Adoption, ADHD, and EMDR - a personal journey on the path to self

By Carole Dwelly

“I understand now that I’m not a mess but a deeply  feeling person in a messy world. I explain that now, when  someone asks me why I cry so often, I say, ‘For the same  reason I laugh so often, because I’m paying attention’.”

Glennon Doyle Melton 

At a particularly low point in my life, I was introduced to two unknown acronyms - one I didn’t  think existed and the other I had never heard of before. Running concurrently, I had found myself  juggling life-changing events and significant losses. I felt static, depleted, and numb. 

It was as if the rest of the world continued spinning and mine had ground to a halt, with not  even a brief global respite to honour and acknowledge how wonderful the people and animals who were no longer with us were. There was nothing to soften the blow, only the persistent waves of emotional grief that would arrive any time it liked.

From a ripple to a tsunami, and sometimes occurring in a very public place. 

Even my partner began to show signs of gratuitous  impatience. Off-the-cuff remarks enquiring why I was still grieving the loss of my mother (6 months on) and, ‘There must be something wrong with you,’ 

became her default comment, summarizing the insufferable time she had endured with me in seven words! Naturally, it should have set off alarm bells, but the numbness I was feeling overshadowed any hint of rational coherence in her caustic tone of voice. I simply didn’t have the energy to deal with  further emotional turmoil and confrontation but  instead made a mental note of the glaring red flag. 

Denial heightened my myopic view of the bigger  picture. To accept and believe that the person I  chose to spend the rest of my days with, and fellow  adoptee, would not understand my plight seemed  grossly absurd. 

As I stumbled through the fog of grief, there was  another issue unfolding. The possibility that ‘there  wasn’t anything wrong with me,’ only undiagnosed ADHD and an obstacle of denial, on my part, to  break down.

They say truth can be stranger than fiction, and following the loss of my adopted mother, I thought  things couldn’t get much lower. My mother had been  the foundation stone that had held the rest of the  misfit family in place. She was compassionate and  kind and always brought us together, even as  reluctant as I was at times I did so out of respect  and the love I had for her. When she passed away, the whole dynamics of our dysfunctional family  went, for want of a better expression, arse about face. 

Utterly overwhelmed and under-supported for  months following the loss of my adopted mother and a year later my long-time canine companion; when  my relationship finally ended, I just remember feeling a slight flicker of relief. Even as I grappled  with this incongruent emotion, my world, as I had  known it, finally all came crashing down around me. 

When the dust finally settled, I was left with one objective.  

Healing and recovery.  

I had always held a certain scepticism about the  validity of ADHD (Attention, Deficit, Hyperactivity, Disorder), and I can’t fully explain the resistance. It ran deeper than struggling to recall the sequence of letters, let alone what they stood for! (It’s also,  quite possibly, the worst description of all time!) 

But that wasn’t the only reason. I also, as an  adoptee, had a deep-rooted aversion to being  different. Fitting in or blending in was all I yearned  for growing up in a world that felt to me like I was  anything but. My adoption had occurred last  century, in the 1960s, when closed adoptions were  the only legal option. Up until the Adoption Act in  1976, adoptees had no access to their birth certificates, and even adopted parents were often  advised against sharing information about the  adoption with the adopted child! 

It was a puzzling time growing up, not seeing any traits, looks, or other similarities mirroring my own  between myself and my family. At age 8, I was sat  down and told I was different, I was special, and I  had been chosen, as if that would make all of the  niggling questions be answered and everything okay.  Perhaps as a way of affirming their narrative, I’d  also get told how much I looked like my dad. It  didn’t, no matter how hard I tried, I just didn’t feel  grateful for being special or chosen. And I had a  bully for an elder brother (their biological son). It  all just felt wrong. (In today’s world it would be  called gaslighting.)

Unsurprisingly, I became the adoptee who acted out. I felt like I was always trying to put a square  peg in a round hole. 

In my formative years, I had struggled to understand my emotional limitations and fears of  rejection, which had affected most of my intimate  relationships, and subconsciously nurtured my  resilience to remain tough to the outside world, yet  remaining completely vulnerable within. All the  accumulative trauma I had deposited in a place so  deeply hidden, it would take the most expert  navigator to even reach the securely fastened door. Right or wrong, it enabled me to move forward with  my life and not be swamped by all the emotional  trauma I wasn’t yet ready to deal with. 

So here I was, many moons later and on the cusp of realizing my brain was wired differently, my long term relationship defunct, my best canine friend  deceased, and my mother gone, brought about something that could only be described as a  sh*tstorm. My mooring brutally broken, I found  myself adrift in a rapidly, uninviting, and  unpredictable ocean. The stored trauma inside seemed to be rising like a spring tide as I  instinctively tapped into the calmer waters of my brain as I had done in the past during my sailing 

adventures. I usually became calm and quick thinking in an emergency event on board, and I  would be able to think with clarity, abating rising panic that would usually affect other crew  members. I drew from those strengths and walked  towards what some may call the dark night of the soul to seek answers, solutions, and direction.  

The dark night increased to days, nights, and weeks, of soul-searching and processing. I spent  night after night in monologues with myself. As  insane as it sounds, it was a bizarre mix of self critique on one side and praise and encouragement  on the other. The encouragement monologue  gradually began to gain traction as I continued the  self-talk into the hot and sticky nights during the waning summer. The darkness and the clear Milky  Way hovering above, seemingly close enough to touch, setting my mind on an immeasurable journey  into the cosmic past while I tried to sort out my  present predicament. The first step seemed clear – obtain a diagnosis. 

As anyone with ADHD, or who knows anyone with the condition, getting a diagnosis can be an arduous  and possibly expensive task, or both. I felt my  problem-solving skills were really being challenged  to the hilt as this particular journey commenced. As 

I made a snail’s progress in one department, the  door was firmly slammed in another. I swiftly  realized getting a diagnosis wasn’t going to be as straightforward as I first imagined. After  exhausting all the contact numbers I had collated,  mainly therapists and psychiatrists, it appeared the  only way forward through the health system was  starting with a GP appointment.  

That seemed easy enough, but soon enough I found  my patience tested when I had to watch the GP use  one finger to type up some forms to start the ball  rolling. After what seemed like an eternity, the  forms were for a series of blood tests. I can’t  recall if I used an expletive at this stage, but the GP seemed to take great pleasure in informing me  of the protocol involved and something about how long the whole process could take. But I didn’t want  to wait. Feeling a little dejected and devoid of  focus, halting the impulse to screw the pages up, I  asked a simple question that, unbeknown to me,  would lead me to fruition. 

“So, is there a private clinic that is able to carry out the diagnosis?” (Keeping the rising frustration  from my voice).

