To my friend - a letter to my adopted friends

To my friend and who asked his birth mother for a more honest dialogue and she never replied...

To my friend who was ghosted by her birth mum...

To my friend who discovered her adoptive dad gave up a son for adoption 15 years before he adopted her...

To my friend who didn’t find any biological family until he was 76...

To my friend whose adoptive brother destroyed the letters his birth mother sent before he had a chance to read them...

To my friend who had never met her birth mum until she went to her funeral in handcuffs with a police escort...

To my friend whose adoptive mum knew her birth mother’s name but didn’t tell her while she was searching...

To my friend who travelled from America to Greece to meet her birth family...

To my friend who travelled to Korea to meet her biological father but neither of them speak the other one’s language...

To my friend who grew up black in 1980s Sweden...

To my friend who found Irish heritage but was told she can’t celebrate St Patrick’s Day because she is ‘not really Irish’...

To my friend who was told her birth mother died but she is not sure how to verify if this is true as it was an international adoption...

To my friend who never worked after having her four children because she couldn’t bear to be away from them...

To my friend whose birth mother was raped and was never able to tell a single friend that she had a daughter who was adopted…

To my friend who is extra close to her adoptive family but afraid to say in case it upsets other adoptees...

To my friend who travelled with his birth mother to the exact place in Europe that he was conceived 40 years ago...

To my friend who knew his adoptive brother’s birth mother reached out to him but their adoptive parents threw the letter away...

To my friend who first held hands with her father age 29 and felt something deeply spiritual...

To my friend whose birth mother ‘joked’ that she can’t stand children...

To my friend who almost went on Long Lost Family despite big reservations because he was so desperate for answers...

To my friend who found out in his late 20s he was adopted...

To my friend who had a birthday card through the post telling her she was adopted ...

To my friend who was turned away for counselling because the therapist wasn’t Ofsted-registered...

To my friend who decided not to become a parent because she was still processing her adoption...

To my friend who was told she looked like someone and discovered it was a half sister living locally...

To my friend who saw on her paperwork that  her birth mother was described as ‘educationally subnormal’...

To my friend who found her sister on Facebook and when they met they were wearing the same outfit...

To my friend whose birth father can only call her on his way to work so his wife doesn’t find out...

To my friend whose half brother wrote and performed a song about ‘bastards’ after she made contact...

To my friend who was adopted with his sister but the adoptive parents kept her and put him back into Care...

To my friend whose little brother was ‘removed’ by social services at age 8 and adopted, leaving the brother age 10 behind...

To my friend whose adoptive parents didn’t allow him to have contact with his biological siblings in case he didn’t bond with his adoptive sister...

To my friend who doesn’t know how many brothers and sisters she has...

To my friend who went to meet her birth father in prison knowing he was charged with murder...

To my friend who travelled by herself to the Middle East to find relatives and answers...

To my friend who didn’t know she was Jewish until her 30s...

To my friend who sobbed his way through his first adoptee support group...

To my friend who identifies with her birth name more than her adoptive name but is too scared to change it in case it upsets anyone...

To my friend who has been caring for his elderly birth mother for years without his adoptive family knowing ...

To my friend whose adoptive family said she was weird when she came out of the fog...

To my friend who has stopped reading fiction because the adoption-insensitive landmines are everywhere ...

To my friend who only feels like her ‘non-trauma self’ after two glasses of wine but then the next day feels like she should never have been born ...

To my friend whose knows her birth mother regularly searches for her online but she hasn’t actually reached out ...

To my friend who was invited to her half-sister’s wedding but not asked to be in the family photos ...

To my friend who was told by her local authority that they couldn’t help her search as her birth mother was of ‘unusual ethnicity’ ...

To my friend who spent three weeks perfecting a letter to her birth mother but despite it being received she never heard back...

To my friend whose birth mother died without revealing the name of her birth father ...

To my friend who was told by social services to let sleeping dogs lie when she enquired about finding her first mother ...

To my friend who was told that older adoptees are making things worse for younger adoptees with all their moaning as it’s putting prospective adopters coming forward ...

To my friend who waited a year for her files to find most of it was redacted ...

To my friend who asked for medical information to be the law for adoptees and their children and was told that birth parents right to privacy is more important ...

To everyone who is handling microagressions, microrejections and more...

To everyone who has fought and battled the system and societies expectations to have difficult conversations and push for their rights to find clues to their identity and put together the pieces of their story. To everyone who has managed to find some joy from a relationship whether that’s with birth family, adoptive family or a family they have created themselves (including friends). You deserve this joy. Soak it up. And remember to always nurture your relationship with yourself.

We should not have to do this alone. We should not have to pay our own money for searching, mediation, dna tests etc or wait over a year to see our records. And this is in the UK - in other countries it’s even more difficult and sometimes impossible to ever get any information, particularly when it comes to transracial adoption.

I would love it if you felt able to add your thoughts, comments or wishes below…

Image Omar Lopez on Unsplash https://unsplash.com/@omarlopez1

What is EMDR and why can it be helpful for adopted people? guest blog from David Benjamin

David Benjamin was adopted at six weeks old in the North East of England in 1972. His journey to finding his birth family is complete, this has given him the passion and experience to help others in his work. He is a qualified therapist and has sat on adoption and foster panels for the local authority for the past 10 years. He regularly tells his story to prospective adopters.

So what is EMDR and how can it help adoptees?

In the 1980s, American psychologist Francine Shapiro became interested in the connection between eye movement and the affect of persistent traumatic memories. She assumed that eye movements had a desensitizing effect on traumatic memories, and when she experimented with this she found that others also had the same response. She began a lifelong study developing what is now commonly known as Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing therapy. EMDR therapy is designed to resolve unprocessed traumatic memories in the brain.

According to Laurel Parnell, (who developed ‘Attachment focused EMDR’), “A trauma is an experience that causes one to develop erroneous beliefs about oneself or the world and to behave in ways that are not skillful”. For example, a child who is abused may come to believe that the world isn’t safe. They may have difficulty thriving in intimate relationships.

Trauma expert Bessel van der Kolk explains in his book ‘The Body Keeps The Score’, “We have learned that trauma is not just an event that took place sometime in the past; it is also the imprint left by that experience on the mind, brain, and body.”

Our brains have a natural way to recover from traumatic memories and events. This process involves communication between the amygdala (the switch triggered by stressful events), the hippocampus (which assists with learning, including memories about safety vs danger), and the prefrontal cortex (which regulates our behaviour and emotion). While many times traumatic experiences can be managed and resolved spontaneously, or with a talking therapy, sometimes the ‘stickiness’ may need to be processed with a therapy such as EMDR - which moves the trauma information from being dysfunctional to functional; it allows the cognitive and emotional parts of the brain to be online at the same time which speeds up processing. Often talking therapies may not work as they can take the person too deeply back into the trauma thus creating even more distress.

Stress responses are part of our natural instincts. When distress from a disturbing event remains, the upsetting images, thoughts, and emotions may create an overwhelming feeling of being back in that moment, or a perception of not being safe in the present. EMDR therapy helps the brain process these memories, and allows normal healing to resume. If the therapy is successful, the experience can still be remembered, but the fight, flight, or freeze response from the original event is resolved. Many people I’ve worked with describe it like they are trying to remember the feelings around the incident but it feels distant, like it’s behind them and they can no longer grasp it, and the triggers that once controlled their day-to-day lives have disappeared.

The trauma that adoptees have experienced is beyond huge. The adoption of a child is a single event, fixed in time, with a beginning and an end. However, the impact  is far-reaching—a process that continues throughout the life of the adoptee. Removed, often as a very small child, from their mother, the safety-inducing sounds and smells which the infant responds to in that supernatural attachment between a mother and child is brutally broken. That baby or child must feel terror beyond words, given away to strangers, experiencing unfamiliar sounds and smells, the child will perceive this to be a dangerous situation. Even as adults we struggle with too much change, but this early relinquishment catapults things far into the severe trauma realm in an infant brain that is years from full development and resilience. For many adoptees, the trauma happened before we developed the language to explain the events, so our memories are primarily somatic, stored in our nervous system.

These experiences become fixed in the body and mind in the form of ‘irrational’ emotions and physical symptoms, taken forward into adulthood. Children can’t process these feelings on their own in the absence of therapeutic interventions, and post-adoption services are lacking, at best, outside of the private therapy sector. 

The affect of trauma is sticky, like the static when a balloon is rubbed on your clothes and it attaches to you. When the static is discharged the balloon falls to the floor, it is just a balloon…when the affect of trauma is gone, it is just a memory that can be thought about without the woosh of emotion or panic, the triggers disappear and a new freedom can be lived. That’s what EMDR does. I imagine our brain as if it has lots of little filing cabinet drawers that slam shut full of whatever trauma we have experienced, EMDR teases open a specific drawer and allows the effect of the trauma to escape our brain. 

I would recommend EMDR therapy to adoptees and anyone who has experienced trauma that is affecting them in the present day. Make sure you find a therapist you click with - a good therapeutic relationship is essential as trust between the two parties needs to be strong. In my opinion, the client should never be allowed to leave the therapy room in a distressed state, so I normally use visualisation resourcing exercises to calm emotions. 

EMDR therapy does not require talking in detail about the distressing issue, in fact a person embarking on EMDR therapy doesn’t have to actually remember the specific incident. Indeed, how can we remember what happened in the early days of life? ‘Floating’ back in our minds to the earliest memory of whatever feeling we are experiencing and focusing on that as the ‘target’ memory is enough for EMDR therapy to be successful. EMDR targets the unprocessed memory at the same time as the emotions, beliefs about ourselves, and associated body sensations. Bilateral stimulation (left and right movements - generally eye movements or tapping) activates the brain’s information processing system, allowing the old memories to be digested or reprocessed and stored in an adaptive way. I often use buzzers that the client holds one in each hand that pulse left and right, any bilateral stimulation is effective. Subjective Units of Distress (SUDS) are scored at the beginning and the end of the therapy and the goal is to see a shift in the bodily feelings and the overall levels of disturbance to a more adaptive state.

I hope this has been helpful and debunked EMDR somewhat!

David Benjamin

www.davidbenjamintherapy.com

Photo by Marina Vitale on Unsplash

A letter to 13-year old me from adoptee Kate

I was recently asked by my therapist to write to a younger me. I am sharing because I wish I’d heard this letter back then, but maybe they might help an Adoptee struggling now.

My therapist asked me to choose an age on the spot & 13 jumped out, before I had time to second guess myself or choose an ‘easy’ option.

I soon recognised this felt like an impossible task.

This was my opportunity to connect with my younger self, to actually engage with her & validate her reality. A reality which I have steadfastly kept myself disconnected from for decades. 13 is such a tough age for anyone, but especially my 13 yr old self, unknowingly carrying the traumatic experience of infant separation & adoption.

(I feel I need to add a clarifier here: I experienced no abuse in my childhood, I was raised in a loving, open & honest family, I was given all info available at age appropriate moments (my 13th birthday being the one where I learned the most), and yet I still seriously struggled).

I spent the week procrastinating, avoiding & stressing about this letter, until one hour before the session… 

Then I reached out to #adopteetwitter. Support flowed (as always 💛) & so did my thoughts.


I am a domestic infant adoptee (DIA), born in 1980 in Ireland.

I was adopted at 11 days old. 

I always knew I was adopted. 

I always knew I was loved.

I always struggled.

This is a letter I wish I had read when I was 13 years old & struggling the most.



Dear 13 year old me 

Hi! You don’t know me but I know you. I’m who you grow into. I wanted to share some thoughts with you. Things I’ve thought about that might help you over the coming years 💛

I have found writing this letter has been so difficult as I don’t want to let you down & I know you could do with some love & support, & most importantly understanding & validation.

I am sitting here looking at darkened fields & feeling the wind on my skin remembering one of my first scout camps at 13 years old. Sitting in a field watching the full Spring moon rise. Sitting with my thoughts and feelings for hours (it felt like). Feeling so disconnected from the people around me. The scout troop’s religious ceremony, clearly bonding them all in a ritual I didn’t understand or feel connected to, reminding me I was going home to people who I didn’t feel understood me, or fully connected to, (although I felt very much loved by them). 

I still remember feeling so alone, adrift, anchor-less.

That feeling you have of never belonging? Never fitting in?
Disconnected?
Never being good enough? 
Always being misunderstood in your emotional responses? 
Ugly? 
Socially & emotionally clumsy? 
Always 2 steps behind? 
They’re normal feelings, and they’re ok. I’ve learned that Adopted people often feel this way because we have to make sense of a serious traumatic start in life, we learn to internalise the loss of our mother. How else can we make sense of it all? 💛

It’s strange to speak of adoption having any negative effects. It really changed my life when I started to recognise that it’s ok to criticise adoption. That adoption is inherently traumatic and continues to cause a lot of harm, mentally & emotionally, throughout our lives.

That doesn’t stop it feeling awful, & devastating & lonely right now, but it has helped me a lot to know that no one lives with being adopted without these kind of feelings.

Firstly, & perhaps most importantly: 
YOU ARE NOT BROKEN.
You are not defective.
You are not unworthy.

I know the people around you seem like they have it all together, that they instinctively fit in. A lot of that is smoke & mirrors. No one really knows who they are as a teenager, but you do know what you’re not:

You are not unwanted
you are not unloved
You are not unlikeable
You are not dishonest
You are not unkind
You are not un-generous (with attention, time or materials)
You are not mean
You are not cruel
You are not patronising 
You are not ugly.

All of these hard times are helping you to grow into a kind & thoughtful person, who reaches out to look after other people.

But you don’t need to look after other people to have value or worth, you don’t need to be useful to be accepted.

You have more to bring than your usefulness.

People around you may not now see value in these traits, but you will find your way to people who will value and cherish these things about you.

