself: “You are beautiful, you are sweet, I love you so much, You are my whole world.” All of the words your mothers should have said to you. You need to become a mother to your inner child. At the same time, heal from narcissistic abuse and from having a distant biological mother.

One adoptee shares – I was told that God gave me to them. That my birth mom was on drugs and knew she couldn’t be a mom, so she wanted me to have a better life. I was abused. I met my birth mom and there was family on my dad’s side who wanted me. I’m 38. It took a long time to make peace with all of it. Just accepting that everyone involved was messed up in the head. I can only do better for my own children and stop the generational curses on both sides. I know your pain, honestly having my own children and changing the script, is what has helped me the most.

An adoptive mother admits – I am deconditioning (perhaps, that is different than deconstructing) from everything I was fed, took on, believed about adoption. I tried therapy and still partake as needed, yet this is not what I’m talking about. Rather truly getting to the energetics of loss. The real transformation within me is inner child work and neuroplasticity brain retraining. This healing is an inside job. I spent a lot of time on this path and am finally seeing and miraculously feeling some results. They are not dependent on what anyone else thinks or feels about me. (Although positive relationships expedite the process.) It is definitely improving my relationship with my son. I’m less of a head case.

Another adoptee writes – It’s a work in progress. We have similar stories. I was told endless lies by my adoptive parents. I also experienced abuse and emotional neglect. The biggest issue which led to estrangement was that they did not tell me I had a brother, who they also tried to adopt. Once I met him and was getting to know him, the reality of what they concealed from me truly hit me and I cut them off. I cannot cope with them in my life, knowing they stole the opportunity for me and my brother to be in each other’s lives during childhood. These adoptive parents who enforce sibling separation, and even lie about existence of siblings, are the most evil of evil. I have a support system – my husband and in laws. I am doing what I can to build a relationship with my brother now and trying not to let the fact that we lost so much time consume me. Therapy. I’m looking at a career change. I would like to help other adoptees cope with similar issues. I feel better with my adoptive parents out of my life, they were toxic and unapologetic and I was in denial. I lost my adoptive sister due to their actions as well (she is estranged from all of us). They caused nothing but pain for me and I finally said enough is enough. All I can do is hope I’m capable of building relationships in the future and that they haven’t destroyed my ability to do so and continue to work on that. Personal growth and no backsliding, not letting myself wallow in pain.

An adoptee shared – I finally found a therapist that’s not only adoption trained, but an adoptee herself. The difference is amazing – previous therapists just had no understanding. So make it your mission to find that. Not easy, but worth it.

My Life’s Purpose

In 2012, I participated in an online course with Jean Houston titled Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose. In 2016, I spent a week at her home in Oregon with other participants attending what was titled Electing Yourself. I remember that she was certain that Trump would not be elected but as we all know, he was (regardless of how one might interpret the validity of his election).

In the August 2016 Salon, I took the “hot seat” and commented that I had not discovered my Life’s Purpose previously. I didn’t discover it at that Salon either.

But beginning in the fall of 2017, I began a personal roots journey to discover who my genetic grandparents were, since both of my parents were adoptees and both died with almost no knowledge of their origins (1930s closed, sealed adoptions). I succeeded beyond any of my wildest dreams and now feel whole in ways I did not feel for almost 6 decades of my life. Now that I and my related family members know who these people were, no one can take that back away from any of us. I am still integrating my own new awareness and this has had to include re-owning my relatives via adoption. Once I knew my family’s truths, for awhile, the adoptive family no longer felt “real” to me. Now I can embrace all of them (personally known and never having met) as important in my own lifetime.

Part of that new understanding was realizing what a minor miracle it was that my unwed, high school student mother had not been forced to give me up for adoption.

I believe I was preserved in the family I was conceived within to reconnect the severed threads of my family’s origins. Having done that, I continue to educate myself about all things adoption and that has led me to write this daily blog (with some gaps unavoidably occurring). Sometimes, I think I have written enough, sharing what I learn with anyone else who is interested for whatever reason. But there always seems to be something more to say. My daughter once said to me – it seems like you are on a mission. I accept that is true – I do what I can to spread the word about the trauma and unintended consequences experienced by adopted persons. Until there isn’t anything more to share, I will continue to write here.

The late Dr Wayne Dyer wrote in Staying on the Path, pg 68 – “A purpose is not something that you’re going to find. It’s something that will find you. And it will find you only when you’re ready and not before.” Dr Dyer actually died just before my own mother did in 2015. My dad died a short 4 months later. They had been high school sweethearts and remained married for over 50 years. Both were gone before I could share my own family origin discoveries with them.

The What If Of It All

Today, I was first attracted to a blog by this woman, Michele Dawson Haber, in which she shares imaging her father talking to her while making coffee. “What’s this? Why so many steps? Do you know the coffee we drank in the old days was just botz (mud) at the bottom of our cups? A life like yours, with such complicated coffee—Michal*, it makes me happy that you’re not struggling as I did.” *Michal (מיכל) is her Hebrew name.