The answer made me undecided whether I should  include a second expletive here or shake his hand.  According to his knowledge, I could enquire at the 

private health clinic that was a 15 minute drive  from my house! Like me, I guess one does tend to  wonder why this information wasn’t proffered at  the beginning of the consultation, and like so many  other rhetorical moments, I thought it best to leave the health centre with haste while I was ahead. 

I know others who are still on a waiting list face  huge delays, sometimes years before they can get  diagnosed. I felt exceedingly grateful for  discovering the local, private clinic (I have no health  insurance), and the fact that I was able to afford  the consultancy fee to finally get a clinical diagnosis was a huge validating relief for me. (Where I live, in  Portugal, for now, it’s actually very affordable).  

It basically highlights that all the online sites advertising assessments at inflated costs (not  recommended) and the broken health care system  in the UK, which has been helpless in the face of  greedy politics, have allowed profit to surpass the  importance of mental health care. The 

neurodivergent population deserves better. It should be a basic human right to obtain the care 

and attention that they need to be able to have the validation of a diagnosis and, more importantly,  access to much-needed medication for those who  require it. 

It was the same psychiatrist who carried out my ADHD assessment suggested I may benefit from  EMDR therapy. Divulging a small percent of who I  am and my past seemed to be enough for the doc to suggest I had C-PTSD (I actually had to ask what  the C stood for). And on my way out of the clinic, I had already booked my first consultation with the  next doc to begin my EMDR treatment, even though  I didn’t know the first thing about it. And so my  first experience on my healing journey with the help  of the other acronym was about to begin. 

What also made the treatment so appealing was that it was a practice leaning more towards  interactive psychotherapy as opposed to the talking  therapy I had only previously had experience with. I  had already lived decades with undiagnosed ADHD,  the challenges I experienced I took for the long term effects of childhood/early adult abandonment  trauma, I know I hadn’t fully dealt with. It all  merged together in the murky, traumatic waters of  time. It was impossible to separate one adopted  emotion from an ADHD one. Presented as a work of art, the piece would have resembled a web spun by a  spider on caffeine. In a word, chaotic. (We’ve all  seen the images, right?!) 

Directly after my ADHD diagnosis, the psychiatrist  promptly wrote a prescription for medication that I  was reluctant to take. 

I needed an organic healing process to formulate, and the idea of taking a pill to supposedly improve  my ADHD struggles just seemed like a ludicrous cop-out and a win for big Pharma. After all, I had made it this far having lived my entire life with  ADHD, so I wasn’t about to start now. To appease  the psychiatrist, I took one tablet, reluctantly, and  endured a sleepless night. It was all I needed to  confirm what I instinctively knew all along, and I’m sure my told-you-so attitude was picked up by the  specialist.  

(While I can safely say my views, opinions, and  experiences are uniquely mine, I do not wish to undermine others who rely on and thrive off ADHD medication.) 

Famed for her abundant idioms, my adopted mother regularly recited, I drew comfort from her words:

Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and, no time like the present, I set to making the EMDR therapy my  lightsaber in confronting and conquering the final  ‘chapter’ to reclaim my psychological liberation and  healing.  

Years previously I had been gifted the book, The Primal Wound, written by the amazing Nancy  Verrier. Barely had I made any headway into the book when I found myself in floods of tears after  reading the following sentence, ‘Dear Mum, please  come and get me.’ This was in reply to the question  Nancy had asked a group of adoptees: if you could  write to your birth mother, what would you say? The sentence evoked something primal within me. A  visceral and almost indescribable pain that I only  wanted to flee from. Each time I picked up the  book, the repeated emotion would rise to the  surface, and each time I would place the book back  in the bookshelf, choosing the next bookshelf up, to  place it further from my reach, as if by doing so I  could distance myself from my own emotional  reaction.  

Eventually, and after countless attempts, I successfully read the book, bought the sequel Coming Home to Self, and devoured that in the  process. I was relieved that I had finally managed  to finish both publications, and my gratitude,  holding no bounds, reached out to the author,  praising her for her life-changing work.  

There is no doubt in my mind the mental and  physical impact being adopted has sometimes overshadowed and affected my life, but there was  one event that I wanted to address and pen to my  birth mother, not to be posted as I had no  forwarding address or knew if she was still alive. It was more about an instinctual urge, yearning to  transcribe all those suppressed emotions. 

Fresh from the encouragement and empowerment  I’d gained after reading the books, I set to to write  that long-awaited letter I had promised to myself.  

I will spare you the amount of false starts that I notched up. When I did manage to get the words  flowing, they got angrier and angrier and angrier, and the momentum and articulation were lost in the rage. It left me feeling defeated and stuck. 

_________________________

My first, introductory consultation for the EMDR  treatment instantly put my frenetic mind to rest, as  my psychotherapist was one of the most empathetic  professionals I had ever met. The instant rapport  was reflected in my effortless ability to talk  nonstop. It was as if I had been passed the key,  albeit rusty, to unlocking the door to all of my  traumatic memories I had kept hidden within my body and mind. 

After a handful of sessions, the power of the  EMDR therapy allowed me to visit that memory  from my early 20s, the second and most devastating  rejection from my birth mother, threatening me  with legal action if I stepped one foot closer into  her world.  

 With the flow of the lateral beam of light in front  of my view, my safe location at hand in my  imagination, the deep breathing and the light, the  soothing and sometimes exhausting light, and the constant support and care from my psychotherapist, Inês, (pronounced Inesh), I edged  closer to my goal. 

A horizontal metre-long tube with LED lights sits on  a tripod at eye level, allowing the lights to move laterally and also at different speeds when  required. Keeping your head static and only your eyes to follow the light, it stimulates areas of the  brain we typically use during REM sleep. (Also where  we process new memories). It also lights up the  frontal cortex, the rational thinking part of the  brain that can override the amygdala, the flight-or fight response to a given traumatic event or a  current situation. It also reconnects the left and  right sides of the brain, helping our memories to  become unstuck, allowing a peaceful resolution for the memories to slowly manifest. 

After most sessions, as challenging and painful as  they were, I slowly shed the layers of trauma, and after being advised to do nothing for the duration of the day, I drove myself straight home, knowing  that I would capitulate to the rapid wave of  exhaustion that would find me already relaxing on  the sofa. Never having experienced anything quite  like it, I was pleasantly surprised, upon awakening, how refreshed and calmer I felt. 

I wondered how I will know when I’m healed. How  will it present itself? Will it be a eureka moment, or  will I just wake up to a different me? The answer  for me was more subtle and gradual. Our brains are amazing and incredibly resilient, and for me, the  moment presented itself when I found I was able to  finally let go and forgive my birth mother and, more  importantly, forgive myself. It’s not just voicing the words, it’s a profound, all-tangible, physical, and  mental state of knowing. Sensing the shift, a  transformation. A response as opposed to a  reaction. 