There’s a whole world out there & you will find your way, but right now it all feels really rubbish. 

It doesn’t stop feeling rubbish for quite a while, but focus on what’s right for you, do things you love to do, learn things you want to learn, & know that in a few short years you will be in control of your own destiny.

All the sadness, the grief, the emotional knife edge of expecting the worst from people, not being able to express yourself safely & knowing you can’t be understood by those around you, (despite their best efforts)… these feelings are valid and they matter, you are not as alone as you feel.

Getting angry is a healthy response to all of the micro aggressions & lack of validation. Although those around you don’t understand or recognise it, your anger is necessary, you need a relief valve.

The shame that comes after an outburst is tied to others not understanding you. The shame is theirs that they cannot connect or engage with your grief. You do not need to carry their expectations (of how to cope with your loss, & adoption IS loss) or their limitations (due to lack of understanding or lack of ability to understand). That’s on them. 

Be kind to yourself.

We spend our entire lives with only one person, ourselves. We have to learn to love ourselves. We owe it to ourselves to be kind to ourselves. Everyone else will come and go, but we are the constant. Always try to do what’s right for you (without intentionally hurting anyone obviously), this is YOUR life 💛 You are worthy 💛

When it all gets too much, and the sadness is unbearable, please think of your future self sending you loving empowering hugs 💛

I carry you with me everywhere I go, you are a part of me, & someday you’ll connect with others who understand exactly what you’re feeling. 

You’re not alone 💛 

Lots of love,

Me xxx



Sending Hugs to all my fellow Adoptees & their 13 year old selves 💛

Image credit: https://unsplash.com/@anniespratt

6 recommendations for the JCHR re the inquiry into Treatment of unmarried mothers and their babies aka adoptees: Pam Hodgkins MBE oral evidence to The Joint Committee on Human Rights

Today, 16th March 2022, UK Parliament hears the evidence of birth mothers, first families and adopted people as part of the Inquiry into the Historic Treatment of Unmarried Mothers

Thank you to everyone who filled in the inquiry with their evidence. You can watch the proceedings here (live only on 16 March 2022)

Pam Hodgkins MBE has agreed to share the evidence she would have been submitting today in Parliament - before she was abruptly removed from the proceedings - with no explanation.

I hope the members of the JCHR will read the following carefully:

Can you tell us a little about your childhood?

I had a wonderful childhood having been adopted by a couple who were open armed, open hearted and utterly honest. They considered themselves very lucky to have me as their daughter, ensuring I knew I was special to them and that were so grateful to my birth mother Mary for allowing them to adopt me.

When were you told that you were adopted? What were you told about your birth mother and the reasons for your adoption?

I have no recollection of being told I was adopted; I have always known, so presumably the word adopted was commonly spoken in a positive manner before I was verbal. I was told my mother, Mary, was not able to bring me up as she did not have a daddy like ours to help her. Simplistic but positive. Each night I was taught to conclude my bedtime prayers with ‘God Bless, Mummy, Daddy, Mary and Me.’

What can you tell us about your birth mother’s experience of being an unmarried mother and your subsequent adoption?

I learned that my birth mother had realized she was pregnant over Christmas 1950. She did not return to my birth father and their shared theatrical digs in London but remained at her family home in North Lincolnshire. Her mother, very middle class, was determined no-one, including Mary’s father, should learn of this disgrace so she arranged for Mary to go away before her pregnancy was obvious to stay with a clergyman and his family in Essex, who had previously been their curate and next door neighbour. My maternal grandmother began making plans for my adoption via The Church of England Children’s Society but because of a family history of TB the society did not consider I would be ‘fit for adoption’ so the clergyman and GP attending my mother decided a private placement would be quicker and easier. The GP proposed my adoptive parents, a working class couple turned down by the Children’s Society and other adoption societies who cited the lack of indoor bathroom. When the clergyman told my grandmother he had only been able to find a working class couple she is reported to have retorted ‘So what, the father was working class – that is why we are in this mess!’ The plan included Mary returning to stay with the clergyman and his family after my birth until I could be placed for adoption at six weeks but because it was summer, during the time my mother was in hospital following my birth her brother, a doctor in Kingston and his wife who had 2 small daughters and a six-month-old baby son announced he and his family would be arriving at the family home on Sunday 28 July for their summer holiday. My grandmother realized that it would be inexplicable for Mary not to be there to play with her nieces and coo over her new nephew, so she hastily arranged for me to be taken to the identified prospective adopters at 10 am that Sunday morning direct from the hospital while she hired a car to drive her and Mary directly home in a race to get there before her son and his family arrived.

Having parted with her baby that morning Mary was expected to play the part of doting aunt by teatime the same day. This all clearly indicates that Mary had absolutely no control over events, and that her views were probably not even asked for, let alone acted upon. When my mother lay dying some 44 years later, her best friend from drama school and I sat either side of her bedside, her friend Margaret recalled the time I was born; Mary had confided in her behind her mother’s back and they had sent each other coded messages. Three days after arriving home Mary had gone out to a public phone box and called Margaret secretly, begging her to think of a viable excuse to call Mary to her home to get her away from the doting aunt role was tearing her apart. Margaret called the family home, the ‘emergency’ she had dreamed up was accepted as a reason for Mary to depart; Margaret recalled the nights she spent holding Mary as she wept for her baby. The actions of my Grandmother were replicated by many others, people who placed their ‘good name’ and respectable status way above their own daughter’s well-being and happiness.

The impact on Mary was lifelong. Her mother’s plan worked, her father and brother did not know what had happened to her. No one in their community found out and when a local Alderman’s son ‘courted’ her and wanted to marry her, she confided to him her disgraceful past; he told her she was pretty enough for him to overlook that and he would still marry her. For the rest of her life she remained grateful to him for this willingness to marry her. Their marriage would appear to an onlooker today to be one of coercive control. He accepted the subservience of Mary as his right, and of course this attitude impacted on their daughters, she was there to serve. Many years later actual physical abuse of Mary by her youngest daughter which resulted in a broken nose was blamed on Mary for ‘upsetting H’. She loved them all and never complained. I complain on her behalf.

My mother breast fed the two daughters of her marriage. She asked the GP for ‘something to dry up her milk’ after my birth, so her recent delivery would not be visible to her brother and his wife – a nurse. She was given medication, and a repeat dose after a couple of days as she was still leaking milk. When in her 60s she developed breast cancer, her consultant was surprised; her notes described her long term breast feeding of two babies, considered a very protective factor against Breast Cancer. There were no notes of her first pregnancy and the treatment to stop lactation. She later told me of this and added ‘Old sins cast long shadows’. My birth and adoption cast a lifelong shadow over her life, the bright young girl who dreamed of being an actress and could recite the entire works of Shakespeare became a nervous shadow of her once vivacious self, loved especially by Margaret and my birth father and me. I hope her immediate family loved her, I know the elder of my two sisters did and I expect they all did but in a way that played on her self-sacrifice of herself

In what ways do you feel the experiences you have described affected your right to family life under Article 8 of the ECHR, as we know it today?

In my childhood I enjoyed a family life that would be the envy of many, I expect that to the outside world, Mary, her husband and their two little girls also appeared to be the ideal image of family life. What we were both deprived of was the chance to be mother and daughter together. Was it the state that took away our right to family life together? The obvious culprit is my maternal grandmother and her obsession with respectability, but one could ask why did she feel that she had to sacrifice the happiness of her daughter to ensure she was still ‘marriageable’ – she was 200 years beyond being Jane Austen’s Mrs Bennet, but one fears Mary was perceived as at least as deviant as the feckless Lydia Bennet.

Have you traced family members? What was that experience like?

I contacted my birth mother Mary in early 1982. I thought I needed medical background as I had suffered a very serious illness linked to TB! I obtained my original birth certificate by simply calling the District Registrar in the town where I was born and asking for it. I had ‘always’ known my birth name and my mother’s name so I had no need to use the recently introduced ‘Access to Birth Records’ provision. My mother and I had a relationship from that time, until her death in 1995, that was of great importance to us both but fraught with tension as her husband resented the very fact I existed. Initially there were no plans for my half-sisters to learn of my existence, Mary’s husband vetoed the suggestion it may be best to be open, but the elder of them discovered a letter I had written to my mother at the school where she taught, an arrangement we had, and the secret was out. At the insistence of Mary’s husband my connection to the family was still kept secret from everyone else in their circle until Mary was dying. I made contact with her brother; I was so concerned for her well-being. I enjoyed a warm, open and enduring relationship with my aunt and uncle for the remainder of their lives and their adult children are some of my closest friends and relatives today. My actual relationship to my mother in so far as her community were aware only became public on the day of her funeral – a sides-person insisted on making a list of names, and relationship, of everyone entering the church for funeral. I was holding the hand of my 7 year old daughter, the first funeral she has attended, if I had not been asked I would not have told, but I was not going to lie in those circumstances, my reply was ‘eldest daughter, son in law, grandson and granddaughter’. My mother’s widower and I have not spoken since, and neither do I have any communication with Mary’s youngest daughter. I do have a relationship with my other sister and one nephew who is somewhat estranged from his mother – the youngest daughter.

Mary told me who my father was and who he married, an actress who had achieved much more success than either Roy or Mary, but through her agent I was able to make contact with Roy, my birth father. Roy was a ‘character’, think Victor Meldrew in ‘One Foot in the Grave’ and you will have an approximation of Roy. The relationship with him lasted from 1982 until his death in 2017. I sat by his bedside on 14 June, the sunny day following the Grenfell Fire and realized I would never forget this day his life slipped away after 89 years, a date marked by public history but also the day on which my adoptive father would have celebrated his 100th birthday had he enjoyed a much longer life than that cut short when he was only 56. Without doubt Roy embraced me, and my family, as his daughter, son in law and grandchildren. My children enjoyed the most amazing times with a grandfather who was truly unique, reckless and great fun. Were we deprived of our right to family life? Yes, and what a good thing we were. As a 23 years old bi-sexual, temperamental, out of work actor in 1951, tied to a woman who adored him, but who was to him just a very pretty face, Roy would have been an unreliable parent, not a patch on my loving and beloved Dad. BUT as someone to find in adulthood and share a very special father and daughter relationship he was wonderful, and I loved him dearly. At his son’s, my brother’s wedding we were family, at Roy’s funeral we shared duty as his children. The openness we shared so much better than the secrecy demanded by Mary’s husband.

In what way do you think your experiences reflect those of other people who were adopted in the 1950s, 60s and 70s?

I think the reasons for my adoption were prevalent throughout the 50’s, 60’s and well into the 70’s. The adoption of the baby of an unmarried mother by a married couple who were involuntarily childless was simply what happened. However, there the commonality probably ends. Adoption agencies had developed a notion of secrecy facilitated by the option of serial numbers to conceal the identity of adopters from birth mothers within the 1948 Act. My adopters, rejected by adoption societies, simply did what felt right, without preparation or instruction they ‘knew’ openness and honesty was best, that adoption was something no one should be ashamed about. In a curious way it was their behaviour that I was advocating to prospective adopters, as a social worker, 30 odd years later. I think the shame and disgrace showered on birth mothers transferred to their infants and unfortunately many adoptees grew up in its shadow. I am sure it devalued their sense of self. I do not deny I had some ‘issues’ as a teenager, but were they teenage angst or adoption issues? I cannot say. It probably disappoints adoption enthusiasts that no I will not endorse adoption as wonderful, but at the other extreme, neither will I claim it ruined my life, because it did not. We only get one life, I hope I have, and am, making the most of mine.

How can you, and other adopted people and their parents be better supported today?

I am pleased to assure you that I am not in need of any particular support at this stage of my lifetime as an adopted person. However I am extremely mindful of the unmet needs of many adopted people and birth parents, particularly ageing birth mothers, who are in desperate need of services that can be delivered locally, promptly, without unaffordable charges. Services that the 2002 Adoption Act suggested would be available to everyone who needed them but which a decade plus of austerity has reduced to few and very far between.

I hope the committee members will consider my personal experience relevant and useful but the primary reason I wanted to give oral evidence to you was to show you what small amendments and proposals the committee might recommend to the government which for minimal cost could make an enormous positive difference for this elderly cohort who have suffered so much and who now fear time may be running out.

I understand that a supplementary paper I provided at the written evidence stage of this enquiry has been published. This contains full details of these proposals; I, and colleagues with whom I have been working – all of us dedicated volunteers giving our time freely to this cause – will be please to meet with all or any of the committee to expand on our proposals, likewise we extend our offer to work with the appropriate departmental ministers and officials to work up these proposals into practical steps to radically improve service provision.

The key provisions we wish to see implemented are:-

1. Requiring every local authority and adoption agency to advise the Registrar General of all vetoes presently registered by the agency and to subsequently advise the Registrar General of any new vetoes placed

2. The Registrar General to maintain a comprehensive register of vetoes for England and Wales, updated by any new information provided by a LA or adoption agency. The Registrar General to link this data to his existing registers that link birth and adoption entries. The Registrar General to advise any intermediary agency of the existence of a veto and the agency where that veto is recorded, or to confirm no veto is recorded, in every case before the intermediary agency moves on to intermediary work.

3. NHS Digital Back Office Function to restore the enquiry service offered prior to the pandemic which enabled an intermediary agency to enquire if the adopted person or birth relative sought was known to have already died in England or Wales. The service also confirmed if the person sought was currently registered with a GP, this positive information is very reassuring to a relative, especially when it is the only positive information they have.

4. Change the regulations so in cases involving the adoption of an infant under one year of age who had been ‘relinquished’ for adoption prior to May 1984, and where the RG has confirmed no veto, the intermediary agency may assume the Appropriate Adoption Agency view to be neutral unless anything arising in the intermediary process suggests otherwise.

