An Adopted American Adult Tells All
It wasn’t that she was a bad person, it was just that the transactional nature of their relationship tainted everything. There was no way to feel good, or clean about why they were together.
The unspoken knowledge of this prevented them from forming a healthy, close relationship. They were doomed from the very start.
This is what happened to my adoptive mother and me.
I just served on a jury. It was a murder trial, and we deliberated for 6 days. I found the process painful.
I enjoyed the trial itself. Being in the courtroom was exciting. I wanted to serve on the jury. I volunteered. When we deliberated, it was just 12 people in a room talking. And, I had nothing to say. I spoke when I had too, but most people spoke a lot. I heard stories, sometimes twice. I didn’t tell any stories. I figured no one needed to hear about my life. I really didn’t want to hear about their lives either.
I wondered why I reacted that way, why I had little to say. I think maybe it’s because I had to keep quiet so much when I was little. I couldn’t talk about being adopted. I learned early on that it was just easier if I didn’t say anything. I wonder if that’s still what’s going on.
I never had trauma therapy. No one wants to hear anything negative about adoption. It wasn’t just my adoptive family, it was everyone. I couldn’t say a word. So I didn’t. I just didn’t say anything.
It’s been one year since A-mom passed. A year without my mother. I’m different now. I am no one’s child. There is no one who cares about me the way my mother did. She wasn’t perfect, but no one is.
Losing someone close to you changes you forever. I knew this abstractly, but never really felt it until now.
I lost her family too. She was the last of her siblings. Mom was close to her niece, and her niece’s son. I was not. I don’t think I’ll see them again. They were such a big part of my childhood. I don’t know if I pushed them away, or if there was always a disconnect because of my adoption. Sometimes the extended family accept you, for your adoptive parent’s sake, until the adoptive parent dies. Maybe this happened to me.
I was an only child in my adoptive family. I am in touch with a few family members on my natural mother’s side, but I have no close family. Except my Dear Hubby, four children and my granddaughter. I’m referring to family from my generation and back.
In my natural family, I have aunts, uncles and cousins living, but they may as well be dead. I do not know them.
I remember A-mom saying that she thought I would have problems growing up, because of my adoption. I did, but so did she. Did she ever consider that she would have problems, because of my adoption? Why were the problems my fault? If only we could have spoken about these things, without fear and blame. If only I had felt my feelings were valid, and heard. I think my relationship with A-mom might have been better.
For me, the adoptee life has been a lonely life. Reunion did not fix anything.
My adoptive mother died of Covid on February 4, 2021. She was 91 years old.
It hurt much more than I ever imagined it would. I felt so alone and lost without her. I realized that I always counted on her. She cared for me and supported me all my life.
I wished I had never searched for my family. I wished I had been a better daughter. I wished I had been kinder.
She died in a nursing home, that she hated. No one could visit. I tried so hard to help her, but I couldn’t.
It was nothing like losing my natural mother. I felt bad then, but N-Mom was not a part of my day to day life. Her loss did not cause a gaping hole in my reality.
I was always sent away for the summer. Mom and Dad had to work. There was no one to take care of me, so I had to go. It was so scary living with other families. I never knew what to expect.
I was 6 the first time, sent to Mom’s sister’s house. I remember the fear. What would my cousins do to me? Why was I alone, with no one to love me? What did I do to deserve this?
I never said a word. Next year, back to Aunties. I guess i finally said something, because the next years, off to Dad’s sister’s. That was better. The cousins there were not cruel. Still living with a strange family, but a lot less fear.
Eventually I was sent to summer camp, for 4 summers. I know summer camp is supposed to be fun, but I hated it. Hated sports. It was a kosher camp, with Friday night services, and I wasn’t Jewish. I had trouble fitting in.
It was 50 years ago, but I still feel for that little girl. I don’t know why they bothered to adopt.
My oldest daughter is due to have a baby girl in 2 months. I’m very, very happy. I love babies, and can’t wait to meet my little granddaughter.
Of course, this wonderful news brings up feelings about my birth, and adoption. I’m estranged from my father’s family. I don’t think they know anything about my daughter’s pregnancy, unless they somehow heard through social media, or from someone in the neighborhood. My half brother, Mom’s son lives in the same area as many of my father’s relatives. He owns a house with his half brother (same dad, different mom). My cousin E rents an apartment in that house. E is my late mother’s half sisters son. I invited E’s preteen daughter to my daughter K’s baby shower, and she said she will attend. She will be the only blood relative of mine that will be there, aside from my 3 daughters. The only member of my adoptive family that will be there is my adoptive mother.