Revisiting those old memories will occur time by  time but the huge difference is there’s no snowball  effect. That’s all but melted away. My nervous  system isn’t triggered as before. I can express the emotions in a more rational and liberating way, and knowing that they won’t send me into an emotional free fall is enough to bring a tear to the eye! It’s  also about acknowledging that there is also strength  in sensitivity, emotion and empathy, not weakness.  To know that I am enough is really more than  enough! 

The significant triumph was prevailing and penning ‘that letter’ (it became an epic, 7 A4 pages long). Something that I never before thought possible. With poise, articulation, and empathy, I was able to  pen my whole experience and explain how her  actions had impacted my life. It was cathartic and  allowed me to reach a sense of closure, even though  I had known for decades that I would never sit  face-to-face with my birth mother or know that her  eyes would never absorb my words. To quote a few  lines from the seven-page missive:

‘Perhaps there will always be things left unwritten or unsaid for the time that has passed is a lifetime, and we all must  have our say, directly or not; time to let go, time to have closure, even if it is not played out the way we would have  wished. Not craving for what-ifs and should-haves, but  embracing peace and love. To be understood by the ones  that matter is enough and to leave all the heartache from  the ones that were never able to feel empathy behind. Not  to forget, but to forgive.’  

It’s been a life-changing process for me to find  something resembling peace and more of a balance  within myself. I am grateful I took the necessary  steps and allowed the rest to unfold. From the  burnout and overwhelm prior to my ADHD diagnosis,  it’s been an evolutionary process in moving forward  in a more mindful way, allowing gratitude into my  world, nurturing self-care and love while the guilt,  shame, and blame diminished. I’m at ease with the  person who I always knew I was, the masks long  since discarded, not defined by my pre-verbal  trauma, adoption, ADHD, and someone who was  repeatedly told in the past, you’re too sensitive and too emotional or too angry, yadda, yadda. More  importantly, it’s about how we see ourselves and  accepting and embracing everything that makes us,  us. We are all beautiful souls, warts and battle  scars and all! 

In retrospect, I always believed that if I could  overcome my physical fears, everything else would  be okay. It would create a foundation of strength  and resilience. I thrived off a life of excitement  and living on the edge, feeding hungrily off the  adrenaline. Pushing myself to the absolute edge, especially during my time sailing and delivering  boats. I did overcome my physical fears while facing  the harsh and unpredictable elements of the sea,  oceans, and weather.  

The irony wasn’t lost on me as I was finally able to  acknowledge and deal with facing the far greater  challenge that my emotional fears and everything  else encompassed.  

There exists a real sense of accomplishment now, plus not only realizing one of my favourite mottos  but also being able to say with conviction I was the  woman who felt the emotional fear and did it  anyway! 

by Carole Dwelly

https://www.emdr.com/what-is-emdr/ 

While I can only account for my personal  experience with EMDR, in general, this form of  therapy has extremely positive results. However, the process I have heard can also be very testing  for some, evoking and reliving the traumatic events  during the treatment. I would welcome and be very  interested to hear of other people’s experiences with regard to this psychotherapeutic treatment. Please feel free to get in touch via the email below. 

After studying and researching everything I could  find on ADHD, the natural path led me to becoming  an ADHD coach, accredited through the Association  for Coaching, and I now spend my time helping fellow ADHD brains navigate through their own  challenges. You can contact me at: coachingwithadhd@gmail.com

Photo: Javardh on Unsplash

"It's harder to think about a bigger trauma than relinquishment" - Paul Sunderland on adoption

Paul Sunderland joined the adoptee community to talk about the effects of relinquishment on adopted people and why they are over-represented in addiciton, mental health, the prison system and suicide.

He also talked about a deliberate and systematic cover up by society and adoption agencies to deny that adoption is a trauma.

Organised by the Adult Adoptee Movement, Paul Sunderland spoke for 40 minutes followed by 20 minutes of Q&A.

Paul is an addiction psychotherapist with 35 years experience. Much of his talk centered around the effects of relinquishment on the autonomic nervous system. Paul talked about codependency as a manifestation of cptsd and said he has never met an adoptee that didn’t also have complex post-traumatic stress disorder (although he acknowledged that people self-refer to his clinic so he was cautious not to pathologise). He said that CPTSD should be called developmental trauma disorder. It happens over a period of time and nearly always during childhood development. It’s when our nervous system thinks the trauma is still happening.

““You were preparing to meet someone who wasn’t there.””

— Paul Sunderland

Paul talked about clinical implications of what it feels like to have possibly the biggest trauma there is which is to be separated from mother. “You were preparing to meet someone who wasn’t there and that was life threatening.” He said that those people who lost faith in other humans to help them regulate tend to become compulsively self reliant.

When our systems are disregulated and we feel threatened, we go into one or more of the four Fs: flight flight freeze faun. These responses are adaptive responses to stress and understandable in small doses in relevant situations, but they get locked in the ON position if you have CPTSD. We get locked in a state of protection rather than connection. We become hypervigilant. We cannot connect or be present while in this state.

He quoted Anna Freud: “The horrors of war pale beside the loss of a mother”.

Attachment theory says we need:

• To be seen

• To feel soothed

• To feel safe

• To feel secure

All traumas have two things in common: 

1. Captivity

2. Powerlessness 

Relinquishment and subsequent adoption has both these things. What it also has is a deliberate and systematic cover up by society and adoption agencies to deny that it is a trauma in order to satisfy the needs of the adults, including adoptive parents. “Yours is one of the few trauma that you’re supposed to be grateful for.” The lack of acknowledgment from society makes it hard to be seen. We need to call something by its proper name or we can’t get better.

When we have a so-called ‘disguised trauma’ where we are not seen and ours reality is questioned, all we can do is learn to self soothe. Addiction, for example, is a sensible adaptive self-soothing response that becomes maladaptive.

““Yours is one of the few trauma that you’re supposed to be grateful for.””

— Paul Sunderland

Relinquishment is an enormous trauma that cannot be recalled but is remembered. Clinicians say that ‘the issues are in the tissues’ which means the trauma lives in our bodies. Often relinquished babies have dermotological / gastrointestinal issues etc - the body expressing itself as babies cannot communicate any other way. This can lead to somatic issues.

Symptoms of CPTSD

1. Hypervigilance - we cannot be present, we are always on alert

2. Catastrophic thinking - there has been a catastrophe already so we expect another one

3. Binary thinking - trauma is about life and death. “Either I get it right or I get it wrong.”

4. “Unreliable witness” - Unless the other person is smiling and nodding they must hate me / their actions must have negative intentions. Unless I get my way, they win: no sense of co-creation.

5. Impaired self-care - The only part of self-care that may be attended to well is the sense of presentation or how we look to others.