5. The requirements for persons deemed to be ‘qualified workers’ in the context of intermediary work to be changed to people with suitable skills, knowledge and training who are working under the close supervision of a social worker or diploma qualified counsellor with at least two years post qualifying experience.

6. The availability of supportive and therapeutic work with adults over the age of 25, (those who are completely outside the scope of services that may be provided via the adoption support fund) should no longer be restricted to those counsellors and therapists working as, on behalf of, or in an adoption agency or adoption support agency. Counsellors and therapist work to high professional standards regulated by their professional bodies, in all other areas their capacity to work with any presenting client will be a matter for their professional judgment; they will recognize the need to refer on to specialist services if presenting issues, or those that later arise are found to be outside their own area of competence. It is important to trust the judgment of these professionals and provide adopted adults and birth relatives with the right to choose a counsellor or therapist with whom they have the confidence to address their support and therapeutic needs without prejudging that suitability dependent upon the work setting. It must also be acknowledged that whilst adoption is a significant factor in the life of everyone affected, it is not the only factor. The choice of service providers for those whose lives have been touched by adoption must not be restricted by statutory regulation linked solely to the adoption.

What will making these changes achieve?

Proposal 1-4 will all streamline the time consuming, and expensive processes that are currently required in order for any agency to offer intermediary service. In some cases potential service users have died whilst waiting for an agency to undertake all the requirements, gaining a response from the designated Appropriate Adoption Agency, or locating the relative sought. Many more of the cohort the JCHR committee is focused upon will also die before they receive the service they need if the regulations are not changed.

As well as the delays to providing the service each step adds to the cost for the agency, costs that are usually passed on to the service user. Anything that reduces the cost will increase the opportunity to access service for those least able to afford current costs. There are few, if any, agencies offering complete intermediary service for less that £500, the average cost within the non-commercial sector is frequently approaching £1,000, in the private sector fees that are double or triple that amount are the norm. Even a relatively well off occupational pensioner may struggle to find such a large cost, for the poorer pensioner living on just state pension and pension credit the cost is prohibitive, and most of the people the JCHR is considering are now pensioners.

Proposal 5 will open up a ‘reserve army’ of exceptional volunteers to once again become service providers. These will include retired professionals who undertook intermediary and related tasks in their roles as adoption social workers, who became frustrated by the competing demands for increasing adoption numbers, supporting children and families in placement and still trying to juggle the needs of adults from the ‘historic adoption era’ the JCHR is reviewing. These people will give their time and skills willingly if they are given the freedom to work flexibly, to control their own caseloads and provide the level of support and time they consider appropriate to achieve the best possible outcomes, which in turn leads to intense job satisfaction, the only reward the volunteers are seeking. Likewise there is a large pool of highly experienced and trained volunteers who previously volunteered for AAA-NORCAP and After Adoption who were lost to this area of service when the organizations for whom they volunteered went into liquidation due to the impact of austerity in the past 10 years. They are ready and waiting, and refresher training delivered via Zoom could bring them back into useful and timely service.

Proposal 6 remedies at a stroke the critical shortage of therapist and counsellors available to those who have been impacted by adoption alongside all the other issues and trauma they may encounter during a lifetime. It also ends the frustrating and enduring experience of almost all adopted people – we are treated as adopted children for ever. Unless it has been changed, as I suggested, your programme will tell you that you are to hear from two Birth Mothers followed by two Adopted Children! Despite our adoption we grow up, we become adults, adopted adults, but people who can and should be allowed to make our own decisions.

Thank you for taking the time to read my evidence. I am sorry not to be allowed to present this to you in person on Wednesday 16 March, but I hope I may have the opportunity to discuss these issues and proposals with all or some of you shortly.

Thank you

Pam Hodgkins MBE

Adopted person

Founder of AAA-NORCAP BA (Hons) CQSW, AASW

Photo by Aditya Romansa on Unsplash

Learning to steer my own kayak through the adoption fog - guest post from Chloe Morrison

‘When you negotiate a kayak through sea caves, or negotiate your way along a hiking trail —in other words, when you successfully travel in the direction you need to go—what are you doing? You’re steering. In my work, I teach that negotiation is any conversation in which you are steering a relationship.’

                                                                        — Alexandra Carter, Ask For More, pg. 5

I guess you could say that growing up I was the cliched “grateful adoptee”. People pleasing, academically achieving, and totally unbelieving of the possibility that there might be anything more to having been adopted than the fact that I didn’t look like my parents or my also adopted brother. 

I was chronically shy though. My heart would race at the thought of speaking to someone else who wasn’t tightly woven into my inner circle. I’d send my brother to ask for the ketchup at restaurants, I’d almost rather wet myself than have to face the embarrassment of interrupting a conversation to go to the bathroom. At school I’d follow along with the lesson, the cogs of my brain working overtime to know the right answer, just in case I was asked, but each year the comments from my teachers would be the same: she’s such a bright child, we just wish she’d put her hand up. 

My life was controlled by fears and anxieties, and yet I very seriously believed that being an adoptee was just a little quirk about myself that I would happily share if prompted, but rarely spoke about of my own accord. People’s responses would surprise me when I told them: words of ‘wow, that’s so sad’ as they spluttered through their unsolicited tears. Or, they would concoct intricate plans for when we’d go and find my bio family together, and how they’d support me through the whole process, and oh wow, isn’t this all just so exciting!! Like a fairytale!! 

And then I’d laugh at them for being too sensitive, too unaware of the fact that everything is fine, and I’m so lucky, and can you imagine? My birth mum was probably horrible anyway, and my parents are the best in the world, and what are you even talking about? I don’t want to find my bio family, that would hurt my ‘real’ family, and I would never hurt them because I’m a doting daughter who loves her parents with every ounce of her being, and anyway stop talking about it because I’m absolutely fine. No, seriously, I’m just fine thanks. 

And then I got pregnant. 

I was 23, living in London, studying for a PhD at a well known public health School. A historian scrambling amongst medics, scientists, and public health practitioners. They say imposter syndrome is so inevitable it’s practically part of the initiation into academia. And there I was, even further from belonging in this world of rigid categories and formulaic seeking of objective truths, while I frantically tried to create a home built from nuance and complexity, wading through the murky depths of the “grey area”. An imposter unbelonging even to the rest of the imposters. Funny that, so eerily familiar.

So, when I found out I was pregnant I felt compelled, for the first time, to find out about my bio family. For the sake of my baby. And in strictly medical terms, of course— at least, that’s what I told myself, and everybody else. And I guess you could say that this was when it all began to unravel. Slowly, quietly. Invisibly, at first. I was initially pre-occupied with the anatomical realities of growing a baby inside me. Then, the practical realities of becoming a parent. Where should we get the pram from? What colour should we paint the nursery? When should we have the baby shower? 

It wasn’t until early 2020, when my son was 6 weeks old, that I plucked up the courage to call PAC-UK requesting my adoption file. Then I was put on a waiting list. Then I waited. Between February and June I didn’t think about it much more, because then the pandemic happened and I, myself, unravelled into a mental state that I wouldn’t wish upon anyone. Then they called me to let me know that I had been assigned a counsellor and they would be in touch soon. Then it all fell apart. 

Over the course of just more than a year, from October 2020 to January 2022, I journeyed through “the fog” and found my way out of it. I’ve heard the phrase “coming out of the fog” thrown around as part of the adoptee vernacular, and I’ve also heard it contested as a term too simplistic and perhaps even subtly damaging to the overall community. And, based on my own experiences, I’d like to add something to the conversation. 

But first, some context. My partner is Australian, and we met in Brisbane. He moved to the UK to be with me for the birth of our son in November 2019. By November 2020, we had moved to Australia to find a more stable life together as a small family, where my partner could find work and I could breathe a little easier away from the scariness of covid. I came off maternity leave in January 2021, and by September I had withdrawn from my studies. 

I’d started seeing a therapist the month before, and it only took me a few weeks with the right support to realise that I’d already made the decision to quit, long, long ago. I just hadn’t validated my own instincts and needs, instead desperately clinging onto the status and pride that might come with being Dr. Morrison. Not because it set my soul alight (though I absolutely loved being a historian and all the amazing discussions I was privileged to have), but because it would buy me infinite approval from the whole entire world. Or so I thought. 

Making the decision to drop out was the most freeing and liberating decision I have ever made. Instantly, I felt a weight lift off my entire being and for the first time in years I could actually relax. And now, being far away from the wounds of my past in this present life I was living on the other side of the world, I realised that it was all on me now. 

What did I want to do next? Who am I now that I’m not a PhD student anymore? I soon realised that for the first time in my life I’d ditched the script and had freed myself to write whatever I wanted to next. And this terrified me. I soon then realised that I have no idea who I am. At all. Oh no, I thought, as I trembled in horror, have I just lost everything I’ve worked so hard for? All the while, I was also learning about another past that had been left far behind on the other side of the world: my adoption. 

To get through this spiritual awakening-cum-dark night of the soul, or whatever you want to call that feeling which epitomises “coming out the fog,” I read a lot of soul-searching books. And, more recently, I started Ask For More by Columbian law professor Alexandra Carter. Within only a few pages I was struck by the power of her message. Trained first as a mediator, she shares her tips on how to negotiate exactly what you want: in life, in business, in relationships, in and for whatever your heart desires. Literally. 

I opened this essay with a quote from one of the first pages of the book. She argues that ‘negotiation is any conversation in which you are steering a relationship’. Then she asks: 

What happens to the kayak if we stop steering? We keep moving, but maybe not in the direction we want. Outside forces like the wind and water will carry us away. And the kayak metaphor tells us one more thing about negotiation: You need the right information to steer with accuracy. You can’t close your eyes and ears and expect to arrive at your destination. You need to watch the waves and feel the direction of the wind. Everything you see, hear, and feel helps you steer with accuracy toward your goal.’ Pg. 5

It stopped me in my tracks. Have I ever steered my own kayak before? Was dropping out the first time I’ve taken the paddles and took control for myself? 

Wait a second, does adoption necessarily preclude you from the ability to steer your own kayak at all? 

Listen to what she says: ‘You need the right information to steer with accuracy. You can’t close your eyes and ears and expect to arrive at your destination.’ As adoptees we have never had the right information. Sure, we might be lucky enough to have our original birth certificates, some information about our parents names, personalities, traits. Maybe we even knew our families before we got adopted as older children. Each individual story is so unique I would never try to paint us all with the same brush. But, I would be so bold as to suggest that the very fact of having been adopted, at whatever age, in whatever country, does forcibly close our eyes and cover our ears to the knowledge that would optimally set us up to determine our own destinations in life. 

I know that for me, I was too busy avoiding the wounds of the adoption, the underlying grief and trauma that had weighed me down for as long as I could remember but was never fully able to acknowledge, let alone articulate. So busy, that I wasn’t even bothered about steering my own kayak. I was too busy trying not to drown. Too busy trying not to just give up and jump right out of the boat once and for all. 

Then, I made choices, bit by bit, to take back the reins of my life. Moving to the other side of the world opened up space in my mind for a complication of the narrative, which ultimately opened my eyes to the traumas and losses of adoption. Becoming a mother myself forced me to imagine, and really feel, the forced separation I’d had from my own mother as a baby. Dropping out of my PhD pushed me to paddle as hard as I could for shore as I determined, on the fly, what destination I actually wanted to arrive at. 

This experience, this book, made me consider adoption in a new light: 

Are we, as adoptees, metaphorically smuggled onto a boat late at night, blindfolded and tied up at the edges, forced to watch someone else steer the kayak designated for us, while we silently struggle and squirm in our binds? 

Once we become cognisant beings do we get handed the paddles, only to unknowingly inch closer into the eye of the storm? 

Does the fog of misty clouds that surrounds our tiny boat prevent us from ever reaching our own destination of blissful wellbeing and contentedness? 

Have we been institutionally and societally denied the possibility of negotiating our own lives this whole time?

I’ve realised that to negotiate what I want from life then I must first take control of the paddles. Then, glisten and glean whatever information I can about myself to set me on an authentic course: through reflection, journaling, therapy, somatic grounding, connecting with my bio family and heritage by whatever means I can healthily. And even before we can attempt to do all of that, as adoptees we’re forced to navigate the extra layer of fog that comes with the disenfranchising processes and institutions of adoption. Perhaps, then, it takes getting to our most raw and peeled back forms to clear the fog, take a breath and, finally, steer for ourselves. 

Read more at Chloe Morrison’s blog

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Image credit: https://unsplash.com/@blunkorama

The Alien Chameleon asks, “What do you want me to be?” - guest post by Roz Munro

One fundamental problem with being adopted is no one understands how much it feels like you are an alien. The writer and fellow adoptee, Anne Heffron puts it very simply, “You want to hear my generalized story of the adoptee in six words? ‘Something is wrong. No one understands’.”

Possibly if adopted as a young child rather than as an infant, then people would see that you had a history with your parents or foster parents, or in an institution of some kind, but I was placed for adoption in the UK immediately, with the gap of only seven weeks between birth and relinquishment and no one in those days (1967) thought that was enough time to have a history. I don’t know when it was felt that having a history started; my brother was three months old when he was placed for adoption and no one thought he had a history either, even though he had been with his first mother all that time and cried for a full day when first he came home with our adoptive mum and dad. He cried until he was exhausted and then was fractious, but no one thought about the trauma to him of losing his mother, suddenly and completely.

Another point made by Anne Heffron is this; imagine being suddenly removed from one life completely then confusingly placed somewhere unknown randomly and told to get on with it with people you do not know, where you can have no contact with your previous family or life, where if you are upset by this they simply don’t or can’t understand why. Now imagine this happening to an adult. It is called kidnapping and is a criminal offence! But that is how closed adoption works, where files are sealed, and no contact or correspondence is allowed. I know it’s different now in many modern cases, but this is how it was for my adoption.

