Doing The Hardest Work For One’s Self

This really does make me think of my mom’s life with her adoptive mother . . . and then there is that painting of me . . . the story below is not my own, though at the bottom is a snippet about me as well.

It took a near death experience (21 days intubated for covid pneumonia while pregnant) and the loss of my 3 year old the very day I came home from the hospital for me to admit I even needed therapy. Though the therapist accepted me based on my grief trauma, most of our time has been spent discussing my childhood.

So many pieces finally fell into place this week. It’s like I wasn’t even aware I HAD all the pieces I needed, much less did I know where to put them. I did some sleuthing to try to get a clearer picture of my very early childhood, because my story was withheld from me and only presented in a very fragmented way.

The messages and calls to the courthouse, the man listed as father on my birth certificate, my sister, her stepmother, and finally the man who raised me yielded little in the way of real answers. The woman who physically abused me caught wind that I was digging and contacted me. She sent FOUR PAGES on bullshit which started off as a sideways apology and ended with her basically saying it was my fault she tortured me. I was 2.

“Dad” (guy who raised me, my sister’s uncle) came the closest to answering my questions of them all. We hadn’t talked for 3 years prior to this. Even when I nearly died, he wouldn’t reach out to check on me. He included in his message a sappy story about how much he sacrificed for me. He insinuated I didn’t care about my sister’s pain, and he closed with a reprimand about how I should feel sorry for HIM because he lost a grandchild. He only met my son once, by his own choice.

My first few years with them were a fantasy. “Mom” hand made my clothes. I looked like I belonged in a magazine. My hair was brushed and arranged until it was glossy ringlets. There were ribbons, bows, ruffles, tights, pinafores, and patent leather shoes. My bedroom was fit for a princess. There was a 4 post bed with a canopy. It was white with burnished gold accents, as was the matching vanity and stool. The bed covering was white and pink ruffles, and the canopy was tailor made to match. Christmas, Easter, and birthdays looked like the toy store exploded into our living room. I had it all.

Once I reached that awkward, gangly phase, it was over. By then they had their own daughter and son, and I was a nuisance. No longer a doll they could dress and pose. I could sense their disappointment. Their delight in me was gone. So I tried harder. I won more awards, I practiced music longer, I earned higher scores in school. The more I tried, the more disgusted they seemed.

I looked back over all the big milestones that mark the transition from childhood to maturity. In my high school graduation photos, he looked angry. In my wedding photos, he looked sick. When my children were born, he didn’t want to see them. When I chose a path for how I would spend my life, it wasn’t good enough. When I chose to move to a new state with better opportunities, I was being foolish. When he finally came to visit my first house, he literally became ill and vomited all over my bathroom.

I failed them. By growing up, I failed them. They treated their children like people, and they celebrated them appropriately in both youth and adulthood. I finally put it all together this week and realized I’ve intentionally kept myself small in my mind, because somewhere deep down I knew that only as their little princess could I feel their love.

I dug through my old pictures and found so many of me paraded in beauty pageants. But this is the one I settled on. It was taken the month after they got custody of me, in their home. I told her – little Sandi – that her work is done. It was never her job to make me palatable to the parents who stole me. I understand why she did. Her life was an exercise in terror, and these white knights were her ticket to salvation. But it was never her job to earn their love, and that isn’t her job now. So she has my permission to rest peacefully. I grew within the soil where they planted this little seed. It’s my turn to do the work of deciding who is worthy of my best efforts.

From the blog author – As a young child, my mom’s adoptive mother dressed and arranged me for a large oil painting portrait she wanted to do of me but now having read today’s story, it speaks volumes. And my mom did have a princess bedroom with a four poster bed. I know that my mom had a very “challenging” relationship with her adoptive mother. She really didn’t share many details of her childhood with me. That probably means something significant as well.

Loss After A Reunion

Today’s story (not my own) –

Some of my adoptive family did not treat me well after reunion. Not being happy for me. My adoptive mother is having her own insecurities and blaming me for saying I was wondering about my birth family when I were younger and throwing it in my face as an adult, saying “how do you think that made me feel.”

I was adopted in 1975, not sure what they were told but I almost think it was somewhat…these are your kids and they will never see their birth family again. I also have adoptive siblings who are biological to my adoptive parents. One doesn’t even talk to me anymore… That’s another story.