6. Interpersonal problems

7. Retraumatisation - we put ourselves in harms way. Addition is one of these. We don’t know why people retraumatise.

8. Anxiety 

9. Depression 

10. Exhaustion and immune issues 

11. Shame - there’s something wrong with me (it’s a defence against there’s something wrong with them! Who will look after me!) better to think self as there’s hope you can change and get better

12. Flashbacks / triggers - a neuroception that throws us into protect before we can even notice 

There is a big overlap between ADD and CPTSD.

Codependency

When you are codependent, you are dependent on the anticipated or perceived reactions or responses of the other = it’s an addiction. It comes from two parts of the autonomic nervous system:

1. The fawn response - I manage my anxiety by putting you at ease
   

2. The fight response - I manage my anxiety by putting the other at unease and/or by making them wrong and moving the goal posts.

How can we help ourselves 

Paul gave a few tips:

• Train your nervous system as if you were training for a 10k!

• The most effective thing you can do is elongate the out breath (most of us shallow breath because we are in fight/flight) 

• Chanting 

• Singing

• Somatic therapy such as cranial sacral therapy and equine psychotherapy

• Only work with practitioners who acknowledge that being relinquished is ‘a thing’

• Do the thing that never felt safe: put your trust in someone. Self-regulation doesn’t work without co-regulation. “We get better in relationship.”

• Start to speak our truth in order to treat ourselves as valuable. That’s when things change.

• Have choice and a voice = the opposite of captivity and powerlessness

• Community peer support

Thank you Paul for pledging your support to our community. Thank you AAM for this brilliant webinar.

Watch the Paul Sunderland adoption webinar here

Further reading and resources:

Adult Adoptee Movement

Paul Sunderland letcure on adoption and addiction

Judith Herman, Trauma and Recovery (who came up with cptsd as a term)

Alice Miller - The Enlightened Witness 

Adoption Impacts - Rejection and People Pleasing - by Gilli Bruce

The 1982 study by Kaplan and Silverstein highlighted 7 Lifelong Impacts of Adoption – one of the impacts identified was a fear of rejection that endures beyond the family into adult life. This is the subject of this piece where we will look at this impact of adoption and how we might come to recognise it operating as an adult.

As our recovery deepens, we start to notice more of the subtle triggers within the body – the body bracing, tensing and alerting the nervous system to a perceived threat on any number of the 7 impacts identified.  The messages that become embedded in the body can feel so normal that it can be hard to sift them out from other feelings.

Internal reactions such as ‘Stay Safe’ / ‘I’m not Enough’ messages that we formulated in childhood can run the show into adulthood, so our challenge is to catch them in the act and learn to respond from an adult position – rather than a vulnerable child’s position.  We may have interpreted our adoption story in distorted ways, typically our younger self made meaning of what we were told - and we have interpreted our relinquishment as meaning one, two or all of these:

• We are not safe and secure - and our needs may not be met, so we operate from a position of fear and anxiety.

• We are not enough, we are faulty in some way – or there must have been something wrong with us, so we operate from a position of shame and anxiety.

• We were powerless, we have no say in things, we weren’t considered and had no control or autonomy, so we operate from a position of resistance or anger.

Rejection

We may become vigilant for a hint of rejection and feel sensitive, angry or hurt around perceived rejection cues such as these examples:

• Not receiving contact at the usual level

• Not getting eye contact or other body language cues we can interpret negatively

• Not feeling included enough

• Friends or close others making new choices such as moving away or making plans that don’t include us or result in distance

• Being excluded or cancelled on for unknown reasons

• Mood fluctuations of others that may have nothing to do with us

• Not being selected for things being perceived as ‘not good enough’

• Not being enquired about – or other interpretations that others are not interested in us

• Or many other behaviours that our sensitive systems interpret as rejection

Rejection can be a core issue for adoptees, and our systems all adopt different leading strategies for managing this triggering fear:

• Some may get angry and operate from the ‘Fight’ response that leaps into action to perceived threat of rejection.

• Some may use the ‘Flight’ response and just leave the scene, rejecting others before they reject them.

• Some ‘Freeze’ and find themselves unable to respond in any meaningful way when perceived rejection is registered.

• Others – go into ‘Freeze– then fawn’ as the nervous system registers the freeze response, then drops automatically into the less know ‘Fawn’ response, also known as ‘Please and Appease’.

Most of us will experience some of these operating on their own or in a combination. These automatic reactions are created by the body – we don’t decide to do them - and we may feel powerless over them – awareness is the key in starting to manage these reactions.   

The Freeze – Fawn Response / Please & Appease / People Pleasing / The Please Others Driver

Whichever label we use The Freeze – Fawn response / Please & appease responses can be known to us - as the need to please others, to nurture or rescue others as an almost compulsive reaction rather than simply a kind gesture from the heart.  

The difference lies in the motivation behind our actions. Pleasing others may have been the response our body chose as its preferred way to manage the fear of rejection. Naturally, we can all act from a kind heart too, but the Fawn / Please others drive comes from a different motivation.

The ‘Please Others’ driver can be linked to adverse childhood experiences or traumatic events. People pleasing can form to protect us from negative things that happened OR around the positive conditions for secure attachment that didn’t happen – which we now know to be equally as damaging.

• Maybe we were relinquished as a baby and the maternal bond was lost.

• Maybe our parents weren’t attuned to our emotional needs and connection felt weak of non-existent, this is common in adoptees as adopting parents had no idea that we needed to talk about our adoption and be seen heard, understood and soothed.

• Maybe there was a lack of loving affection, touch and hugs that every child needs to feel securely attached and bonded.

• Maybe we never got listened to or never felt heard so we tried harder to earn the right to a voice.

• Maybe there was a deficit in attention, and we were left alone a lot, even if parents are just busy – the child felt the lack.

• Maybe there was neglect - so we didn’t feel cared for or cared about.

• Maybe we never got to feel that we belonged in our family - we felt different and we looked different, we had different talents and we had different voices.

• Or other needs that weren’t met that we felt the lack of – and thought we could maybe earn if we were pleasing enough.

And of course, negative experiences that happened could create a need to attempt to stay safe and secure by earning this too.

A ‘Please Others’ driver

This doesn’t usually operate alone – we can imagine it as the head of a team that all serve to please others and avoid displeasing, such as:

• Don’t argue / create conflict/ don’t be any trouble – it’s too risky.

• Hurry Up – don’t annoy anyone by keeping them waiting – anxiety if going to be late.

• Minimise difficult feelings – stuff them down and carry on - don’t express them.

• Try hard - become indispensable - be there whenever they need you.

• Do everything you can to earn approval, loyalty, admiration or to be valued – being a helper e.g. the one helping to clear up at parties, offering lifts or favours.

• Be perfect so that there’s no reason to be rejected.

• Open / porous boundaries, weak boundaries or no boundaries with others – holding boundaries = risky.