By the time I reached mum and dad at seven and a half weeks I was on my third mother as I had been in foster care for four weeks, so the alien syndrome was already present. It is now known that new-born and young babies are responding to their mother, and she mirrors them, she smells right, and she has the other half of the bond they share, fixed before birth in the womb, the biological bond that is our animal heritage birth-right. Of course, an adoptive mother, even if she is the most loving and devoted parent can have none of these advantages, she is on the back foot before she begins.

Our biology also involves the limbic regulation that a mother provides to her baby, to soothe and to give a feeling of security - the attachment bond. This begins as part of a neurochemical hormonal bond in the womb and without it the child feels overwhelmed. It is this devastating loss at the start of life that causes a large part of the traumatised response induced by maternal separation. I imagine my little mind was full of confusion and terror, the limbic overload of trying to mirror and connect but not getting the right signals, maybe not any signals given my adoptive mum was not a cuddler or an empathetic mother and suffered with clinical depression all her life.

My baby-self needed to connect to stay alive, literally, the baby is helpless and all they have is this connection; it is a matter of survival. The baby’s responses are elements of the adaptive behaviours that adoptees use as attempts to get their needs met, they are survival responses to the relinquishment trauma suffered on loss of our mother. Nancy Verrier writes in “Coming Home to Self” about the two modes of coping that adopted children implement to manage the alien situation: acting out and acting in, i.e., defiance or emotional shut downness. She also distinguishes between these behaviours, which can define a child early on, and their true personalities that are hidden under levels of management of self: to fit in or to radically object.

Either way it is not the true self that is known to the family, or to the individual. I became a compliant baby - a “good” baby, mum said. When the Adoption Society conducted a welfare visit I was reported to be on three meals a day and sleeping through each night. I was 15 weeks old. The reptilian brain works very basically: Do as they want, and this will not endanger me. This translates in my adoptee brain as “do what is asked of you and be safe, anything else and they too might abandon you.”

This layering of behaviours and coping strategies add further silt to the difficulty of knowing, or being, oneself after the trauma and resultant brain changes of being relinquished as a baby and adopted into a biological strangers’ family. I conformed and turned into a very proficient chameleon. I continued to be a compliant and quiet child. The chameleon who asked unconsciously in every interaction or relationship “What do you want me to be?” In essence, I wanted to know what you needed me to be, so I best ensure that you stay happy, and I remain “good enough to keep”. My mum said I was easy as a younger child and young teenager; it was when I left home that I “became difficult”! I feel I was attempting to exert my independence, be myself, but that was not welcomed.

I was into my forties before I began to unravel this chameleon feeling as I worked on myself in therapy. It is a strange experience when something that feels as natural as breathing becomes obvious to you, a behaviour you previously didn’t see becomes visible - or more than that, becomes visible and feels odd. The sensation felt like I was acting outside myself; I was watching myself during interactions and I did not have control over my reaction. I literally didn’t know myself.

Much of my learning about emotional self-care has come through personal therapy. I know now I was brought up with physical care (being clothed, washed, fed) and educational needs provided, but emotionally was neglected. I am now on an ongoing path of discovery about my needs for nurturing and am trying to reparent myself and accept all the disparate psychological parts of me that formed during the early years to help me to survive the traumas and dramas of my life.

I find the early development trauma research and theories are pertinent and resonate strongly, helping me to understand my history and my reactions. For example, I discover I have lived my life in a constant state of nervous system dysregulation. (Stephen Porges and his Polyvagal Theory) This is a result of the primal wound, (Nancy Verrier) which is formed because of the separation from my first mother. Now it is more accepted that relinquishment is a trauma (Gabor Mate, or Paul Sunderland) and losing the first mother catastrophic to a baby. I have been hypervigilant and overanxious and felt the need to control my environment extremely tightly. This hyperarousal is a symptom of an overactive sympathetic nervous system and it being constantly in fight or flight. Then there is the Hypoarousal of freeze, or in the case of the chameleon the fawn response is prevalent too. These are biological responses that are triggered by early trauma (Pete Walker, 4Fs in his book Complex PTSD) and, unless mitigated with attunement to the child by the care giver, or later in therapy, remain out of conscious awareness and can ruin lives. In the dysregulated system a sense of ease or feeling safe is fleeting, and moments of connection with others are brief and feel tenuous. This is an exhausting and debilitating way to live.

As this was the water I swam in for all my life it has taken until just very recently, and with the help of a trauma informed therapist to help me, to remove my silt layers, and I am starting to break free and change these ancient habits and reactions. I am questioning my need to be quiet and pleasing, I can now choose discernment and embrace the freedom of preference; I can release the quietness that went along with the need to supress my true feelings and I am learning how to speak my truth; I am discovering more about my biological and limbic systems, and how I can learn to self-soothe and to self-regulate my emotions so I don’t remain hypervigilant and “on” for ever.

Now, I strive to keep a level of awareness that enables me to question myself and my motives for acting. I still fail spectacularly sometimes. I will find out halfway through an activity or event when I notice that I am feeling resentful. I know it’s a red flag that a part of me doesn’t want to be there.

Sometimes I will notice - a plan will be made, and I feel scared or anxious about it, then I know I am triggered by the thought of the plan somehow, and I look to spend some time reviewing what is my wish, how do I work with my anxiety and, what do I want to do? This is a work in progress.

Only now, into my fifties, can I begin to see what I need to do to honour my own wishes and move beyond my alien chameleon part. Now I can start to ask myself, “What do I want me to be?”

Image credit: the artist Becca Smith

How the peer group for adopted people began in North London

After two years online, it was time to start meeting in person again. The group I had been coordinating with Adopt North London (formerly the North London Consortium) were not yet ready to begin IRL meetings due to covid health and safety and social distancing concerns at their venue. So I decided to be brave and set up a group locally.

What had stopped me before? Honestly, because I am not a trainer therapist or social worker i was afraid of people being triggered in the group and leaving in distress, or worse. But I began to balance this risk with the number of adopted people already in distress alone with no support from their local authority and no charities or national organisations specifically for adoptees. I have also been training as a Kundalini Global yoga teacher which has taught me how to be trauma informed and how to hold a safe space. After consulting with a number of therapists, respected colleagues who work in the adoption sector, and - of course - Gilli who runs a group for adopted people in Warrington, I decided to take the plunge.

I initially approached my local library who were really enthusiastic. They offered me a room and put my posters up in the window! After announcing the group on Twitter and Instagram I had 10-12 people interested immediately. Many were from my local area - which is amazing to think we have been living close by all these years without knowing! But some were from further afield which highlighted how far people are willing to travel in the middle of a weekday, just to meet other adopted people and feel seen, heard and supported.

Sadly the library had a leak and I had five days to find another venue. I channelled my inner Anneka Rice and made a lot of calls! A gorgeous local pub offered their backroom, and the event was back on!

So far we have had two meetings IRL, with a third planned for late February. We have strict-ish group guidelines and boundaries, to help me feel confident facilitating. It feels like a warm and safe space, and we are all at the very beginning of getting to know one another.

Keep you posted! If you are reading this and you live elsewhere, please know that we are planning to have a group up and running in every town and city in the UK! Hang tight. And please support How To Be Adopted if you can. We are not looking to make money from anyone’s challenges - we believe support should be provided free and for life. But until this is a reality, we do need to cover costs.

Photos by: https://www.mvkphotography.co.uk

Happyendingfication: new show by adoptee, Yami Löfvenberg, about coming out of the fog

Happyendingfication

“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story”

Yami is coming out of the fog and she feels nothing, yup, something is definitely wrong with her, she’s sure about it.

Because this is not how the story goes, this is not the happily ever after and worst of all she doesn’t know what to wear at the end of the world, how to hug or why the TV seems to be lying to her.

An autobiographical solo written and performed by hip hop dance theatre maker and director Yami Löfvenberg.

This new work uncovers the marginalised conversation around the impacts of being an adult adoptee.

It explores trauma, stigmatization, identity and the media’s damaging portrayal of adoption.

Löfvenberg's work often tackles hard-hitting subjects with a thought-provoking darkly comedic lens using multidisciplinary artforms and this new work pushes her brilliant heartfelt storytelling to a brave new level.

Showing:

Tuesday 22 March 2022 @dancexchange

Sat 26 March 2022, 7:30pm, at The Place 17 Duke's RoadLondon WC1H 9PY UK

More info and booking

About Yami Löfvenberg
Yami is a mover who directs and director who moves, a multidisciplinary artist working between the intersection of movement, theatre and cross art. She likes to devise work with playfulness at the heart and challenge participants to explore a new take on theatre, dance, and stories whilst confronting preconceptions, stigmas, stereotypes.

Follow Yami on Twitter

The history of adoption in England and Wales by Pam Hodgkins MBE

A guide to adoption in England and Wales by adoptee and adoptee rights advocate Pam Hodgkins MBE

Pam kindly agreed for us to publish the following after a conversation about the government inquiry: The right to family life: adoption of children of unmarried women 1949-1976 Read on for a bio of Pam, who founded NORCAP.

The 1926 Adoption Act

There was no legal adoption as we know it now before the 1926 Adoption Act was implemented.  When this Bill was going through Parliament many suggested it was unwise and would lead to ‘fecklessness’ as unmarried mothers would be able to pass over all liability for their “bastard infants”.  Others claimed that severing the legal link between birth parents and their children would ‘protect the investment of the adopting parents and prevent the birth parents reclaiming the child once s/he was of ‘an age to earn a wage’. Before legal adoption some charities, concerned that people raising a child may indeed lose their investment, had earlier introduced an ‘indenture of adoption’.  This was a legally binding contract, very similar to an apprenticeship indenture.  It cost one guinea (£1.05) and each party had to pay half the cost – this resulted in one elderly woman sending me a copy of her adoption indenture with a covering letter which said “You will see from the enclosed my parents bought me for 10/6 from the Waifs and Strays.”  10/6 (ten and six) is 52.5p and the Waifs and Strays was a national charity later known as the Church of England Children’s Society, and now simply The Children’s Society.

Secrecy around adoption and birth parents’ names

There was no secrecy around adoption for the first 20 years of legal adoption in England and Wales.  The court papers, signed by each, gave the full name and address of both the adopters and the birth parent(s) named on the birth certificate.  Until the war years, courts were unwilling to make an adoption order unless the birth mother, at least, appeared at the adoption hearing, and many hearings were postponed in Birmingham to get the mother to attend.  Both the birth parents and would-be adopters….and the baby…would be in the courtroom together for the hearing.  When adoption law was reviewed post-war some of the adoption agencies suggested it would protect the adopters if they could make their application using a serial number to ensure the birth mother did not learn their names and address.  I have not found any evidence being presented as to why this was thought necessary.

Although introduced as a clause that could be used ‘when necessary’, within a very short time all agency adoption applications were being made under a serial number and the illusion of secrecy being important became firmly entrenched.  It is hard to say if the use of serial numbers became commonplace in non-agency ‘third party placements’  but I have been told by birth mothers that the person who arranged their baby’s adoption would place a piece of paper or a book over most of the document obscuring the adopters’ details, and simply instruct them to ‘sign there’.

Informally arranged adoptions

Many people do not realise that it was perfectly lawful for anyone to arrange an adoption right up until the adoption agency regulations 1983 were implemented in May 1984.  Many of those individuals making such arrangements were professionals such as doctors, clergy and lawyers but in reality anyone could do it, and there have been accounts of door-to-door tradespeople such as bakers or milk roundsmen learning of a baby whose parent – or more likely grandparent – wanted it to be adopted and also a couple on the round who wanted to adopt and therefore introduced the two parties.  The local council had to be notified by the prospective adopters and to conduct a welfare assessment, but this was only after the placement had been made.

Why the father’s name is not listed in many cases

When they first see their original birth certificate many adopted people assume that the dash across the space where the father’s details could be entered means their mother did not know who their father was.  This is untrue.  When a couple are married either of them can register the birth and give details of their spouse to the Registrar.  This is called presumed paternity.  However an unmarried woman could not name a man as the father of her child unless she had gained an affiliation order against him – i.e. a court decided that he is the father of her child. The alternative was that the father accompanied the mother to register the birth and they each gave their individual details to the Registrar and signed as informants.  This was not practicable in the 50s, 60s and into the 70s when women generally remained in hospital for 10 days after the birth and the Registrar attended the maternity unit to enable babies to be registered.  At that time visiting on maternity wards was limited to just the husband of the mother; boyfriends or fathers of babies not married to the mother were not admitted.  This made it very challenging for an unmarried father to be named on the birth certificate even if both he and the mother would have wished it.  It was not in the interests of the adoption agency to actively assist the father to be included, as if he was named on the birth certificate they would later need to gain his consent to the adoption. If he was not named only the mother had to be persuaded to consent.

Adoptive parents not sharing details of their child’s original name

It is also accepted as fact that adopted people could not have details of their original name until 1976.  This is false.  As clear from the details above all adoptive parents knew the details of the birth of the child they wished to adopt.  They had to submit a copy of the child’s birth certificate to the court as one of the documents needed when applying for an adoption order.  Some adopters thought to actually keep a copy or to copy out the details and probably few ever forgot the details on that certificate.  The key issue was would the adopters later share that information with their son or daughter?  Some may actually have believed they were not allowed to, perhaps the agency suggested that to them, but it was never true.  For adopted people whose adopters did not share their birth details with them there was no right of access to that information, but they could apply to the court for an order to be made to instruct the Registrar General to disclose their birth information to them.  It does not appear to be recorded how many made such applications and how many were successful.

