Because it was courage that my mother showed in telling no-one for 21 years, and giving me up to strangers. For the sake of herself and for the sake of her family she did the hardest thing anyone can ask of a mother. Because even as her daughter, I was not part of their family and in the 1970s could never be a legitimate part of it.
Posts published in “Adoptee Experience”
The Ugly Duckling is about a cygnet who feels abused and isolated from his adopted Duck family. He eventually has a happy reunion as a transformed swan with his 'natural' Swan family. As an adoptee, when I read this story, it wasn't the pain of the abuse or the despair of the outcast 'duckling' that resonated with me. It was the confusion he felt at believing for his whole life he was a duck, when in actual fact he was a swan. How do you know who you are?
My family was not one I was born to, it was one I made and continue to make on a daily basis. My family is a group of people who I trust and whose support I use to empower myself to grow in this world. I have relatives of course, but they are not who I consider my family.
Secrecy was the best choice. But being adopted whilst outwardly respectable, was only another word for disgraced bastard. And everyone knew it, even if they didn’t say it.
For those adoptees who lose their mother before the separation of the self occurs at around 2-3 years old, they will manifest a primal wound. A deep and lasting impact.
Worse still, it is a impact which is unacknowledged buried deep in the subconscious and thus remains unhealed…
I have no doubt that this is a direct consequence of my being relinquished by my biological mother, and subsequent adoption by my narcissist mother. It's a modus operandi which has worked really well for me in the past. But now, it may be starting to cause a problem for me (and not just others). Indeed until now, I didn't realise that it was actually a problem for others, I just assumed that they felt the same way as I did. That I didn't really exist for them, if I wasn't there.
Two people trying to fill the holes in each others lives. She was full of love. Almost bursting in fact. And yet because she wasn’t my mother, I could not take it from her without heavy doses of suspicion.
I met my biological father when I was 20. An adoptee, desperately seeking the face for an identity she had yet to form. Our meeting…