Why are we treated this way for finding our truth and deciding how we choose to live our life and who we choose to include in it ?

Never Their Fault

Sometimes it hurts my caring heart so much to learn the stories of adoptees, especially the ones with clueless adoptive parents who never comprehend their own accountability in the mental health of their adopted child.

This morning I was reading a story about a man who was adopted as an infant and now as a grown man with wife and children is in long term residential treatment following his second suicide attempt. His adoptive parents accept no responsibility and prefer to blame his spouse for this man’s issues – unresolved trauma, low self-esteem, deep abandonment issues, anxious attachment, and other specific but undiagnosed mental health disorders which have included serial infidelity. The adoptive parents lied to him about his being adopted, lied about having his paperwork, lied about keeping it from him and made his biological reunion about their feelings of betrayal. Even so, his wife continues to love and support him and does her best to understand.

Another adoptee with similar adoptive parents notes – the adoptive parents insist that the adoption has nothing to do with anything, it’s all just the adoptee’s bad choices. Even when this one discovered their biological parents and that they had been coerced into surrendering their child to adoption (more common than people with no adoption in their background might believe), these kinds of adoptive parents will tell the adoptee that their biological parents didn’t want them. These kinds of adoptive parents have absolutely no idea how to take accountability. How to apologize. How to admit they weren’t perfect, and simply say sorry. They aren’t capable. Some adoptive parents were told that they never had to tell anybody about their own struggles with infertility. That it was acceptable to lie to their adoptee and the child would never know the truth to be troubled by it. It doesn’t work. Having been made aware of so many of these kinds of stories I am easily able to see the damage too often done.

There is a kind of therapy that can be helpful to some adoptees developed by Peggy Pace and known as Lifespan Integration Therapy. This kind of therapy is known to clear trauma memory and the defenses against early trauma throughout the body-mind the trauma even when the emotional memories are pre-verbal and is not explicitly remembered. This method has been used to treat Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, anxiety and panic disorders, mood disorders, and eating disorders. It has also been used to heal Dissociative Identity Disorder bringing more coherence to fragmented self systems eventually resulting in a unified wholeness.

A powerful realization can improve one’s overall quality of life, even when one will never completely understand what was done to them. Releasing these memory experiences means no longer holding on to the stress, burdens and overwhelming sense of the wrong done and for which the person was not directly responsible. When one is no longer forced to constantly recall the unpleasant feelings that have caused shame, guilt and anger, choosing to release the core cause as a reality that cannot be changed. Choosing instead to recognize the wisdom contained within the experiences. This effort can allow a person to release any attachment to the feelings associated with what happened and know that it is something that can ever be totally changed. The only thing that can be changed is how one feels about it.

One cannot expect to bring something wonderful into their experience until they have the internal space. That space can be created, by releasing what can never serve them, which can then move the person into a happier future. This is not a denial of wrongs committed against them but a gentle kind of the acceptance of reality.

Sometimes People Change

For people with adoption in their family, reunions are always an unknown quality. Like, even though my maternal grandmother was married to my maternal grandfather, why did he leave her 4 months pregnant ? (I do have theories but will never have actual answers – my cousin with the same grandfather doesn’t think his nature was not to care about his children and from pictures of him with my mom’s half-siblings that would seem to be true).

So an adoptee wrote – I think I found my birth father’s family. I am unsure if I should reach out. My birth mom told me he is a horrible person and the treason she put me up for adoption was due to his violent behavior and abuse towards her. I want to but I’m nervous.

It is not uncommon for a woman who has been the victim of domestic violence to want to protect her children from her abuser. Putting the child up for adoption can be seen as a way to provide distance and safety for that child. Case in point – My son’s birth father was/is a terrible sociopath, which is a big factor in my choice for adoption. Because it’s his mom and not me in charge, I have no concerns about him knowing his paternal grandparents and aunts. They’re very connected, and he loves it! So I say, go for it. You definitely deserve to form your own opinion.