• Say ‘Yes’ when we’d rather say ‘NO’.

• Not stating clearly or asking for what we want, need or desire.

• Many other ways in which we may strive to please and avoid displeasing.

These are Normal Responses to Abnormal Situations. These behaviours happen due to unmet needs in childhood. We may have experienced unmet needs around felt safety, so please to feel safe and secure and to avoid rejection. We may have had unmet needs around our value or worth and carry a sense of shame, so we please others to earn the right to feel we belong, to feel loved and valued. We may have unmet needs around autonomy and control and carry underlying anger, so we may please others to earn the right to self-agency, control or to do things the way we want to.

As adoptees we may or may not use a strategy of pleasing others but if we do – we are likely to people please or attend to others to soothe our anxiety around not really belonging, or not really being loved for ourselves, there may be other subconscious reasons too.

A feature of a Please Others driver is that we may not notice red flags – whether with partners, colleagues or friends we may disregard negative behaviours, or we do notice them – but take red flag behaviours as an indication that we need to try harder or do better.  We may even up our game to be what others want / need as a result of red-flag behaviours, and become more determined to win over the person we want to impress or wish to keep on board.  

If we had adverse childhood experiences or trauma this can be our subconscious attempt to correct the past and to earn the loving care we needed, this time. Subconsciously we are trying to correct the former hurts or deficits of childhood. If care givers were ambivalent or even avoidant in their attachment style – we will seek out people like this - so that the past can be ‘fixed’ - the trouble is, what we are seeking is dysfunctional love, that whilst it feels familiar, isn’t what we actually want!

Often people pleasing starts in childhood when we didn’t get the loving attunement, attention or loving cues we needed. If a child feels unseen or unheard and their needs are not fully met, we may try to nurture, rescue or please to get it back. We are likely to either avoid displeasing in equal measures.

People pleasing is exhausting – we may be trying our hardest to be good and caring when we feel an inner loneliness or emptiness that needs to be filled up.

How to make some shifts

Reflect on the past using a journal, record in two ways:

1. What were the bad things that happened? Events, memories, feelings around things that felt hurtful, unloving, difficult, abusive or traumatic (if there are traumatic memories record these without detail for now until you can work with a trained professional).  What was hard for you?

2. What good things should have happened but didn’t? In what ways did you feel a sense of lack or absence? Which deficits in your childhood did you experience?  Maybe you became aware that friends had parenting that seemed different, richer or more loving than your own? What was missing for you?

Be aware we won’t have memories of things that didn’t happen – because nothing happened!

Build self-awareness – start to develop awareness of what happens just before the pleasing thoughts and behaviours.

• You might notice a slight tension in the tummy, tension in the jaw, shoulders or somewhere else. You might notice a slight anxiety which is so familiar you barely spot it.

• You might notice a need to move or shift, a restlessness or a fidgety feeling that could be the start of a mini-Flight response.

• You might notice emotions such as shame, anger, anxiety or panic – these may be so familiar that they seem ‘normal’.

• You might notice thoughts that you could write down in a sentence to return to later and reflect upon – were they the thoughts of an adult with a solid sense of self – or do they feel ‘young’? E.g. ‘I’d better go along tonight, he’ll be annoyed if I don’t’ – is that even true?

• Notice habitual behaviours and patterns that you feel obliged to follow even if you don’t really want to. This includes things you do because internal ‘rules’ that say you ‘Should’, ‘Ought to’, or ‘Must’.

Identify the part of you that feels the need to please / not displease – how old is that part of you?

• Having identified the younger part of you that drives people pleasing - bring compassion to that part. Ensure that you avoid criticising or berating this younger part and treat this younger part with the loving care and compassion that a loving parent would.

• Remind that part that you are now aged xyz and can now make different strategies.

• Remind the younger part that only babies, infants or young children can be abandoned (which could potentially be life-threatening) – at this adult age now, you can only be left, and it won’t be life threatening if you are left.

Practice – new behaviours may feel uncomfortable but are doable! We all have the right to; say ‘No’, assert our needs, wants, opinions and desires and we can learn the skills to do this effectively.  

You could look into exploring, for example:

• A programme of Co-dependency recovery such as CODA UK’s 12 step fellowship programme.

• Assertiveness training, setting and holding boundaries. Developing effective communication skills can be empowering at any age – it is never too late to change and grow.

Disclaimer: The inforamation contained within How To Be Adopted is not a replacement for medical or psychological advice. Always seek personalised guidance from a professional.

Photo by whoislimos on Unsplash

So many unanswered questions - transracial late-discovery adoptee Ryan

I was 18 when my parents told me I was adopted so I’m what’s known as a LDA - late discovery adoptee. This news really messed me up. After learning of my adoption, I kept it a secret from everyone else in my life for another 12 years. I traveled a lot, lived in Ibiza, had a busy life - managing to ignore it. When the COVID lockdowns hit, I couldn’t avoid it any longer. From that point, adoption has ruled my life. That’s why I decided that I had to trace my roots and am now on a reunion journey.

A theory I was told was I was found in a street in Morocco and taken to a hospital. I was adopted by my Moroccan father and English mother and brought to live in Scotland. While they were going through the complicated process of adopting me, I spent some time with a foster family in Morocco. This is about as much as I know. I always wondered why my skin was darker than my siblings and could never work out why. There were so many unanswered questions.

I took a DNA test and the results only identified a 4th cousin - which is not a good match. I’ve applied to be on the TV show Long Lost Family twice, but have not been successful so far. In June, I took a trip to Morocco to try and find more information about my adoption. Every single piece of information is valuable to me. I believe that everyone deserves to know where they came from.

It’s hard work trying to find information in another country and in another language. I don’t speak Arabic so I need to have someone with me to interpret or via phone which has its cha;llenges. I met my foster family and they were positive about the likelihood of me tracing my birth family. I visited the hospital I spent time in, and saw my name in a court register. However, getting more information is difficult. I was sent to five different offices and then back to where I started. Each place I went, I was either told I had to go somewhere else to get the information I wanted, the person I needed to see was on holiday, the files were in an old archive, or the information didn’t exist. At the hospital, they requested money from me to get the information I needed. You have to be careful not to get scammed since there are a lot of people trying to make money out of you.

I appeared on some national television programs in the hope that someone watching would know something about me, but nothing came of it. In Morocco during the 1990s, there was shame around women having children outside of marriage. They could get in trouble from the authorities and lots of babies are abandoned for that reason or because of poverty. One thing I noticed while in Morocco is despite the poverty, the people looked happy.

I’d like to meet my Moroccan family and thank them, but I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to do that. I know there are many barriers to finding out who my birth parents are. I’ve tried going through the embassies, but ended up waiting months and months for a response. They don’t seem to be able to help much. You need to be persistent, but it’s very draining. For now, I’ve hit a dead end and feel in limbo. I need to go back to Morocco but it’s expensive, so I’ll have to save up more money.

