Dear Adoption, I’m Trying to Unravel the Mess You Made
I don’t have a bad adoption story. The family that adopted me were wonderful, loving, Christ-centered people. They gave me unconditional love, a childhood filled with traditions and memories, in a nurturing environment. But, it was hard, really hard, because I always missed my mother. My parents were very respectful when they spoke of her and they prayed for the day I would find her, never threatened by my search.
I relinquished my daughter at age 19, the exact same age my mother was when she relinquished me, to a couple that I truly love. From the very beginning they wanted me in her life. They never stood in our way and not only considered me family, but referred to me as her mother. Our adoption is the most “open” I have ever known. It was never hard until she became an adult, and NONE of it is her fault. Any insecurity she feels is because she’s adopted. That’s on me.
Just recently, after a lifetime of searching, I located my mother. It was nothing I ever expected. It was beautiful and painful and healing and heartbreaking all at the same time, because we fit. And, she’s a lovely, kind, intelligent, woman of faith. She would’ve been a wonderful mother! To realize this is devastating. I was told it was a “better life” when, in reality, it would’ve just been different. I missed her every day.
I spent the first 45 years of my life believing adoption was something brave and beautiful, even when it separated me from my mother and then again later from my own daughter. I now understand that to believe the myth is to sweep away the immense pain that MUST accompany and follow the destruction of God’s plan. So, I’ve been unable to stop the bleeding once I realized the decisions that were made FOR me as an infant, and, even worse, the decisions I made FOR my daughter were, in fact, a tragic mistake. We were told it was a “selfless decision”; that my mother ‘loved me so much” she gave me away. But, don’t people see what this does to a child? Love=Abandonment. And, I believed them. I believed them when they told me I wasn’t good enough to parent my child and that she deserved better than her own mother.
So, today I weep. I weep for the lost years as I gather up the twigs and branches of our family tree that was decimated by adoption. And, I’m at the center of it all, carrying around this heavy load of grief, and guilt. But, I can see redemption… It’s settling around me in the nest that I’ve made.