I come from a long line of coffee drinkers. The pot was always prepared for the timer to begin the brewing before any inhabitants of the house woke and wanted a cup. After my mom died, I spent several quiet treasured morning drinking coffee with my dad out on their deck as we watched the dawn turn into sunrise. When I returned to my parents’ house following my dad’s death, as I walked through their kitchen, I heard him clearly say in my mind, “You miss your old dad, don’t you ?” Exactly as he would have said it in life. I admitted that I did miss him already. With my mom’s passing, . . . oh, I heard her a lot say “You’re doing really well.” many times while sitting on the toilet in the bathroom where she died in her jacuzzi tub. So much that I finally had to let her know – “enough, I don’t need to hear this any more” – and it stopped.

Yet, what really touched my heart was Michele’s piece in May 2021 in Salon about her mother’s letters – “It’s my mom’s fault I stole her letters.” I found letters like that among my parents things as I cleared out their residence after their deaths only 4 months apart. I wish I had read Michele’s piece before getting rid of my parents’ love letters to each other that my mom treasured enough to keep for over 50 years. Just before I began that work, I had read a piece by a woman who’s mother had destroyed her love letters from her father. The mother had said these were private between your father and I – and for that reason only, I let the letters go after having coincidentally read only one but a very relevant one – as though my mom reached out from beyond the grave to make certain I at least saw that one.

Michele writes in her personal essay for Salon – “I felt guilt wash over me. The debates with my two sisters over whether it was ethical to steal her letters replayed in my mind. In the end, we decided that the information in those letters belonged not only to our mother, but also to me and my older sister.” But I had not and so chose a different course based upon someone else’s story. Michele goes on to say, “the question of privacy continued to gnaw at me. I knew that if I had asked my mother 20 or even 10 years ago for permission to read the letters she would have said, ‘Are you kidding? No way. What’s in those letters is none of your business.’ And so I did what I always do when faced with a conundrum: I researched. In her book The Secret Life of Families (subtitled How Secrets Shape Our Relationships and When and How to Tell the Truth), Dr. Evan Imber-Black distinguished secrecy from privacy. A secret, she wrote, is information withheld that “impacts another’s life choices, decision-making capacity and well-being.” Conversely, if a piece of information is truly private, then knowing it has no impact on another’s physical or emotional health.

Michele goes on to share, “In my fantasy argument with my mother, I would say that her secrecy about my biological father did impact my well-being, that depriving me of my genetic heritage handicapped my ability to shape a strong identity.” I agree with her reasoning on this one.

I had read one note (not even a letter) from my mom to a friend, stressing about how my father might react to learning she was pregnant. She had conceived me out of wedlock as a 16 yr old Junior in high school. My dad had just started at the U of NM at Las Cruces and it appears they wrote each other almost every day, though mostly these were the letters she received from my dad, except the note I read. I remember when I figured out that I had been conceived out of wedlock and how in my heart (though only for a few months) I turned against my mom because of that. I didn’t want her to touch me, such as take my hand. Hopefully, she thought only that I was asserting some independence because I was growing up. It was just all those “nice girls don’t do that” lectures she had given me. As a grown woman now, I know that she didn’t want me to make the same mistake. I hastened to get married with a month yet to graduating from high school even though I was not pregnant. My parents supported me and we had the fully formal church wedding and reception in my parents’ back yard. I suspect my parents were afraid I might turn up pregnant like my mom did and so did not discourage me from a marriage that lasted long enough to conceive a child 4 months after I married and then ended in divorce when she was only 3 years old.

Finding that letter further softened my feelings about my conception because I could clearly feel my mom’s emotions and concerns before my dad knew he would become a father. Anyway, this long story shorter. I didn’t keep the letters but sent them to the local landfill along with other items my mom had kept from their many journeys – souvenir booklets and the like. Reading Michele’s story makes me regret that all over again, and I have felt that regret before.

After my dad died, I learned from my cousin, who’s father was my mom’s adoptive brother, that it was possible to get the adoption file that the state of Tennessee had denied my mom in the early 1990s. It is a pity they didn’t let her have that because it would have brought her so much peace. My own journey to rediscover my original grandparents (both of my parents were adopted) only took me about year after my dad’s death; and then, I knew who ALL 4 of them were and something about my ancestors. What I didn’t expect was gaining cousins and an aunt. Even though I am very happy to now have family that I am biologically and genetically related to – I will also admit how difficult it is to create relationships with people who have decades of history lived that I was not any part of. Thankfully, they have all been kind in acknowledging me (and sometimes the DNA makes it difficult for them not to).

Do read the links above to Michele’s stories. I’ve made this blog long enough that I am not going to include any more excerpts beyond the coffee bit and some of her thoughts about personal letters.