Although I was taken away from my roots, I love Scotland. I am close to my adoptive mum and she’s been a huge support to me through this process.

I struggle to know where I fit in – my adoptive family, Morocco, Scotland, and even with other adopted people. There are moments where I think that everyone else is happier and more solid than me. But I know I am hard on myself. I try to be spontaneous to keep my head above water but find myself crashing. I may push people away and self-sabotage. However, I have ambitions to be successful and to have a family. I’m not sure how to achieve this yet but I have hope.

In July 2021, I decided to share my experiences publicly. I posted a YouTube video, talked to the press, and published my story on my website. I find it healing to talk about my situation and keen to share my story.

Even small pieces of information that I can find about my biological family means a lot to me. There is always the chance that someone listening, watching, or even reading this, will know something which will really matter to me.

About the author

Ryan Anderson is a foundling and a transnational, transracial, and late discovery adoptee (LDA). Found on the street in El Jadida, Morocco he was adopted age 3 months then brought to Scotland age 6 months, in between this time he was fostered with a Moroccan family. He first found out he was adopted at age 18. Since 2020 he focused on personal development, to then become became open to share his story at age 31.

More info from Ryan

Are you coming to the online retreat 20th Jan 2024?

HTBA Retreat January 2024

The Impacts of Being Adopted – acknowledging and alleviating the effects

Have you ever wondered how being adopted affects you physically, emotionally and relationally? Do you want to hear what's worked for the How To Be Adopted team in terms of understanding and working to alleviate some of the less-than-helpful effects?

This event will include short yoga, breathwork and meditation sessions, talks from both Gilli Bruce (counsellor) and Claire M (founder of How To Be Adopted), and break-out sessions where you can connect with other adopted people.

Please join us for what promises to be a lovely afternoon.

Book now on Eventbrite

More info from Gilli....

Many adoptees have an ever-shifting and evolving understanding of how being relinquished and subsequently adopted affected them. I thought myself to be completely untouched by adoption in my teens and twenties – I never talked about it, never thought about it much (apart from birthdays and crisis points) and never knew myself to be impacted upon very much.

Through my twenties and thirties, I was busy doing life and in my early forties – much of the same, so it wasn’t until age 46 when I saw a documentary about birth mother’s pain and anguish, that I started to let ‘adoption stuff’ in. In my late forties, I went through the whole reunion thing and thought that would resolve everything – and when it didn’t - I hid from all the big emotions. It wasn’t until the age of 53 that I decided to enter into therapy and ‘deal with my adoption’ and uncovered all the impacts that I’d shied away from looking at before. I uncovered a lot. I learned about impacts on my behaviour, on my relationships and on my relationship with myself.

During this retreat, I’d like to share some models that I learned about on my counselling training, on workshops and through my own shadow work that might help adoptees to bring some impacts into awareness – so that they can be acknowledged and moved through - Gilli Bruce

Book now on Eventbrite

Photo by: https://unsplash.com/@hannahbusing

Adopted……………And then what? by Gilli Bruce

Through most of my adopted life I thought that all my difficulties were rooted in the single issue of being an adoptee. Therapy helped me to uncover the aspects of adoption that created the insecurity, the anxiety and the people-pleasing strategies I’d used in a subconscious bid to stay safe. All done I thought! ‘I get it – adoption is childhood attachment trauma, I understand – we’re all done here……onwards and upwards!’

Except……..it wasn’t all done at all. I know now that the adoption itself does indeed create a set of painful wounds that adoptees share and may come to recognise as a common ground.

We come to understand:

• The loss and grief that being separated from a birth mother generates.

• The fractured identity.

• The sense of not really belonging to our family because we can’t see ourselves in any of the faces around us.

• Genetic differences.

• The messages we received and the messages we didn’t receive - and what our younger self made of those messages in the form of beliefs about our self and our relinquishment.

• The damage to self-perception and our sense of secure attachment.

• The impact on relationships of all kinds.

And many more nuanced impacts that we could add to this list.

However – I know several adoptees who seem to be largely OK with being adopted, who seem to have been less disrupted by the adaption that can come with adoption.

On further enquiry, these less disrupted adoptees report:

• Very loving parents who were consistently affectionate and warm.

• An openness to conversations around their adoption so adoption didn’t become a taboo subject.

• Parental attunement to emotions and a willingness to understand feelings about adoption.

• The delivery of enough reassuring messages and behaviours to develop a sense secure attachment.

• Good enough parental management of teenage turbulence to sustain a loving, family connection.

These were just a few aspects of growing up adopted that had allowed the ‘OK adoptees’ to feel less disrupted by adoption than some of us have, and maybe still do.

The adoptees I work with and talk with, generally don’t have that experience – there wasn’t ENOUGH attuned, loving or consistent parenting to outweigh the wounds. There weren’t ENOUGH loving behaviours or demonstrations of safety and security to quell anxieties and make us feel that we belonged. There weren’t ENOUGH open conversations about adoption, feelings or questions so identity was fractured and ephemeral.

Maybe we:

• Were transracially adopted – so obviously ‘didn’t belong’.

• Were adopted from another country or culture so felt a bigger sense of not belonging.

• Were a lonely, only child adoptee.

• Were adopted into a mix of adopted and biological children and felt a difference.

• Experienced ambivalent attachment with distant, withdrawn or stern parents.

• Had parents who were not loving or affectionate and did not discuss feelings.

• Experienced a Father Wound or Mother Wound on top of adoption.

• Experienced parental conflicts, divorce, death, addictions, abuse, violence, indifference, unpredictable behaviours, narcissism or other further adverse experiences.

• Were just different and felt like we didn’t belong.

• Any number of other additional difficulties that were heightened by being adopted and have a big impact beyond the original adoption wound.

Naturally – children who grew up with their biological families can experience some of the above, but my personal feeling is that being adopted makes these further, additional issues heavier, more impactful and more difficult.

My feeling is that if we want to heal so that we can grow into our best selves, we need to tease out the painful feelings so we can distinguish which bits are about being adopted and which bits are about something else. Once we’ve identified which difficult feelings come from which source, we can access the right repair tools and start our journey of positive growth. I share this because for many years I laid all the blame for my problems on being adopted until I explored ‘The Father Wound’ and understood more accurately why my relationships were so extra tricky.

And still, despite it all – my true self – as she has come to be revealed is generally rather happy, delighted by the simple things and content ….or maybe that’s just getting old!

Photo by Erik Dungan on Unsplash

You can meet Gilli at the How To Be Adopted online mini-retreat on Jan 20th 2024.