Parliament debate in 1975

The debate in Parliament on 26 November 1975 was to determine if every adopted person who wished to know his/her birth details should be able to access this information without recourse to the court.  Observers recount that it was a close run thing, with passionate personal contributions from a number of Members of the House.  The provision passed once a ‘safeguard’ had been agreed that anyone adopted before the clause was passed would need to meet with a ‘counsellor’ prior to receiving the information.  There were many different interpretations of the purpose and powers linked to this requirement.  Many adopted people believed the information could be withheld if the applicant did not appear reasonable and responsible (it could not).  On just one occasion the Registrar General was concerned about an application received that he applied to the court for an order empowering him to refuse to provide the information.  The information the adopted person became entitled to receive one year after the clause passed was ‘information which would enable him/her to apply for a copy of his/her birth entry’. There was no right given to adopted people to read or receive information from the adoption file.  Luckily when Birth Records Counselling was introduced in November 1976 most social workers and agencies undertaking the statutory counselling recognised the benefit of placing information in context and did provide file information too.  The importance of this has since been emphasised by Practice Guidance issued by the government 30 years later.

Current government debate

The current debate around ‘Forced Adoptions’ is interesting and clearly Parliament has been convinced that many women who are recorded as having ‘relinquished’ their child for adoption only did so because they had been manipulated  and pressurised to do so with other options being excluded without examination.  It is likely that adoption workers, clergy and maternity service professionals will all be found to have acted in a manner in which many women now feel they were ‘forced’ to give up their babies. 

Accounts by many women of their treatment in the maternity unit and/or in Mother and Baby Homes run by religious orders and as a feeder arm to adoption agencies is horrendous, especially when judged by standards applying now, but other factors do need to be considered.  The one factor that appears to have been frequently overlooked is the support or lack of support offered to the mother by her own family.  If the extended family was supportive, some young couples could and did marry and bring up their own child.  Without the support of the father of her child many women were able to take their baby home as their own family were willing for that to happen.  In some cases, grandparents provided childcare to enable the mother to work to support herself and her child; other families simply placed the new baby in their family as the youngest child of the mother’s parents, so a Mother became de facto an older sibling and the grandparents assumed the role, responsibilities…and rights of parents, just like Kat and Zoe in the Eastenders storyline. 

Governments formally apologising to birth mothers

The first country to apologise to birth mothers was Australia, this gave impetus to the campaign here in England and Wales.  However there are significant differences in part practice.  In Australia it was common for unmarried mothers to be chloroformed at the moment of deliver and their baby removed before they saw it or knew its gender.  They were also required to give binding consent to adoption within five days of the birth, some say they were not allowed to be discharged from the hospital without doing so.

In England and Wales, although a few women do give similar reports, the law was clear a mother could not give consent to adoption until at least 42 days after delivery and in most cases up to the 1970s would have her baby in a Mother and Baby Home or return to a Home shortly after birth.  Expectant mothers were generally admitted to the Mother and Baby Home when between 24 and 28 weeks pregnant – many say before their pregnancy became obvious.  Mothers were expected to care for their babies, albeit in a regulated structure, including being encouraged to breast feed as this was recognised as best for baby.  

If a mother requested that her baby went to live with prospective adopters or foster carers before being six weeks old, the mother could change her mind and require the baby was immediately returned to her at any point until the baby was six weeks - at which point prospective adopters could make their application to adopt.  To avoid adopters being upset by mothers changing their minds, many agencies chose not to place a baby until it was six weeks old when the application to adopt could be made immediately.  Once their application was submitted the child became ‘protected’ and could not be moved without the direction of the court. During the 13 week ‘welfare supervision period’, which could not be completed until the baby was 19 weeks old (6 weeks + 13 weeks) the parent(s) had to give informed consent before a JP and, if they chose not to do so and requested the return of their baby, it seems the court would look favourably on their request.  The problem seems to have been that no one actually spent time explaining this to most unmarried mothers, or explored with them how they might find a place to live with their child and what financial support could be available to them.  No wonder so many felt forced to agree to adoption.

This article was meticulously compiled and recounted by Pam Hodgkins MBE

Pam was born to an unmarried mother whose own mother managed the situation by arranging for her daughter to live 100 miles away from home and her baby to be adopted as soon after birth as possible. The birth and pregnancy were hidden from Pam’s birth mother's own father and brother.

Pam was placed with prospective adopters, who turned out to be wonderful despite having been turned down for adoption by CECS and NCH as did not have indoor loo or bathroom. It was a private arrangement made between the attending GP and a clergyman Pam’s birth mother was sent to stay with. When told the proposed adopters were 'only working class', Pam’s maternal grandmother is reported to have said "So, the father was working class, that is why we are in this mess!"

Pam grew up surrounded by love and truth. “I cannot recall ever being told I was adopted I just grew up always knowing, so I presume the word was first used when I was still pre-verbal. Love was extended to my birth mother, who my adoptive mother always held in high regard and to whom she always felt indebted - nightly prayers were 'God Bless Mummy and Daddy and Mary wherever she is'.“

Pam made one attempt to trace her birth mother when she was aged 13/14 after a row with her Mum about the time she had to come home from a party. It was the usual, ‘My real mother would let me stay until 11pm!’ She says, “Luckily I failed at that time, but later found I was very, very close.”

Pam married and had two sons. She became unwell with a rare condition aged 30 and got worn out saying ‘I don’t know, I was adopted’ to her GP and hospital doctors asking about family history. “If it was not important why did they ask? And if it was important why did I not know?”

Pam actually traced her birth mother sic months later and had a clipboard list of questions for her. She met her, loved her, forgot her list of questions! She worried about her birth mother and feared her marriage might today be classed as coercive control. 30 years on she was still grateful to her husband for marrying her despite [her having had a baby out of wedlock] …

Pam remained in contact with her birth mother, and they remained important to each other for 13 years until she died aged 67 of secondary breast cancer. Pam is resented by her birth mother’s husband and youngest daughter and has a limited relationship with other daughter although their lifestyles and interests are too different for them to be close.

Pam has built a relationship with her birth mother's brother and his wonderful family. He and his wife are parents to five born-to children plus three adopted. As a specialist in crippling diseases of childhood, he worked on secondment to Canadian relief organisations in the most challenging places and times. Also he had a TB hip as a small child and spent five years in sanatorium where he was not expected to live to adulthood. She also has very close relationships with her cousins and actually lived close to them in Canada for 10 years.

Pam’s birth mother told her who her birth father was when they first met. She also said he subsequently married an Oscar winning actress! Pam built a relationship that has endured with her birth father and his son of that marriage. She realised he would have been an awful father when he was 23 and her adoptive dad was much better suited to that role. She says, “Roy was an amazing man to know as an adult - once met, never forgotten. I sat with him on the day he died - 14 June 2017 - the day of the Grenfell fire - and also the day on which my adoptive father would have been 100.”

The idea for NORCAP came in the early 1980s. I read in the newspaper of an adopted woman who longed to trace her birth mother and I sent a reply via the editor, offering practical assistance as I had recently searched successfully. I also offer to discuss implications which turned out to be more powerful than I had anticipated. I heard back almost immediately from the woman and one other adopted person who I assumed had handled the letter. The next day, the postman delivered a sack of letters wanting help, and one contained the clipping from the newspaper intended just for the original correspondent.

I contacted social services to ask for details of organisation that would help these people and was told there was none. However the director of SSD in Warwickshire, where I lived, met with me. She agreed an organisation was needed offered to help if I started one. She did not mention she was retiring in six weeks and moving to Cornwall! And so NORCAP began by accident, one might say like the majority of its subsequent members.

I was working as a teacher in further education but spent next three years being told, “Yes, but as a SOCIAL WORKER…” Anyone feeling patronised by social workers today should have felt what it was like 40 years ago! In 1986, I gave up and trained as a social worker. I always 'worked' for NORCAP from the day it was set up until I retired in 2011. I was only employed by the organisation part time for four years and full time for six. Once a qualified social worker, I worked for the British Association of Adoption and Fostering (BAAF) as a regional consultant in the Midlands and as a project of BAAF set up the West Midlands Post Adoption Service. I was also independent Chair of various adoption and fostering panels and an initial chair of an Independent Review Mechanism (IRM) panel. I worked with others, particularly Julia Feast, to persuade the government to include access to intermediary services for birth relatives of adopted adults in the 2002 Adoption Act.

I retired to Canada in 2011 with the intention of doing post-grad research into the high incidence of premature death amongst adopted people, particularly adopted young men under 30. This hypothesis grew out of practice experience when providing intermediary services and the not infrequent number of times we found the adopted man we were seeking had died as a teenager or young adult. Although backed by a university the intention was thwarted as the data I needed - from three national cohort studies - could not be exported outside the EU. I returned to the UK - the pull of grandchildren too strong to resist - and was shocked to find the progress we had made towards universal intermediary services in 2002 and implemented in 2006 was so eroded by the complexity of regulation and the decade of austerity to the extent few people had any access to a service that was affordable. I have been working with former NORCAP friends over the past two years to try to establish an entirely volunteer staffed intermediary service and this had actually been assisted by the learning and experience gained during the pandemic that has shown us the many options for using new technology and working and training remotely without diminishing the quality of service. I should be 100% retired but there is still clearly work to be done. 

The day I found my adoption certificate

Honoured to feature this guest post from Daniel Bishop, who did not know he wasn’t his parents’ biological child until he was in his late 20s. Thank you Daniel for sharing so eloquently.

In early June 2012, I was 26 years old. I was back living in my parents’ house. My brother had died the previous December of lung cancer when he was only 46. My Dad had been unwell for the previous week or so and, in the early hours of June 6th, he had a massive brain hemorrhage which killed him, aged 65. 

It was my job then to gather the necessary documents to register my dad’s death, a day or two after. In amongst all the family documents was where I found my adoption certificate. Something you’d never expect to just find. Except, looking back, maybe I’d always expected it.

Finding out my mum was not my biological mother

My mother had slipped back into the drink and a few days after the funeral and through the tears in the kitchen, it came, “I’m not your Mum. I couldn’t have any more children after what he’d done to me". He being her first husband, my brother’s Dad. She told me I was conceived in a relationship my Dad had with my birth mother whilst they were temporarily separated. 

My immediate response was to reassure her that she was Mum, and I would not think of her any differently. The world had already been shaken after finding the adoption certificate and, to be honest, being told this wasn’t quite as earth shattering as that. It felt like a relief. Looking back, I don’t think I fully appreciated the scale of the outpouring of grief and shame.

Getting my files

Some months later things had settled down and I wrote to adoption services at Suffolk council. I didn’t quite get what I expected. I thought I would get some files or official looking documents; some signed stuff. What I got was a small A4-size plastic wallet with my adoption story inside. It had my birth mother’s name, date of birth, where she was from and some information about her, followed by the narrative of my adoption. It also had my brother’s name and date of birth - he is 54 weeks younger than me. It was the first time I’d heard my story and I was grateful. However, it was nothing like the story my adoptive mother told me, and it didn’t fully hit me until after I’d got home. I must’ve read through the information 10 times, each time in more disbelief than the last. It didn’t add up. 

The story I’d read was that I was the result of a surrogacy agreement. The more I thought about this, the more unlikely it seemed, and I hated how it made me feel. I felt like a dog. Like someone wanted a puppy and went to a breeder. It was horrible. 

One day, my adoptive mum found my adoption pack in my flat and all our old trust issues came out to play. “Please don’t look for her”, “Please wait until I’m dead”. I said I couldn’t wait and that this was about me - for once. Her response? “She was only young, you’ll ruin her life all over again”. I said it was probably better if she went home.

In spring 2014, my Mum was diagnosed with terminal lung and liver cancer. My wedding in November became a survival target and she made it to the big day. The following September she became unwell again. The doctors confirmed that the cancer had spread to her brain and was causing dementia-like symptoms. They estimated that she had weeks to live. She died on November 20th, a month before our first baby was due.

Getting my full birth certificate

In 2016 I began searching again. It occurred to me that I’d never seen the full version of my birth certificate, so I ordered a copy online. Having already had two quite different stories given to me, I kept an open mind as to what I would find. 

I was not expecting to see my adoptive parents’ names on the birth certificate. Nor was I expecting to see a declaration of corrections stated as taking place on my 1st birthday. My mothers’ names had been substituted - so my adoptive Mum out and my birth mum in. The addresses were also substituted: adoptive parents out; birth Mum’s address in. Father’s name was withdrawn with no replacement. So I now have an empty space where there used be a Father’s name. Needless to say at this point my head was a mess. These people lied on my birth certificate. They put their own names on my birth certificate on purpose. This was clearly not a mistake. In my mind, the only way now of getting any answers was finding my birth mother.

Asking Long Lost Family for help

I tried to search for my birth mum and, after much failure, my last idea was reaching out to the TV show Long Lost Family. I thought my story may be unusual enough to spark some interest and if I had to be filmed and be on TV, well, I’d just have to live with it.

Long Lost Family were interested. After several emails and video calls, in November 2017, I got an email from their specialist intermediary to arrange a phone call. I’d been handed over. No filming was going to take place, but I would now be looked after by the intermediary. And they had some news! They had found my biological mother and she was prepared to begin communication. This was exactly what I wanted to hear and the news that I wasn’t going to be filmed was a relief. We were also expecting our second child. 

My biological mother and I exchanged letters. It was a special thing to receive my letter from her. To have her speak to me in her own words, finally, was amazing. It was comforting. It was a relief. It was a huge step closer to the truth. 

Meeting my biological mother

We met in Cambridge in March 2018. My biological mother was gracious enough to travel down as my wife was four weeks or so from her due date. It was incredibly emotional for both of us. We hugged. We got a bit teary. I asked for the truth and she gave it to me, both barrels. 

Firstly, my father (or who I was always told was my father) was most definitely not my father. I could feel the anger as she was talking. The years of thinking about this and going over and over it in her mind was all spilling out. It felt like this took place in a different time and she was a different person now, getting her chance to try and make amends. 

The story unfolded. 

I was born a few weeks early in July 1985 at the Mothers’ Hospital in Clapton. My mother was persuaded to accept help from a married couple unable to have children and I was registered with my adopted parents’ names as my birth parents.