Luckily, my husband has a big family, so my daughter will have blood cousins and aunts there. Only my side will be lacking. I have a sister, sister in law and many female cousins and aunts, but they are not part of my life, and I don’t think they ever will be. My father will be a great grandfather, but I have no idea if he would care about that. My mother did not live to see her great granddaughter. My half brother will be a great uncle. My Dad’s kids, will also be a great aunt and uncle. They are 31 and 24 years old.
I don’t know if my cousin, who lives in the house my brother owns told my brother about the baby.
I want to tell everyone, so much. I want them to all come to the shower. I want my granddaughter to be marveled over. I want my family to say who she looks like. I want us all to be part of their lives. I don’t want to be treated like a monster. I don’t want to be hated and feared.
But, what I want doesn’t matter. I’ll love my granddaughter. I love my children.
I still wish we could be part of my family, though.
Everyone has an origin story. All the superheros do. Even supervillans do. I have a few.
According to Mom (I consider my mother to be my natural mother)
Mom was a tortured soul. She was sexually abused from before she could speak. Her first memory was of her mother, holding a shotgun on her grandfather, after catching him molesting Mom while he held Mom on his lap. Later on, when she was 5, Grandma sent Mom to live with her father. He put her in informal foster care, with a pedophile who molested her for the 6 years Mom lived with him.
Mom returned home to her mother. Grandma had had a bunch of other kids while Mom was away, and their care often fell to Mom. Mom was poor and ragged. She was ashamed to go to school. Dad was a rich guy from the neighborhood. Grandma told Mom to “go for him”. Grandma thought he would be a good catch. She didn’t sleep with him right away, and this kept him interested. Eventually she did, and she became pregnant.
Dad arranged for an abortion, using the same abortionist Grandma used. Mom was 16, and abortion was still illegal. It was another traumatizing experience for Mom. Mom and Dad continued to bang. Mom got pregnant again. This time, Dad offered to marry her. They got married, and were going to live in an apartment off his parents big house, when something happened.
Mom saw a sign outside a church, offering help with unexpected pregnancies. She went in and asked about it, and was introduced to the idea of adoption. She went home and told Dad, thinking he would reject the idea, but instead he embraced it. They moved a few towns away, and Mom waited out her pregnancy away from the family. Dad worked on her every day as her belly grew, telling her I would have a terrible life if they kept me. A life even worse than hers. She didn’t want to give me up, but she began to believe him, and agreed to the adoption.
I was born. No one was told. Mom took care of me in the hospital and held me on the ride to the agency. I stared at her the whole way. She cried at the agency. She cried for days afterward. She cried everyday for 10 years. It would overtake her suddenly. While on line at the bank, when buying groceries. Then she stopped crying. She waited for me to find her. She didn’t want to look for me, because she thought my adoption might be a secret to me, and she didn’t want to be the one to tell me.
According to Dad
Mom got pregnant. They had relationship problems. They liked group sex and drugs, and Mom wouldn’t give those things up, so Dad decided the only solution was to give me away, so I could have a better life.
According to A-Mom
My parents were too poor to keep me. Mom had to raise her younger siblings and didn’t want to raise any more kids. My parents told their parents that I died at birth. My parents were married, and A-mom could not understand how a married woman could give her baby away. No one held a gun to her head. She was a cold heartless woman who did not want me. A-mom knew my name at birth, but would only tell me the first name. A-mom lived in terror that I would be taken away.
The holidays are upon us again. It’s a time of joy, but also a time for sadness for many. All of the positive images of family and love can make people long for what they don’t have. I’m one of those people.
I have a wonderful family. Husband and 4 grown children. My eldest daughter is expecting a daughter in April. This makes me so happy! I cannot wait to meet the little one. K, my daughter is 32, and not married to the father. In fact, she only knew him for 4 moths before she fell pregnant. In the old days, she’d be a great candidate for adoption. Not in my house though. Never, never ever. We will love that baby, and my daughter and do everything we can to help and support them. Granddaughter! What a beautiful word.
I was born November 13, and relinquished on November 18. This is always a trying time of year for me. I was in a foster home, somewhere for my first Thanksgiving. I don’t know who I was with, or what name they called me. Was I Marylee, what my mother named me, or did they just call me another name they made up?
I arrived at my adoptive parents house on December 13. Just in time for my first, terrifying Christmas. Why terrifying? I didn’t know these people, and my A-mom was always rather terrifying to me.