Unspoken The Silent Truth Behind My Lifelong Trauma as a Forced Adoptee Liz Harvie with Eve Hatton

“I was two when the woman I called Mummy told me, ‘You came out of another mummy’s tummy.’ I grew up thinking that my birth mother didn’t want me. I assumed there must’ve been something inherently wrong with me – why else would a mother give up her baby?”

In 1974, Liz Harvie – born Claire Elaine Watts – was given up for adoption by her birth mother Yvonne. Claire was just eight weeks old when her adoptive parents took her in – and renamed her Elizabeth.

Although brought up in a ‘perfect’ household, the emotional – and physical – trauma of being taken from her biological mother would never leave Liz. She constantly wondered: what does my real mum look like? Will she come back for me? Why did she abandon me?

But whenever Liz voiced such questions, she invariably received the same response: “Your birth parents were not married. They couldn’t look after you.”

Years later, aged twenty-eight, Liz reconnected with her birth mother and finally learned the shocking truth surrounding her adoption. She had not been abandoned. A social worker had snatched the ten day-old baby from Yvonne’s arms: “I didn’t even get a final cuddle. She just took her away from me.”

Liz became one of at least 185,000 victims of forced adoption between 1949 and 1976 in England and Wales.

As a young unmarried mum, Yvonne was deemed unfit as a parent by her father, and, like so many other unsupported women, by the government, by the church, by both state and church Moral Welfare Officers, by adoption agencies, and therefore made to give up her child against her will.

Although reunited, Liz and Yvonne are still struggling to cope with the agony resulting from their devastating separation. As Liz says, “We can’t just skip hand in hand into the sunset. The trauma of being a forced adoptee is lifelong.”

Second book in the Stolen Lives series, following Taken by Michelle Pearson with Eve Hatton; Unspoken is a true story of the pain and scandal of forced adoption. Liz Harvie has appeared in several press articles, radio and television pieces and has featured in a BBC Documentary, If You Love Your Baby, on historical forced adoption. In 2022, Liz gave written and oral evidence when she spoke in parliament for the Joint Committee on Human Rights Inquiry into Forced Adoption - the right to family life: adoption of children of unmarried women 1949-1976.

In May 2022, Liz and six other women formed The Adult Adoptee Movement, which aims to challenge attitudes to and change the narrative on adoption, campaigning to raise awareness of the lifelong trauma adoptees face and ensure appropriate support is available for all those involved.

Liz lives in Camberley, Surrey with her husband, two daughters and two dogs. She is an end of life and pastoral care companion volunteer at her local hospital and hospice.

Eve Hatton is the co-author, with Shy Keenan, of the bestselling Broken (Mardle Books, 2022).

Buy or pre-order from Amazon

Book also available in Waterstones and Asda.

Forced adoption - James' story

In early 1950, a young woman, call her Mary, left her home in the far west of Ireland.  Her parent’s small farm could no longer support their ever growing family. Mary had a very limited education, having left school at age 12 to drive a trap, delivering farm produce.  In common with thousands of others, she decided upon emigration as the only real solution. 

A few weeks later, she arrived in England and quickly found a place as a maid at a large boarding school to the west of London.  Pay and conditions were woeful, so when the opportunity to work as a waitress on an American airbase arose, Mary moved immediately.

By November of 1951, she was pregnant, unmarried and about to be dismissed from her job as a result.  Her serviceman boyfriend had been posted home when the news broke, standard U.S. military procedure at the time.  Reeling from rejection, too ashamed to ask for help from home and friendless in a foreign country, she finally accepted “help” from her local G.P. who arranged admission to a local authority home for unmarried mothers.

Mary’s stay at the facility was dependant on her giving up her baby for adoption.  Initially, the relief offered by her safe haven outweighed fear of that consequence, but within 3 months, she wrote home, asking if she could return.  Her mother lost no time in travelling to England.  It was not that she lacked empathy, but made it clear that the stigma of unmarried motherhood in the Ireland of the day was far worse than in the U.K.  Mary could be forced into one of the infamous Magdalen laundries; removal of her child for adoption would be mandatory and she would be compelled to remain for several years, in order to work off her “debt”.

Mary decided to stay at the home in England, where she gave birth to her child, me, in the summer of 1952.  Within 6 days, I was taken by my new family, a childless, middle aged couple.  Too late, a distraught Mary rushed to the nursery, desperate to keep her child.  He had already gone, leaving only outstanding paperwork.  Numb with shock and distress, she signed away her baby.

Mary went on to build herself a life in England.  She eventually married and had a family, but didn’t return to Ireland for decades, although she exchanged infrequent letters with her mother and older sister.

My birth father was a second generation immigrant to the U.S. Mary thought he was of Greek descent.  I certainly had a “Mediterranean” look, at odds with my adoptive parents, who would never admit to my origins.  Once a court had rubber-stamped the adoption order, they lost little time in moving home, all but losing contact with friends and their own families.

I was never told of my adoption, but earliest memories were of not belonging.  Although my new parents were usually kind and often loving, according to their lights, there was always an unseen and unspoken barrier.  Possibly they were too old to adopt, there was never much appetite for fun and adventure, although I was always well cared for.  There were of course no grandparents or aunts, uncles and cousins.  However, I grew into a lively and curious toddler, who could be quite challenging to his staid parents.

My adoptive mother was often unable to cope, by the time I was 6, she was going through a difficult menopause.  On several occasions, in apparent sheer desperation, she staged phone calls to the police, in order to, “take her wicked child,” to prison, or would pack a suitcase with my belongings, to be sent with me to a children’s home.  I frequently had bruises to hide, but came to accept this as normal.  My adoptive father, by then approaching 60, left parenting to his wife, refusing to become involved or offer any form of guidance.  The effect on me was predictably adverse.  School work suffered, I found it difficult to form peer relationships and became introverted and shy, blaming myself for letting down my parents by not loving them enough 

By 1970, I was a reasonably intelligent, though virtually unqualified 18 year old, attracted by a demand for labour abroad. I privately decided that emigration and a new start could be an answer.  A passport was needed, so a trip to the records office for a birth certificate was the first step in the process.  Following a fruitless search, a kindly official gently suggested that adoption could be the reason.  Unfortunately, the law forbade further disclosure.  An inevitable confrontation at home revealed the truth.  Mother angrily admitted that I was an adoptee, but refused to give any further details.  Following several horrible scenes, he left home and remained estranged from his adoptive parents for the rest of their lives.

A later change to adoption law meant that I was able to retrieve some basic birth details.  I mulled over these for some years, due to marriage and work commitments.  Ultimately, I decided to attempt to trace my birth mother.  It was relatively easy to obtain documents in my adoptive name, slightly more difficult to get the original long birth certificate, which gave my birth mother’s home town in Ireland.  Months passed in searching, until I hit on the plan of contacting the local Irish Parish Priest.  He was incredibly sympathetic and invited me over, as he had important and highly confidential information for me.

