That Missing 'Thing' You've Never Had the Words For...
Adoption is like your biological parents, the adoption agency, your adoptive parents, and your therapist playing a game of Hot Potato but with a person (me or you). Then when you're 18, everyone realizes that they no longer have to play; the players then put the potato back in a cool, dry storage area until they need it for cooking. Once the pantry door shuts, all of the identities you've ever had, the different hats you've tried to don, come poking through just like the buds on a potato. Next time that potato is needed, those buds that begin to sprout upon your skin, will be severed in an attempt to make you appear to be like any other potato. and then you'll be sliced and diced in whatever form the players agree upon. All defective or undesirable parts are thrown away for quality control.
I was in bed when the anxiety attacks were in full swing at 2 am (just before the sleep paralysis). I longed to go home despite being in my bed in the apartment with my husband. I shared with our daughter, and I realized how much I feel like a potato; the deeper I thought about it, the more I felt like a potato was 100% perfect to describe myself as an adoptee. The potato is a dull, do-nothing vegetable, and I am a boring, do-nothing person. A person can cook a potato in many different ways, and it can be served and eaten differently even though (at the end of the day) it's still just a bland potato; I, too, can be presented and digested in a variety of ways and I too, at the end of the day am just a useless potato. When you leave a potato alone for too long in a cool, dry place, buds begin to sprout and protrude through the dry skin of the vegetable, whose exterior is in dire need of a touch-up. Much like myself, if left alone in a dark and empty room for too long, I emerge with as many identities as spores on a potato. A person has no choice but to remove them, lest they take on their own life and morph into a less savory personality.
All jokes aside, I know it feels like everything you touch either is burned, leaves a scar, or turns to ash. I know that when things go wrong, you not only blame yourself, but you also have a terrible habit of thinking you deserve this somehow. I know you feel lost or, as one anonymous adoptee described, “perpetually wandering.” I often say to myself, “I just want to go home,” knowing I don't have one. When I was uncomfortable at a sleepover and wanted to “go home,” I was keenly aware that I felt the same whether at 'home' or at a friend's house.
An adoptee in her twenties that attended an adoption support group asked, “When does it go away?” As she began to sob those loud, heartbreaking sobs, the ones that would bring a tear to the eyes of even the toughest of individuals. Others nodded vigorously in agreement as if this were the end all be all of the questions. It's the million-dollar question we have all asked ourselves in all manner of situations and circumstances that causes the confidence in making complex decisions or trying new things to bend and bend and bend until it snaps, breaks, and leaves us stuck in the same place we were trying to get out of: “When does 'it' go away?”
It doesn't. I'm so sorry. I know you thought that at some point it gets better or that one day you'll wake up and you won't care. Let me tell you from experience this line of thinking has the exact opposite effect. However, I didn't make this blog to be a doomer-boomer and tell you all of the things that are wrong with the world (or what's wrong with adoption) and then offer you no solutions or no alternative coping strategies because, no, telling yourself you're a “bad bitch” and “everyone wants you” while twerking in the mirror drunk at 2 am only to collapse onto the floor an hour later ugly crying about how “no one wants you,” Is NOT a healthy coping strategy. I'm astonished that this is some of yall's definition of 'self-care' (I can assure you that's not what that is).
I can, however, offer you language. I know it doesn't seem to be much, but let me tell you how great that feeling was when there was language, literal words, for 'that missing thing you never had the words for' this feeling that keeps you stuck, unsure, unmotivated, inadequate, worthless, a burden, a mistake, a defect, an embarrassment, a disappointment, a fraud; that 'thing' that has no name, the experience that you have only felt, has a name; and has had a word, because (contrary to what you believe) you are by no means alone in this particular struggle.
You seek this word: Grief. You are experiencing a unique kind of grief that sociologists, social workers, and developmentaliasts are only beginning to understand. This grief, researchers say, is only felt when the attachment to the biological mother has been disrupted or eliminated. Adoption is part of a more extensive study researching a phenomenon between mothers, their offspring, and a chemical called oxytocin. The chemical released during childbirth is called oxytocin. It is a hormone that plays a critical role in delivery by causing the uterus to contract and facilitating the release of breast milk. Oxytocin is often called the “love hormone” because of its role in social bonding and trust (It is also involved in sexual reproduction and stress reduction). How are you, as an adoptee, expected to function normally when in the womb you were not only being prepared for the same environment as your biological mother, but you're also searching for familiarity and comfort before you can even recognize the faces of others. You didn't have the opportunity to form a secure attachment, and (most likely) no adoption agency or hospital, or social worker gave either set of parents the proper resources or information to cultivate that secure attachment between an adoptee and their adoptive family.
None of this is our fault. We are a product of a faulty governmental system with outdated research, resources, and technology. Things are changing, and we can make our voices and concerns heard because they need to be. You are valid. Your feelings are valid, and you're suffering from adoption loss, and grieving the pain of your adoption loss is a lifelong process that takes time and support to heal correctly. It is essential to seek therapy and find a community that understands adoption grief.
Now that you have a name for what you're feeling, we can do something about it to alleviate the pain and grief of adoption loss and pave the way for the adoptees that come after us. We owe it to ourselves and future adoptees because, as you know, adoption can be a complex and emotional journey, but it's also full of love, hope, and resilience.