I was angry. Angry for her. Sad for her. I still am. 

Something - I don’t know what - prompted them to correct my birth certificate and make the adoption official. Social services became involved.

There were interviews with social workers. I was under local authority supervision. The observations were written up and filed. My notes spent some time being lost in the archive but were found. I have them, I’ve read them. “The child is too young to understand the purpose of my visits."

The police were involved. The adoption was granted in 1988, somehow. All the way through everything that is recorded it states that the man who took me is my natural father. This is not true. He deleted his name from my birth certificate. How can he do that and the adoption be signed off? It doesn’t add up. The social workers could see through all this, surely? The observations certainly hint as much.

It all starts to make sense

As horrible as this is, it made so many things make sense. Why my parents said that if I was bad, I’d be taken back. Why they always said that if I didn’t go to school, I’d be taken away. Why I felt so distant from them. Why we had nothing in common. Why my isolation punishments never felt like punishments. Why I found affection difficult with them. Why they said there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t hug them. Why my dad blamed me for my mother’s drinking.

As my biological mother and I talked more about our lives, our interests and her family, we got on well - better than I’d hoped. We had a lot in common. I met her husband and niece. We went for dinner and it was a momentous day for me. The bungee cord had relaxed and we’d come back together. Not as if nothing had ever happened but we had started trying to make up for all the time and shared experiences that had been taken from us.

From then on, I was a different person. This was a line-in-the-sand moment; there was life before and life after. I have a different identity now: adoptee; my mother’s son. My name isn’t mine anymore, it never felt like mine.  It’s the person I was at school. At my old jobs. The drinker. The failed musician. Failed athlete. Failed tradesman. Failed everything. Not me anymore. Not me now.

My biological mother and I are still in touch. We see each other a couple of times a year. The distance doesn’t make things easy and we have our lives. Sometimes fitting new people into our lives isn’t that simple but we make the effort. We talk about her to our children and she’s part of their daily lives, which is wonderful. It was tough but we got there. And we’re still getting there. We’re still trying.

National Adoption Week round-up

Thanks to everyone who attended the Voices of Adopted People: Messages for change day on Monday 18th October, the first day of National Adoption Week 2021. Thanks to PAC-UK for facilitating the day and One Adoption for supporting. Huge shout out to teammate Gilli as this was her first time speaking in public as an adoptee. Bravo Gilli!

You can now watch the How To Be Adopted talk and those of the other adoptees, including Debbie Nahid, Adoptee Futures, Zara Phillips and Adopteens.

Click the link below to watch on YouTube…

Watch the recording of the adoptee conference

(All the talks are powerful, but if you only have time to watch our skip to 40 mins.)

Some comments from the day:

Well done Claire!

Thank you Claire, so important to recognise

Well done to claire and co.

thank you for everything you do Claire and Gilli. So grateful. Your story resonates so much Gilli x

such important work,bravo ladies! Just signed up for your emails.

Brilliant both of you. Thanks so much for sharing

Thank you Claire & Gilli, great insights.

This is incredible! Thank you!

Well done Gilli!

Your story really resonates Gilli!

Just found my birth family at the age of 62, my fog has lifted

Thank you Claire and Gilly

Great to see you both and thanks for sharing and doing all you do. x

Thank you for sharing - really helpful!

Great call to action - help us campaign.

Thank you so much Claire and Gillian - so many excellent points raised. I like your mole analyogy

Sorry - mole analogy Gillian!

thank you both, and a huge thank you for your blog (I wouldn't be here at this event if I hadn't discovered it!)

Thanks so much, both Claire and Gilli. Really helpful to hear your stories and think about the life-long journey of reflection and support needed.

Thank you for sharing Gilli and Claire, about the 'fog' and lifelong impact of adoption, so valuable.

Thank u Claire and Gilly your stories of coming out of the fog - so helpful in getting a deeper understanding of how my adopted teenager feels.

thankyou very interesting and thought provoking as a practitioner in Adoption

Thank you all so much

I am in awe of you both, thank you so much.

brilliant thank you so much

Thank you Claire and Gillian, I was always brought up being told I was chosen, this I liked, it made me feel wanted and special, not previously sure I wanted to come out of the fog in fact made a conscious decision to stay in it, I have denied my adoption story as I have never had a reunion but recently realised I live in denial

HUGE thank you so much

Thank you Gilli and Claire for speaking about such a heavy topic with lovely smiles!

👏👏👏

Thank you so much, very insightful for me as an adoption social worker

Thank you so much for sharing :)

Brilliant work Claire and Gillian!! Thank you

It's also having a therapist that can ask the right questions for someone who maybe coming out of the fog.

Well done!

Thank you so much both of you its so helpful

Really interesting, lots to think about from practitioner perspective

Fantastic talk - thank you both

Thank you so much!

Thank you both Claire and Gilli.

Thank you Claire and Gillie

Thanks both - such helpful insights. I've just signed up to your newsletter.

thank you Claire and Gill

excellent morning from all of you. I believe you are recording. Great for future dissemination.

lots to think about from an adopter's perspective too, feeling almost guilty for being part of it on hearing from you guys

Thank you to everyone involved in putting on this event today. It is already brilliant, so emotional and thought - provoking - an adoption support social worker

Mind blowing. Thank you all so much

Many thanks to Debbie, Claire and Gilli - these stories are so important to hear, and you sharing them is a huge gift. We're so very grateful.

An ode to the honeymoon stage of adoption reunion

Without my birth mum telling me his name, I may never have met my biological father, Rob, and one of the most intense and influential relationships of my life may not have happened.

He was listed as ‘UNKNOWN’ on my original birth certificate so I really did need my birth mum to tell me his name, which she was happy to. Once I had his name I found his address thanks to the UK phone directory and the early internet. I’d sat on the information for a few years and it wasn’t until I was due to head off to South America for a backpacking trip, age 26, that I felt any urgency to contact him.

I reached out via a letter to his home address in which I said I strongly believed he was my biological father. I mentioned my loving family, my university degree and my forthcoming trip abroad. I made myself sound as normal as possible. I deliberately tried to sound ‘breezy’.

Rob replied to my letter via email within 24 hours. It was more than I could ever have hoped for, and much more than I expected. In his reply, he said he had often thought of me over the years and suggested meeting at a local art gallery in a week’s time.

The following week, I nervously hovered outside the art gallery in the town Rob grew up in; the town in which I was born and relinquished. Rob had been browsing on the upper gallery and when I walked in he looked down to the lower floor and our eyes met. We recognised each other immediately and as he came down the stairs towards me it felt like a scene from a film. I took I every detail as he descended the stairs. When he reached the bottom the first thing he said to me was, “You look just like her – you’re beautiful.” When he smiled I saw where my dimples came from after 26 years of wondering.

We emailed while I was away and I felt wary but optimistic about the future. I was pleased I had reached out before I went away. As a very anxious person it had crossed my mind that something might happen to me while I was away, and I didn’t like the idea of having any ‘what ifs’.

Once I was back from my trip, Rob and I met regularly following a format of ‘something cultural’ followed by lunch or dinner. At an immersive exhibition in London we held hands as we stepped through a room of fog together. Rob said he felt like I was a child and he was my father holding my hand – something which he never got to do in reality. That was a moment I will never forget. More than once we were last in a restaurant while the chairs and tables were being packed away around us.

Rob was interesting and interested in me. We dialled up our points of common interest, such as music and TV box sets and we dialled down any points of contention such as his strong Catholicism.

In between meetings we talked over email. Rob said his wife had always known he had a child at 19 who had been adopted, and that he’d always made sure his details were in the phone directory to enable me to make contact. However, his children didn’t know about me and he didn’t think now was the ‘right time’ what with them in the final years of their studies. I concurred and complied. I was happy getting to know Rob for now.

Looking back on how things are now, I cherish those early days.

The problem with National Adoption Week for adoptees

I would like to talk you through how it feels to be an adopted person in the UK when National Adoption Week week rolls around every year. Perhaps then you will see why I am vocal about why this week is so problematic and painful.

Let me ask you for a minute to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has never felt able to speak to their adoptive family about their feelings, and has never seen anything in mainstream culture that reflects how they feel. Not one programme, film or book has ever made them feel recognised, only confused and conflicted.

This person could be in their 20s and doesn’t feel her friends would understand as they all come from seemingly perfect families with no early chaos and trauma. So she puts on a front and doesn’t let anyone in. This person could equally be in their 60s and never even spoken to anyone about being adopted, not a single friend or even their wife of 40 years.

Now imagine this person catches sight of the side of a bus advertising national adoption week, or turns on the radio to hear it been discussed. Imagine their heart leaping as their hopes are raised that finally there may be a story they can relate to, someone who “gets it”, who is articulating those feelings they haven’t felt safe to discuss with a living soul for anything from 20 to 60 years of their life. Finally they may feel seen.

Now imagine the next second when they realise this is a recruitment campaign for adoptive parents.

This is not the voices of adopted people, taking about their unique lived experiences. This is the voices of adoptive parents. A decade ago these adoptive parents would have been waxing lyrical about the joys of adoption; latterly they have been using the week to highlighting the challenges they faced after adopting. Either way the verb “to celebrate” features heavily. And there’s nothing for, about, or by adoptees.

I can tell you from experience, finding out that national adoption week is actually nothing to do with you after you’ve been living adoption every single day in every cell of your body is soul crushing. Perhaps it would be kinder if it were renamed National Adoptive Parents’ Week?

NAW events for adoptees

In 2021, PAC-UK and One Adoption hosted days for adoptee voices and birth parent voices. You can watch the adoptee day back here, with a talk from Claire and Gilli from How To Be Adopted on Coming Out Of The Fog.

Photo by Philipp Deus on Unsplash

Study into lifelong impacts of adoption by Gillian Bruce

Half of adoptees report significant life challenges, with a further third reporting medium-scale impact. Find out more about this brand new study into the lifelong impacts of adoption and the importance of adoptee wellbeing support...

Following the research project completed summer 2021 by Gillian Bruce of How To Be Adopted we can now reveal our findings on some of the potential lifelong impacts of adoption.

What did we do?

We devised our own questionnaire using opposing statements to explore 34 different areas of life where adoption was perceived to have had an effect, such a relationships, careers and parenting. We also researched existing research on the lifelong consequences of adoption.

What did we ask?

We asked a selection of UK adopted adults aged 21-70 about their lived experience of adoption from the rear-view mirror.

We asked about how being adopted had affected people in three areas of lived experience:

1. physically / biologically

2. socially-relationally-emotionally

3. psychologically

We asked about their age group; gender; age they were adopted; and whether or not they engaged with adopted adult support groups.

What did we find?

We found that:

Adoption creates a certain set of impacts across the three areas of lived experience. 

Although adoption is complex and individual and no two adoptees will share the same effects, clear potential areas of impact can be identified.

Half of adoptees (around 50%) have experienced high-impact across many of the areas explored and had sought help to try and manage their lives. 

This group had typically spent a significant amount of time and money on a range of support resources such as therapy, workshops, healing treatments, books, and spiritual avenues.

Around a third of adoptees (around 35%) were able to identify medium scale, significant impacts. 

These impacts had made some key areas of life difficult across the three areas of lived experience, and the adoptees had sought help in some form to overcome them.

Some adoptees (approx. 15%) reported very little impact. 

With a medium to high score in only one or two areas of the 34 explored.

Additional findings:

• Current age – largely, the younger respondents seemed to have experienced more challenges. This may be because their adoption happened at an older age and involved time in the care system (or some other kind of disruption) prior to adoption. Whilst some of the older adoptees had been highly affected, their adoption situations were often more straightforward.

• Gender – female participants reported slightly more disruption than males. However, cultural pressures on males to ‘tough it out’ may be part of this picture.

• Age of adoption – it was clear that the later the adoption the more significant the impacts, although some people in the study who had been adopted between 0-6 months had experienced high impact too. Family attunement or the provision of a loving, affectionate environment seemed to be a likely factor involved in the level of difficulty with adoption.

• Engagement with peer support – initially we had wondered if the engagement in an adopted adult community had any bearing on the level of impact experienced – however, this was not the case. Some adoptees in support groups reported low impact and some with high impact did not engage with any groups. However, it must be said that the prevalence of adult adoptee support groups is extremely patchy with many areas having no such provision. Many adoptees had never even heard of an adopted adult community or group in the UK and several reported joining US forums. It became clear that adoptees really valued sharing and learning from each other and experience a sense of belonging amongst others ‘who get it’. Watch this space!

Initial research into existing adoption research

We found that the most often quoted study was that of Silverstein and Kaplan (1982)* who reported ‘The Seven Lifelong Consequences of Adoption’:

1. Loss – adoption is a life-altering loss with no end, resulting in potential threat of future loss having a profound impact.

2. Rejection – from having been given away, resulting in a heightened sensitivity around any future hint of rejection.

3. Guilt and shame – guilt and shame around having been rejected, internalised as being ‘rejectable’ or not good enough.

4. Grief – loss needs a grieving process, but this is difficult when adoption is ‘sold’ to the child as a positive event that should be celebrated, should be joyful and that they should be thankful for. Grief becomes held back and stored in the body.

5. Identity – the lack of genetic, medical, historical and religious information leads adoptees to question who they are and where they belong. In later life adoptees are more likely to seek ‘belonging’ than their peers and are susceptible to the attraction of cults, gangs or anything that provides a strong sense of belonging, like the Armed Services.

6. Intimacy – due to all the above factors adoptees can build up a strong fear about experiencing another loss of intimate connection so can tend to avoid committed, intimate relationships.

7. Mastery / control – having had no choice about the most significant life relationships, with no say in early events, adoptees can engage in power struggles with parents or authority and have strong needs around autonomy.