I have no idea what my natural family does for the holidays. Do they still gather as a large group, or do my aunts and uncles celebrate with their own growing families of children and grandchildren? I will never know, because I will never be allowed into that family. They say it’s because of the way I behave, but I think it’s because I was relinquished. I think they can forgive one of their own, if they behave badly, but I must be shunned if I do. And, the extent of my bad behavior has been my anguish over my adoption.
Every holiday, I still foolishly hope I’ll get something from my family. I never do. I never will.
| POSITIVE LANGUAGE | NEGATIVE LANGUAGE |
|---|---|
| Birth parent | Real parent |
| Biological parent | Natural parent |
| Birth child | Own child |
| My child | Adopted child |
| Born to unmarried parents | Illegitimate |
| Terminate parental rights | Give up |
| Make an adoption plan | Give away |
| To parent | To keep |
| Waiting child | Adoptable child |
| Making contact with | Reunion |
| Parent | Adoptive parent |
| Search | Track down parents |
| Child placed for adoption | Unwanted child |
| Court termination | Child taken away |
| Child with special needs | Handicapped child |
| Was adopted | Is adopted |
| Two years behind in development | Retarded (or other descriptive language) |
| Spinabifida, cleft lip, or other specific condition | Deformed |
| Has disability or is physically challenged | Handicapped |
| Describe specifics–intelligence | Normal or grade level |
| Divorced | Broken marriage |
| Separated from parents or rejected | Deserted or abandoned |
| Is taking Ritalin | Hyperactive |
| Neurological impairment | Brain damaged |
I can’t stand positive adoption language, or PAL.
It is a tool used by the adoption industry to normalize the act of giving you child away to strangers. That sounds horrible, because it is!
How much nicer to think a loving mother made an adoption plan, and lovingly placed her newborn in another’s arms, then went on to live a happy, carefree life, sans baby. What could be better?
Who want to hear of a desperate woman, convinced she will never be good enough for her own child. Who wants to hear her cries as she walks away from her newborn, breasts still leaking milk, body still battered by childbirth? The months and years of grief, for both mother and baby?
Much better to use PAL. No pain in that story! Whitewashed by new, better language.
How about changing murder to involuntary termination of respiration? Rape: Unplanned sexual intercourse. We can make anything palatable, if the language is right.
I was given away, surrendered, relinquished. It was cruel, brutal and very ugly. My language reflects that. Real adoption language reflects the truth. The horror.
Last night, I woke in the middle of the night, and I felt such fear and dread. I sought the root of the feeling, and could not find it. I remembered that I have always felt this, and that the feeling has no name. I also remembered that it will pass. It will return, and it will go away again. I think we all have these feelings. It’s the human condition.
When I think back on my childhood, I cannot find any happy memories. None. The whole thing is colored a dark grey, by my adoption. Losing my mother, and never being allowed to even speak of it, colored my life.
No family. No one. Nothing. Every day, all day.
I could not wait to escape from my adoptive parents house. I met my husband when I was 16. Someone who could save me, and make me whole.
“But, your adoptive parents loved you. They did not abuse you! They raised you!”.
I know. I was there. They tried, but I was so hurt. I could not feel their love. Their love was spoiled for me, because it came at the expense of my real family. I should not have been put in such an impossible position. I could not accept the love of the ones who I felt were responsible for my loss.
Did they really love me? I suppose so. I was a good enough child. But, I was not, and could never be their child. They had to maintain the illusion that I was. They did not tell anyone that I was adopted. It was a hidden family secret, one that I dared not speak of.
How I hated the phrase, “when we got you”. Got me? I wanted “when you were born”. I wanted my mother to tell the story, of my birth, not the story of these strangers who somehow, “got me”.
Even as a young child, I felt this way.
It was a lost cause, from the start. I was broken, unable to be fixed. On my own, from the start. I had to turn my heart to stone.
I remember, being at my Auntie Irene’s house, during the long hot summers when I was 6 & 7. There were 4 older kids there, my adoptive cousins. They did not like me much. The feeling was mutual, but I was at a disadvantage. I was all alone, and they had each other, as well as their real parents, and I was an unwelcome guest in their home. My adoptive parents sent me there so they could both work full time during the summer.
I used to lie awake in my borrowed bed, listening to my adoptive uncle’s snores and will my heart to be hard, like a stone so I would not feel the pain of being left alone, again. I locked my self in the bathroom, and said every curse word I knew.
I went home on weekends, and never told my adoptive mother any of it. I never told her the sex games my cousins would play either. I finally told her when I was an adult, and she said, “why didn’t you tell me”. Sigh.
Would I have sadness if I hadn’t been adopted? I’m sure. My real mother had issues. I still loved and needed her.
Marylee's Dream 