I have always imagined that young women who are considering adoption or find themselves with an unplanned unwanted pregnancy, are counseled to believe they are doing what is best for the baby. In many a daydream, I stand there in the corner of the OBGYN's office while he tells my mother that adoption is the only viable option for her "situation". The mother always cries and says no but, eventually, she gives the baby up to a "loving family" that she does not know. I wonder if my genetic mother even knew that my adoptive family was white. My adoption records are sealed. I was born in a time in the United States where women were "sent away" to an "Aunt's house" or worse. There are so many systemic and cultural responses in 1970 that would have assured that this young woman with her unwanted, predatory fetus would indeed be permanently disconnected so that said fetus would be ensured "a better life".
The only part of this mythos that is true is that my adoptive parents were white. Other than that, I am not certain whether a life with my young single genetic mother would have been better. It certainly could have been worse. My sense of these possibilities are predicated on the adopted child's dream that it would have been better just in her, my genetic mother's, capacity to love me. As if love, however one measures that, would ensure that she, my genetic mother, would have given me a better life. I don't know if other adoptees experience this moment. I call it the better life moment.
I need to own that I have not been completely honest. I have not been honest with you or myself. My first processing of the last week's reunion events had me saying, to anyone who would hear me, that I never really thought that much about my adoption. That was a lie. As I move through my processing and writing about the reunion event, the more I realize that my adoption has been all consuming. My adoption, thoughts about my genetic mother in particular, has been a running tape in the back of my consciousness. It is the kind of cassette tape that clicks when it runs out. The kind of cassette tape that you have to physically push rewind. My adoption tape clicks and I rewind it as a matter of course as if my life depends on it. My. Life. Has. Always. Depended. On. It. That tape was - is - the only connection to my genetic mother. That tape is complete fiction and make believe. That tape is akin to an adoption "Never Never Land" and I am Peter Pan. I cling to that fairy tale for dear life.
I say that I never think about my adoption because that is what I was taught to say. I was socialized to believe that all genetic parents give up their children for "the right reasons" and to "give a better life to their children". I was taught, and told, that it was ungrateful to be upset about being adopted. Just today on my @adoption1970 twitter someone challenged me when I said I was "thrown away". They asked me if I had "actually" been thrown away. My comment and overt feelings had apparently slid over the civility line. It is ungrateful and unkind to say that the heart-filled and difficult choice of adoption is the same as throwing your baby away. Unless, of course, you are in fact the baby. I just let that person know that this is how I often feel and that to my knowledge no actual dumpster was involved. I have always felt this kind of social regulation around denying my life was better or that my adoption was some kind of gift. I am not, nor are adoptee's in general I think, the center of the "better life" mythos. All the possible parents are. So, we regulate how those parents are conceived of, represented, portrayed and talked about. Especially by the adoptee.
I was expected to be thankful that I was given to a good family. I am expected to be boundlessly grateful that a white family adopted me. I was scolded with stories of how bad my life would have been if my young mother had kept me. There was never any acknowledgement that I felt lost or abandoned. There was always the narrative that my genetic mother's actions were selfless and thoughtful and I owed gratitude and homage to her for giving me up. I think, frankly, it was all a bit of bullshit. No one in my life then and for the most part now will engage in conversations about the toxicity of adoption. Not until I found the adoptee twitter community did I fully understand the impact of adoption that people like me live with. My life thus far has made me who I am. I am not sure, and have always resisted the idea, that someone did me a favor at birth.
I do not think there is a monolithic framework for adoption. I am certain that not every genetic mother or father has the same reasons for adoption. I know that every adoptee has their own individual relationship with their adoption, genetic parents and adoptive family. What I am realizing through this writing project, and my own self-reflection, is that my relationship and feelings with my adoption circumstances is not concrete. As in every other aspect of my identity, my adoption realities and feelings are fluid. There are times when I have been angry, angry for being adopted, angry for being given away, angry that my genetic mother didn't want me and angry that I don't know anything about my genealogical realities. I have also have at times a deep appreciation for being adopted and a grace-filled forgiveness for my genetic mother around her decisions.
The other piece of my thinking around this narrative of "a better life" is that my life is not over. I am still half written. I am not trying to complicate whether my life is or can be better. That is very much in my hands at this point. Well, my hands and the systemic conditions that I have to navigate. What I am challenging, however, is this narrative mythos around adoption inherently leading to "a better life". I would ask folks to think about what constitutes a better life. What are the metrics for living and loving that allow one to know if the choice of adoption was in fact conducive to "a better life". I also wonder if anyone follows up or keeps track of whether adoptee's actually have "a better life" or for that matter are living a life at all. Do they know when we die?
I am equally critical of phrases like "for the good of the child" and "in the best interest of everyone involved" as we can produce endless examples of how these phrases are used for the purpose of genealogical and parental separation, regularly, in our court systems. Whether it is adoption, foster care, revocation of parental rights or divorce custody and visitation; we must avoid this positioning of genealogical disruption as betterment. These disruptions might be necessary, but their coding as "better" is a glossing over of critical lived realities facing those who are separated from their genealogical others.
At this point, I am not calling adoption bad. I am not saying adoption should be stopped. I frankly do not have a replacement for a system that would take up unwanted (unprepared for?) children. I have thought about that since I was a little girl, that I was better off adopted than not born at all. There are times when I have clung to that framing of my genealogical disruption - she could have terminated the pregnancy. I am happy to be alive and feel like I am contributing in a way that makes my life worthwhile. My children and grandchildren certainly make me glad that I have lived as they go on to do great things in the world. And, I also resent that this has been something I have consciously been aware of... that I could have been terminated. I still feel disposable almost all of the time.
As for my better life, I have had to let go of a lot to get to where I am. I have had to ignore and forgive a lot of bad behavior from adults that should have loved me. Reunion is stirring up some of those feelings. Just appreciating that folks can pick or choose to acknowledge this "dirty little secret". When my genetic family asks me if I have had a good life, I don't even know what to say. I have to work to not be too needy or clingy as they work through their feelings about me. All of this feels ... heavy... and potentially a little bit unfair. None of this feels ... better. For the first time, I forgive myself all of these competing feelings and work to treat people the way I would like to be treated.
The online adoptee community I have joined in the last few days talks about reconnecting with genetic relatives as being "in reunion" it is an active state of being. Some use "reunion" as a verb. That is where I am right now... it is a process... I am glad I have this space to process with. I do know from the folks I have met so far on my genetic father's side that kindness is one of my genealogical characteristics - that and my nose, apparently. I have been imagining that my genetic mother or parents believed that the kindest thing to do was give me up "to a better home" and "for a better life". Part of me just doesn't want to undo that for them. Part of me wants to shake someone awake.
More soon...
Baby girl.