Further research studies were found, these largely focused on a specific area such as educational attainments or mental health of adoptees.

Get access to all the data as well as insights from adoptees

If you would like to find out more about this fascinating project and get access to all the statistics and data as well as shared experiences from adoptees, please email: hello@howtobeadopted.com

Coming soon: Gillian Bruce we will give her conclusions and future ideas for how to improve adoptee wellbeing.

*We have not linked to further information on the Silverstein and Kaplan study as we do not want to endorse the websites where that information currently appears. If you have a more neutral source for the Silverstein and Kaplan study please let us know!

Photo by Leilani Angel on Unsplash

The #youcanadopt hashtag

The youcanadopt hashtag is problematic because it portrays the main issue in adoption currently to be lack of adoptive parents coming forward. There are in fact many issues with adoption and recruiting more adoptive parents will not solve any of them.

The sad fact is that adoptees of all ages are struggling, some life-threateningly, and we need action, empathy and support (including funding).

The issues as I see it are:

1. State not supporting families under strain to keep their children within the family unit - in many cases this is linked to a failure of duty to care experienced adults who have not been supported adequately whilst in care and before/after becoming parents.

2. No support for adopted people over the age of 21 (or 25 in some cases) leading to identity issues, relationship breakdowns, mental health issues including depression, self-harm and even suicide, challenges parenting, not reaching their full potential as adults.

3. Lack of interest and drive from adoptive parents and professionals to maintain already formed relationships in situations where family preservation has been properly considered and adoption found to be the most appropriate option.

I was lucky my niece’s adoptive parents found me on Facebook and did not accept the devastating annual letter option we were offered after I had been her involved and loving auntie for 2.5 years!

4. Difficulty and expense tracing records and finding birth relatives. Onus should not be on adoptees to pay ££-£££ and wait months for a social worker or intermediary. Should I have spent days combing through microfiche in the local records office at the age of 18 when my friends were out having fun? Should the adoptees of today still be upset by the family tree project at school or still be having to write “don’t know - adopted” on medical forms?

5. No support to maintain reunions once they have been instigated - just an unrealistic portrayal of adoption reunion from programmes like Long Lost Family. This applies both to other adoptees using DNA and search angels and having to literally beg DNA matches on Ancestry for any crumbs of information, and to younger adoptees finding brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles on Facebook (or being found) and embarking on reunion that way.

If you are interested in adopting a child, I really hope you are also interested in wholeheartedly supporting and reforming the above areas. If not, may I politely suggest you #dontadopt

Image: Markus Spiske on Unsplash

Adoptees, ADHD and me

Last year I impulsively tweeted to ask if any other adoptees had, or thought they may have, ADHD. I received dozens of responses and if you were one of them – thank you.  You may have noticed that rather than replying to everyone, I dropped off the face of the earth! 

To explain, I was grappling with a possible diagnosis of ADHD with one of my children and my thought process was:

1. Is it right to share this info relating to my child in a public forum?

2. If ADHD has a genetic link, then who, if anyone, in my birth family may have it?

3.  (Then the penny dropped…) If ADHD has a genetic link, then do I have it?? 

My mind was whirling! 

At this point, as you can imagine, I went down a bit of an internet/books/podcasts rabbit hole. This is around the time I watched the Paul Sunderland video about adoption where he states that adoptees are 4x more likely to have challenges such as anxiety, depression, addiction, PTSD. One suggestion is that 90% of adoptees may have ADHD.*

Mind. Blown.

Now, you may or may not know that there are many theories about ADHD but there has been significantly less research into it than into other neurodiverse conditions such as autism, for example. During my research phase I was skipping from books by American authors recommending ADHD medication, podcasts with Australians recommending diet changes, and then – the real gut punch - Gabor Mate’s book Scattered Minds in which he presents the theory that ADHD is linked to a disruption in one or more primary attachments. Cue a lightbulb moment about adoption which is, at its heart, a severed attachment, (as well as lots of mum guilt that somehow I could have prevented my child having ADHD!?)

Another factor contributing to my overwhelm at this time was the realisation that my sister probably has ADHD and due to the lack of understanding and support for adoptees at the time (mid-late 90s), she was expelled from school and has led a life full of traumatic experiences. She called the head teacher a rude name, which arguably is classic ADHD impulsivity mixed with some trauma/attachment stuff! In those days acting out like this was seen as ‘bad behaviour’ and she was packed off quick smart. I wish that teacher knew that his decision that contributed to another generation of separation, trauma and loss. 

I’m glad adopted children have a protected status in UK schools nowadays (although I’m sure adoptive parents would say it’s not that simple.) 

As you can guess, this was all a very raw time for me, with lots of light bulb moments to reflect on and process. I was also struggling to accept that my birth family were not willing to talk to me about any possible overlaps genetically.  I was hoping to hear from them about whether anyone on my paternal side has similar challenges, and how they coped. This  stonewalling from my biological family lead to a lot of anger, rage (and the associated shame) about having to beg for crumbs about our family health history and how this affects not only adoptees, but our children. 

And of course, any spare energy I did have was channelled into being Mama Bear for my child, getting them through their diagnosis and fighting to get them some support. 

Meanwhile in the background I was considering whether I had undiagnosed ADHD myself and how this may have been missed. I read that in girls and women it is often missed due to masking, which girls are more likely to do (effectively) than boys, and due to AHDH commonly being confused with anxiety or another condition.  I asked the GP for advice and they sent me a questionnaire to complete.

Now I’m feeling ready to share and open up the floor to you guys. If you’ll forgive me for not getting back to you the first time when I was experiencing overwhelm – and perhaps a little teeny bit of denial! – would you be comfortable to share:

1. Do you consider yourself to have ADHD?

2. Are you aware of any genetic link ie a bio/first family member with ADHD?

3. Do you have children, and if so, do they have any signs of ADHD?

4. Have you watched the Paul Sunderland talk and, if so, what was your take?

5. Can you recommend any resources to the How To Be Adopted community? 

 You can either comment below, or email me hello@howtobeadopted.com

So far in terms of ADHD resources for kids/parents, I have discovered:

• Paul Sunderland talk on adoption and addiction

• www.Additudemag.com

• Instagram @lifeinthefastbrain and @adhdactually 

• Operation Diversity Facebook community who recently held some ADHD seminars with Fintan O’Regan

• Scattered Minds - book by Gabor Mate

• That’s The Way I Think – book by David Grant

• All Dogs Have ADHD book by Kathy Hoopmann

• You, Me and ADHD - book by Chris Kent

• The Survival Guide for Kids with ADHD - book by John F Taylor

I would also recommend following Anne Heffron if you don’t already because she normalises adoptees having challenges with things like executive functioning!

Remember to give me your recommendations in the comments. If enough people are willing to share their experiences I will write a follow-up blog.

Claire x

Photo by Omid Armin on Unsplash

*If anyone has the exact time during Paul’s video that he mentions ADHD, please let me know so I can add it.

Who am I? A blog about identity from an adoptee’s perspective

Identity in adoption is a very complex matter and so many times I’ve asked myself the question, “Who am I”? This question is a seemingly straightforward one to answer, but for an adoptee it can be difficult and at times impossible. I ask myself “Who am I?” on a daily basis. It’s a reoccurring question that follows me all the time and particularly at the moment because I don’t feel like I fit in with my families. I feel lost.

For me, the concept of identity started around the age of 14 when I began to explore and fight with questions like, “Who am I?” “Where did I come from?” and “Who are my parents?” For adoptees in a closed adoption like mine, it can feel like an essential need to know the answers to these questions. But filling in the blanks is a difficult and complex process when you have no information to go by. The urge to know one’s family and ancestry is a basic human desire and I feel that identity is the centre point of self-awareness and meaning in life. In fact, according to adoptee and psychologist Betty Jean Lifton, the adoptee’s search for knowledge is, “An archetypal, Jungian yearning with profound life-changing impacts on the adoptee.”

Most non-adoptees take the answers to such questions for granted, they know enough about who they are. Adoptees, on the other hand, generally have little to no information about our cultural, genetic or medical background.  This can create the feeling of being lost and disconnected from our origins. We face a lifelong journey working out who we are in relation to our adoptive and biological families and our place within each family. We wrestle with questions such as, “Do I belong?” and “Do I matter?”

Navigating the world with a dual identity 

Finding our identity comes in different waves of emotions. For me, adoption feels like I am two people and I fluctuate between two identities. One minute I feel I am my biological identity, then my adoptive identity, and then a mixture of both. Both of my identities have their ups and their downs and are full of high emotions, discomfort, pain, loss and grief. 

I live with the family who raised me, but I often feel that there’s nothing there that connects me to who I’m meant to be. And initially I hesitated slightly when it came to my biological identity. How could even think about including that side of me when I’ve been separated from them for most of my life? Even now I don’t know them as well as I would like to, as my reunion journey has not been easy. 

However, since reconnecting with my biological mother I’m starting to open up more freely and show all sides of me. I feel I now have a stronger connection to my identity. When I talk to her I feel I am ‘the real me’, although often when these conversations are over I’m back to not feeling myself. I do want to include more of my biological family in my identity, and I will do once I feel I really matter to them. It will also help to know more about my roots, my family history and who all the different members are.

The importance of names

My biological surname has always been special and it meant even more to me after it was eliminated. Just because I haven’t used my biological surname since I was eight, doesn’t mean that part of me has disappeared. Physically it has, but emotionally and mentally it’s with me every day. It’s inside of me and only I can see that. 

Growing up, I intertwined my two surnames into who I was as a person, but my biological surname always came first because I felt that was who I was. I felt my biological surname was very special. The only other person I knew who had that surname was Formula 1 driver Jenson Button and so growing up I made sure I never missed an F1 race on the TV! 

The importance of photos and stories

Another aspect of identity for me is being able to see photos from when I was very young. When I saw so many pictures of me as a baby it was very special and emotional. I’d been waiting so long to see pictures of me as an infant! Previously I felt that the first three and a bit years of my life existed – but not in their entirety. Each new photograph I see helps to build a sense of who I am.  

I also love to hear stories of when I was a baby. My maternal aunt told me one of these stories when I met her and it meant so much to me. To others these details may seem insignificant, but for me I treasure anything I hear about my past.

Who we look like

While I was growing up I hated looking in mirrors, as I didn’t resemble anyone. Looking in a mirror just accentuated the fact that I was adopted and I looked like a stranger.  I found looking in mirrors hard and it was something I avoided. 

When I began my reunion journey, I thought I really don’t mind who I look like, I just want to be able to look at my biological family and say, “Yes I can see you in me”. 

But when I met my biological mother, I found it difficult that I didn’t look like her. No matter how many times I saw her and her family, I couldn’t see me in them. Instead, they kept saying I looked like my biological father and this drove me a bit mad. I think this led to me wanting to see my biological father because I wanted to resemble somebody and see my genetic features in another person. When I finally saw him it was obvious I was his daughter – I look a lot like him and have certain characteristics from my paternal family. I hope one day I will be able to see myself in my maternal family too.

How identity shifts after reunion

After reunion I had to try and figure out a new identity for myself in order to feel calm and relaxed. It took three years to work out who I am now, and what identity means to me as an adoptee. I recently completed an Ancestry DNA test because I didn’t want to keep navigating the world as ‘a mystery’.

I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure out if I belong anywhere in this world. That may sound harsh, but it’s the reality of the adoption experience, which is often not fun at all. We have to fight to figure out our past and build our identity and that’s why it’s so important to us. 

I hope by sharing this with you today it will help others who are going through a hard time or struggling. I hope you will find comfort in reading my story and knowing you are not alone.

Danielle 

 Photo by Tachina Lee on Unsplash

Finding My Way Out Of The Adoption Fog - guest post by Gilli Bruce

Sometimes fog is thick and dark and cloying, and you know fine well that you are in it. Sometimes it is invisible – as in the kind of fog that can wrap itself in and around adoptees. 

The term ‘being in the fog’ is often used to describe the way adoptees feel, think, operate and relate before they come out of the denial, conditioning and ignorance that cloaks the impacts of adoption. When we don’t realise that the emotional pain, and many other difficulties that arise, are a result of being adopted, we blunder around in the fog not understanding what’s going on or why. We grope around in our lives, feeling somewhat lost, trying different directions but unable to find our way. Feeling alone in our situation – because no one else can see our fog or even knows it exists. 

The impacts of adoption are at best unknown and at worst denied. But thanks to new understanding around childhood trauma and neuroscience, what many of us have experienced is now being acknowledged, understood and validated.

We each have our own experience of adoption – some seem to manage to come out of it completely unscathed, some deny the impacts whilst wondering why they are alone, addicted, co-dependent, over-weight, angry, fearful, or overwhelmed with shame. Some come to realise that their patterns of disastrous relationships, their pull towards adrenalin-inducing danger, their whole life strategy in fact – stems from the early wounding. Often it is not until adoptees reach mid-life or beyond that the patterns can be seen, and the denial no longer works. This is when the fog comes into focus – sometimes all at once and sometimes a bit at a time.

My realisations came out a bit at a time – so my journey out of the fog happened at a snail’s pace, in stages and with periods of inertia as I came to terms with the latest insight or realisation. There are still little things coming to light. Here’s how I crept out of the adoption fog…

I was lucky enough aged 34 onwards to work for a company that invested in its people and working in the 1990s was a great time to be provided with personal growth and development training – there were still budgets for that kind of thing! We were exposed to personal growth work that showed me aspects of myself that were hidden in the ‘blind spot’ – that were unknown to me - yet were plain as day to those who knew me well. We used a model called ‘Johari’s Window’ where some of my blind spots were revealed to me and my self-perception was shaken up. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was manageable. 

We were given book suggestions and workshop recommendations and, armed with a new curiosity and a will to learn, I embarked on a period of self-discovery. The timing was right too, had this all occurred ten years earlier I would not have had any patterns visible enough to be noticed yet. 