Abusers don’t abuse everyone – so remember that before running away with – he said it wasn’t true, so it mustn’t be. You can still reach out but have boundaries to keep yourself as safe as possible. Maybe he is a reformed alcoholic or got help. There just tends to be a misogynistic perspective of – he’s nice to me, so no way he was not good to my mother, in many of these cases – and that is true across all family types.

It may be wise to look up his criminal record to be safe, but just like you, there may be good people he fathered or is related to, even if your mom is being honest. The adoptee replied – I looked it up, and he hasn’t had a charge since 1999. To which the advice giver said – maybe he was just someone who has criminal behavior when intoxicated and he got clean. Wouldn’t be the first! And the adoptee replied – He was intoxicated according to the arrest record. It’s hard to say. It could even not be the right person, but based on the information I was given, I’m confident it is. Even if he sucks, it’s better to live with the knowing than to live with the regret of wondering. You might have accurate information on who he used to be but you don’t know who he is now.

More practical advice – Don’t share too much too soon, so you can walk away and not look back, if you need to. With that being said – people may make up things to make themselves feel better or he could have changed. Every person deserves to be heard out, if the person needing the explanation wants to hear it. It’s likely been quite some time since you were given up, and, sometimes, people change. Sometimes the situation was misunderstood. Sometimes the situation isn’t what it was presented to be. I’d contact them anyway. Don’t pass out your home address, use a texting or messaging app to contact them by phone, meet in public places, if you’re meeting them. Don’t put your own address as a return address if using the mail, use an email that you don’t use for everything, if by email.

Good to realize – People always have stories. They don’t always line up. Your mother has her side and her experience. It is valid and important. However, she has a story that has a different character. A different man. People change over time. They live. They learn, they grow and they die. You can wait until it’s too late and lose the chance to answer your questions or you can take a chance. We adoptees hear stories of others all the time. Never knowing our own. We hear how others are effected but we are overlooked. All for our “protection”. So many people have agendas. They don’t want to look like the bad guys. They don’t want their mistakes brought to light. Understandable. However we aren’t responsible for them being comfortable.

This person’s experience matches my own experience on my maternal grandparents side quite a lot – They were farmers and country folk from southern Illinois (just to note – mine were Tennessee and Arkansas). Family was important to them. I was a missing piece to ALL of them in the family. A missing child. How horrible to think if I had not decided to find them that they would have always wondered what happened to that baby girl (just to add – that was also the case re: my mom, they all knew she existed). Me. I have now been welcomed back whole heartedly back into the family fold. No questions no judgements and all my questions answered. I know that the chances of that are so chancy but it was worth it for me. I hope that you can find some sort of closure or comfort in your journey. It’s always so scary to start, those first steps.

It Is About More Than That

In my all things adoption group, a woman writes –

Let’s talk about “playing the victim”. I see this come up a lot in this group when adoptees and former fostercare youth are talking about their trauma. I can only speak for myself, but I’d like to explain why this is so bothersome.

This is a group about the realities of adoption. Our conversations are often about adoption. I talk about my adoption trauma a lot in this group. Why? Because it’s relevant to the conversation. The conversations I have in this group are not reflective of the conversations I have elsewhere in my life. This group is only a sliver of my life.

I have trauma from being adopted. I suffer from mental illness. I’ve been diagnosed with BPD (* see below). I don’t blame all of my struggles on being adopted. I can’t say for certain that it is the root of all my problems. But I also can’t separate it. I was relinquished as a newborn. This trauma has always been here. It is a part of the other problems. It is a part of me. But it’s not all of me.

* Note – BPD – Borderline Personality Disorder is a condition characterized by difficulties regulating emotion. This means that people who experience BPD feel emotions intensely and for extended periods of time, and it is harder for them to return to a stable baseline after an emotionally triggering event.

I have trauma from being adopted but I have privilege in other areas of my life. I’m very fortunate to be where I am today. I’ve met many roadblocks as a result of being an adoptee, but I’ve overcome many of them. I’ve made mistakes and suffered the consequences of those mistakes, but I own them. I don’t blame others for my actions.

Being adopted comes with trauma. Being adopted has legal implications that can make things difficult. In a group about facing the realities of adoption, I don’t think it’s “playing the victim” to acknowledge the hard things. You have no idea how anyone has lived their life. We are simply sharing experiences that are relevant to the purpose of this group.