As I began to come out of the adoption fog, I learned that:

• I was not authentic, I manoeuvred and manipulated things instead (to risk being ‘real’ was too risky)

• I led my life on the run, to sit still for a minute might mean feeling the pain

• I was frazzled with anxiety - but I hid it from myself with denial

• I could not say ‘No’ to anyone for anything; I was a people-pleaser

• I was a serial monogamist jumping from one relationship to the next in the search for attachment, and much more

Initially I DID NOT attribute any of these aspects of myself to adoption, but a start at clearing some of the fog symptoms had been made. 

So, I read some more and went on retreats and made some headway during my 30s and early 40s. With a dear friend I went to retreats at Cortijo Romero (a retreat centre in Spain), attended local workshops and national events and learned more about the human condition, growth and coming to a place of peace.

• I learned about co-dependency and what that means and that I was co-dependent (still working that one). I vividly recall reading Co-Dependent No More by Melody Beattie with horror and shock as I saw my own behaviour described in her pages.

• I read Women Who love Too Much by Robin Norwood in one sitting because I couldn’t put it down and was compelled to finish it as I was in those pages too.

• I learned that I had a very fragile sense of self. I was pervaded by a feeling of being ‘a leaf on the breeze’, with no ancestral lineage I knew of, no sense of ‘roots’ and a fractured identity – not knowing who I was, not knowing which bits were the ‘real me’ and which were the bits I thought I ought to be.

• I learned that I wore an upbeat, jolly persona as a shield from negative emotions through learning about The Enneagram. The Wisdom of the Enneagram by Don Riso & Russ Hudson has become my bible.

• I took a two-year NLP Master Practitioner programme and learned about all my unconscious drivers and how much I was filled with fear.

I attended spiritual workshops with Tony Robbins, Louise L Hay and Brandon Bays and learned that underneath all of this lived a shiny, joyful heart that I could access and grow. 

I still did not quite understand that my need for all this learning and activity was driven by the childhood trauma that is adoption – but the fog was loosening its hold on me and I was getting stronger and clearer.

Being made redundant and becoming a self-employed training consultant and coach really helped me to grow into myself as I had to become more solid; more real and more self-reliant. It was super scary and shaky at first, but after a few years I had developed enough inner strength to consider finding my birth family. I was 46 and realising that if I didn’t act soon it might be too late.

It took two traumatic years to find and meet all my birth family and that’s a huge, different story – but the expectations that I would be transformed into a pain-free version of my former self due to being re-united, were soon corrected. It wasn’t to be as easy as that. Still, I underestimated the impact of adoption. I was somewhat out of the fog, on my way through – but it was still misty.

In my early 50s, I added a few more onto the string of failed relationships, having lost my Dad, now I lost my Mum and – in a desperately lonely place – moved to a new house for a new start. 

A concerned friend asked if I would try online dating to find a new relationship and my answer from the gut was ‘No! There’s no point!’ – this visceral reaction was a turning point, a key question at the right time. I pondered on the question and the response – what was wrong with me? After all the damn work I’d done on myself, why could I not do what everyone else seems to do without too much trouble? It couldn’t be THAT could it? I didn’t want it to be THAT; that adoption thing. With my resistance to there being any problem in being adopted acknowledged, I decided to meet it head on. I rolled my sleeves up and got stuck into this psychological skeleton that I’d stuffed right at the back of the emotional cupboard.

Sitting with a cup of tea, munching biscuits and searching the internet for anything about adoption (I’d got to 53 having never looked at this before) I found a You Tube film entitled A Lecture On Adoption with Paul Sunderland. It was like being hit about the head by a very large mattress! Within 30 minutes the fog was revealed, blown away and the truth revealed. Adoption IS A PROBLEM!! It messes you up – you’re not weird after all. You’re adopted – and this is what it can do. Wow. A strange mixture of relief, elation and dread swept through me. I felt like a little mole who’d been tunnelling away underground – popping out into bright day light as I learned about the impacts of adoption for the first time. Within a further few minutes, I knew I needed to work with this man who knew, and could explain and help. 

I know now that you cannot really come out of the adoption fog, or indeed anywhere – unless you know where you are to start with. The missing piece in my growth journey had been the insights about the impacts of adoption and the work I did in therapy to clear that fog away.

Over three years I worked with Paul Sunderland (an addictions psychotherapist) and attended 12 Step programmes. The work entailed doing lots of healing work I didn’t want to do (and that’s another huge story). I resisted, denied and went emotionally kicking and screaming into dark places amongst the truth – to become aware, clear eyed and sane, with a solid sense of self. Now I’m out of the fog, although there are a few wisps still hanging around, but I can spot them and manage them! 

I share this journey in the hope that any adoptee reading this will take a shortcut and have a faster recovery than I did in my 20-year journey. God speed.

Put on a diet at six weeks old - guest post from adoptee Cat Theresa

I've known that I've an unhealthy relationship with food all my life but I've only attended to it this past month at the grand age of 53. Prior to that I ignored it, pretending that my behaviours are normal and shared by others.

I'm super-good at normalising unusual behaviour as a way of avoiding uncomfortable emotions. But in reality there is nothing normal about hiding stashes of food around the house - little packets of food nestle in my knicker drawer, desk drawers, behind the microwave, tucked under the potato bag. When these stashes get low, I feel uncomfortable, slightly agitated. Once they're replenished my system calms slightly. But only until the next drop in supply. I take little hidden supplies on all trips with me, often stocking up in train station shops 'for the journey'. I cram eat these stashes when I'm alone especially during periods of stress. Chocolates and biscuits all get consumed quickly, often with a raised heart beat, breathlessly chewing, swallowing and biting off more. As though the freedom to eat is about to be taken away from me.

This feels shameful. I feel ashamed of myself for doing it but I also know there's strength in recognition and openness. Why does food hoarding and cramming feel so compulsive to me? I'm on a pathway to untangle the reasons for this behaviour but not yet fully there and certainly unable to change things yet.  I think the key will come through exploring my early relationship with food and my adoption experience. I was put on my first diet at 6 weeks old. My adoptive mother has told this story in my hearing so many times it's etched into my memory.

When they picked me up from the Adoption Agency I was 99th percentile for weight and 50th for height. A major imbalance. My little tubby cheeks looked to be swallowing my eyes. Apparently my Grandmother's first comment when she saw me was, "She'll improve with keeping". That's also part of the family tale. As is the fact that from day one of my placement my Adoptive Mum watered down all my feeds from 9 scoops of powder in a 9 fl oz bottle to 8. That was the diet. As a Community Paediatrician she clearly felt an urgent need to address my weight issue.

I'm not unhappy with her that she focused on my health. But I'm angry for that 6 week-old baby that this action was taken at that time. Food was my main source of comfort and especially important at a time when I'd made a huge transition from the familiarity of the Mother & Baby Home to my new unfamiliar adoptive home. So it seems intensely cruel to change my feeds at that time, rather than 3 months down the road. My feeds were watered down and less nourishing at a time when I most needed comfort. I can't understand that decision. When our dog came to live with us he was on a cheap, basic dog food - we waited several weeks before we switched his food to a healthier version. Of course we did - he was nervous and shy in our home, smelling everything and cowering at any loud noise. He needed familiarity from wherever he could get it until he was settled. 

I'm also unhappy that this became a family story and that I got classed as the 'tubby one' while my non-bio brother was the 'skinny one'. My intake of sweet & carby food was restricted, whereas he was free to eat whatever he liked. My Mum proudly tells people that I'm as healthy as I am as an adult, because I was never given puddings as a child. I say nothing. What I want to scream is maybe I'm as screwed up as I am because I was never given puddings as a child. If I wasn't screwed up about food I would be able to enjoy a pudding in a restaurant like everyone else. Instead I decline saying I'm full, then watch everyone else eat their puddings, perhaps sneaking a taste with the spare spoon I've asked the waiter for, but never fully indulging. Until I get home when I sneak off to one of my stashes. If I wasn't screwed up about food I'd be able to eat cake with friends in a cafe 'normally'. That is without guilt gnawing away at me.

Maybe it's the guilt that has me cutting any cake I do eat with friends, into sections - dainty little pieces that I eat slowly as though I daren't launch into the whole cake in case someone catches me enjoying it. That's what happens when you put a newly adopted baby on a diet at 6 weeks old and bring her up in a restricted eating environment. 

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

————————————————————-

Thank you to Cat Theresa for this honest and reflective post. Please leave your comments below and I’ll pass them on. You can also contact Cat on Twitter.

What is it with Ofsted regulating adult adoptee support in the UK?

STOP PRESS: Government consultation taking place NOW, please give your views: https://consult.education.gov.uk/adoption-team/adoption-support-agencies-proposed-regulation-chan/

In August 2020 I said I was writing an article about Ofsted and the barriers to accessing therapy as an adopted person in the UK.  

The response to that tweet confirmed I was not alone in my own confusion around:

1. Who can offer adoption counselling? Do they need to be registered with Ofsted, and - if so - why?

2. Does the UK government and Ofsted know that this layer of regulation is adding to the barriers adoptees face in getting support? Some are having to take other routes to therapy, including cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) which can have a neutral or even negative effect when it comes to adoption issues. And even more worryingly, some adoptees said they are at breaking point, they have self-harmed and had suicidal ideations.

3. Why are non-Ofsted registered therapists required terminate support if they later find out that someone they are treating is adopted? Not nice for anyone, particularly an adopted person who may struggle with trust and making attachments.

I didn’t get much further with the article at that time due to work and my two weeny ones. Then last month I tweeted again, and this time got an immediate response from Ofsted offering to set up a meeting. I must say, of all the organisations I’ve @ on Twitter, this was the first time I’d had such a speedy and non-defensive response. (Yes, Long Lost Family I am looking at you!)

The tweet itself was seen by over 16,000 people so thanks to everyone who shared it. And a huge and very heartfelt thanks to everyone who emailed or DMed to say how the cumbersome government regulations get in the way of accessing therapy - both finding someone competent and finding someone local to you (and affordable). I hope that together we can change this – both for ourselves and for future generations. 

What I asked Ofsted about support for adopted adults

On my call with Ofsted, I asked Matthew Brazier several key questions we are all wondering about.

Q. Why is the UK government regulating access to therapy / counselling services for ADULTS who were adopted as children?  

A.   No one is really sure why. It came about as a result of the Children Act 2004 but why adults aren’t an exception we don’t know.

Q. Have adopted adults been involved in discussions about assessment criteria and training content?

A.   There was a public consultation which adopted people were welcome to respond to, but adopted adults were not specifically consulted.

(Credit to Rachel from @onbeingadopted for tweeting a great summary of the key questions!)

After the meeting, Matthew sent me some further links on:

• Who has to register with Ofsted to provide support to adoptees (looks like it is both adoption agencies and independent therapists)

• The framework for voluntary adoption agencies most of whom have stopped providing adult adoptee support, i.e. TACT

• The framework for adoption support agencies i.e. PAC-UK, etc

I noticed that these resources focus on support for children, even though the Government site itself acknowledges that ‘adults are the main recipients of adoption support’.

I’ll keep you posted as to how we can try to get this changed. And of course I hope it goes without saying that I am not suggesting therapy for adopted people is completely unregulated. 

Adoptee experiences with trying to find therapy in the UK

Here are some of the comments I had about the matter of counselling for adopted people in the UK and how government regulations are a barrier. I also had a few comments from adopted parents about issues accessing therapy for their children, but I have chosen to keep this post just for adult adoptees. 

“Ofsted need to know how hard it is to access therapy. PAC offers some but depends on if your local authority have a contract with them. I don’t think they offer any therapy in the North. My local authority were re-negotiating/cancelling their contract in 2019 so I had 6 weeks funded and then was signposted to Barnardos Link which put me in contact with a local adoption competent therapist. This however costs £60/session. Out of range for a lot of people I would imagine. Have had therapy for a year and it has made such a difference. Osfted also need to know that issues tend to appear at important points in our lives i.e. having our own children. I would say my issues have increased as I’ve got older. I have had to find my own support.”

“I ended up going with a non-Ofsted certified therapist, and now after 2 years of building up trust with her while dealing with other issues I'm going to have to start all over again if I want to explore adoption.” 

“I’ve always been able to have counselling - but that’s only because I’ve always had great counsellors who are prepared to ignore the rules and realise what a nonsense the OFSTED rule is for adults. However, I’m aware that by doing this they are taking a risk. I am also a counsellor myself. I’ve had to have lots of therapy as a compulsory part of my training courses. There are no OFSTED registered adoption counsellors near me and all the adoption support agencies that provide counselling only do so for children. The whole thing is a farce and I cannot fully express how much it angers me! But I know you know this too.”

““There are no OFSTED registered adoption counsellors near me and all the adoption support agencies that provide counselling only do so for children. The whole thing is a farce and I cannot fully express how much it angers me!””

“Good luck with this. I've been arguing this point for years. Adoption is the only population where qualified & registered therapists, psychologists, counsellors etc need to be Ofsted registered to offer services. It makes no clinical sense & bars access to support.”

I’m sorry if I missed anyone off, I’ve been working and home schooling too and it’s been a bit mad! Please drop me another line and I’ll add your comment here.

The therapists’ viewpoint 

“As a qualified counsellor, I would definitely counsel adult adoptees if it wasn’t so onerous to be Ofsted regulated.”

“I don’t want to register with Ofsted to offer adoption counselling as it stigmatised that adoptees must need a special treatment when in reality they need help to understand their feelings and emotions from their own views. I have the experience but don’t seem to tick the boxes…”

I did hear from a few therapists and I’d love to hear from more, particularly anyone who has chosen not to register with Ofsted and help adopted people ‘under the radar’. You can remain anonymous.  

Photo by Priscilla Du Preez on Unsplash