I travelled out a few weeks later.  Once I had identified myself to his satisfaction, the priest revealed that, following a period of seismic social change in Ireland, my birth mother’s history was now largely accepted.  By coincidence, she herself had attempted to trace me and the family had enlisted his help

I was introduced to and accepted by members of my birth family.  A few months later, I was able to meet my birth mother.  She told me her story and asked for my forgiveness.  I was able to thank her and assure her that the only feeling I had was one of love.  These revelations enabled me to understand who I am, why I felt different and finally come to terms with myself. I even enrolled as a mature student and gained a degree, fulfilling at least some of my earlier potential.  

Both my birth mother and I were victims of forced adoption, so prevalent in those less enlightened times.  Mary deserves an apology, but sadly she passed a few years ago.  I would appreciate recognition of the unnecessary suffering we both endured.   

I am not anti-adoption per se, but I feel that honesty, transparency and strict vetting and matching processes are vital.  Looking back, I feel that earlier parts of my life suffered directly from the policies in place at the time.  I have no animosity towards my adoptive parents, but now realise that they were hopelessly unsuitable candidates and that the system which enabled them, was irretrievably flawed. 

In 2017, I applied successfully to the court for an unsealing of the original adoption order. The process took some years, but I was able to use the information to claim automatic Irish citizenship and a passport.  I would be happy to share details of this process along with any aspect of my story, in order to help anyone with similar concerns.

Photo by Lukas Rychvalsky on Unsplash

Introducing Adult Adoptee Movement

Thanks to Claire and How To Be Adopted for inviting us to introduce ourselves here. We are baby scoop era adoptees living in the UK, who came together in May 2022 during the Joint Committee on Human Rights (JCHR) parliamentary inquiry into historic forced adoptions. We aim to raise adoptee voices and campaign on issues that affect adult adoptees, in order to change the narrative and to improve things not only for us but for younger adoptees too. We believe that at our stage in life we have a perspective on adoption that we did not have when we were younger and that our lived experience and insights can inform policy makers and service providers. Adult adoptees are rarely part of the conversation and we want to change that.

Our first task was to write a response to the JCHR report, which we published in October 2022. We are still (as of February 2023) waiting for the government’s response to the Committee report, which was due in September 2022. We have had an email reply from the Department for Education but it echoes the evidence given to the Committee by then-Secretary of State Nadhim Zahawi, and it does not sound like the government will take responsibility for the state’s role in forced adoptions and issue an apology. We are asking for a lot more than an apology and you can read our full response on our website.

One of our recommendations was to remove the requirement for those providing counselling and therapy to adult adoptees to be registered with Ofsted. The government is now consulting on this change in England and you can respond to the consultation up to 20 March 2023. We will be responding as a group and we will make our response public. We support the proposal but have concerns about what unregulated services will look like, and about how we will actually get the help we need.

If you would like to learn more you can visit our website where you will find profiles of our founding members, links to our response to the report, some resources and a series of blogs we have written. You can also follow us on Twitter or sign up to our newsletter. If you are an adoptee and would like to join our Facebook support group you can find it here.

We love the work that HTBA does and will continue to advocate for adoptee-led services and organisations to be at the centre of any support for adoptees.

Adult Adoptee Movement, 
February 2023

A life-changing day for adoptees to gather in community

Anne Heffron with HTBA founder Claire

In October 2022, How To Be Adopted hosted a virtual retreat for National Adoption Week 2022 in the UK. The event was attended by 40 adopted people and - thanks to sponsorship from PAC-UK we were able to provide a large percentage of subsidised/free places to adoptees experiencing financial challenges.

You can now donate to get access to the recordings from the day. £5 for one session; £10 for all three sessions.

The agenda included:

• Yoga for adoptees with HTBA founder Claire who has recently qualified as a Kundalini Global yoga teacher.

• Adoptee guilt with adoptee and therapist Lara Leon

• Our narratives with adoptee and counsellor Gilli Bruce

• Breakout rooms with other adoptees, facilitated by HTBA team members

• Keynote speech from adoptee and author Anne Heffron

The feedback from adopted people was overwhelmingly positive:

“Very good presentations, well thought out. Provided a safe and caring environment.”

“Wonderful community, excellent talks, perfect mix!”

“Very high quality presentations and well taught yoga tailored towards adoptees and helpful info on yoga for emotional/nervous system regulation. Lara's presentation articulated deep thoughts and feelings I had inside but had not been able to articulate fully before - very illuminating. And I have read and consumed a lot of adoptee material over the last decade - all the key texts and probably every episode of adopteesOn podcast for a start! But she still gave me some new things to think about. I felt deeply understood. Gillian's pres. was very inspiring and I felt quite excited by the possibilities she opened up around stories and trauma. Anne's talk was also fascinating, she went very deep too, it was so refreshing and I love how she didn't hold back and talked about some unusual subjects that actually are right where I am at as well - made me feel validated too.”

“It was a very good balance and mix of speakers and activities (and well-paced).”

“Good to be with others with similar life experiences and hear from interesting speakers.”

“I found it a supportive event really well organised and each session was wonderful. It’s hard to choose a favourite.”

“It was life changing to be with people who totally understand how I as an adoptee see the world and how my head works!”

“It was a fabulous day, such a sense of community.”

“Such rich presentations but it was such a relaxed vibe that although some of the subject matter hit home I never felt unsafe.  You all held the group extremely well.”

“Felt I was on the same page as everyone else.”

“Hearing from others who have the same feelings and struggles as I do was incredibly validating.  I didn't realize how much it would help!”

“It was a very interesting day and helped me to feel validated and seen.”

“Love your aim improve access to support groups nationally.”

“Gaining understanding, recognition and validation of so many emotional issues that I have struggled with for life and that I have been dealing with and working through in recent years. Also the effects and affects of all these issues in all areas of my life. Also being in the company of other adult adoptee's was so very very reassuring and a rare feeling of true connection was wonderful.”

“I felt the day was very informative, validating, personal and well considered. I appreciate all of your hard work to make the day possible. Beginning the day with Claire and yoga was a terrific way to approach an emotionally and mentally charged day. I also appreciate that each person who spoke is an adoptee who shared their personal experience as well as their research.”

“It was the first time I had ever been amongst other adopted people.  I found it very affirming.  There was some excellent information and sessions.  And others, who seemed further ahead on their journeys, were very encouraging.”

“It was good to hear about some aspects I had not heard about before. - e.g re-writing a narrative to something more helpful, Gillian’s session.”

“Very good day. Good to have a day for adopted adults.”

“I look forward to meeting people in real life!”

• Find out more about our 2023 in-person Lake District retreat

• See all upcoming adoptee events on Eventbrite

• Find an adoptee support group near you

The tech support on the day was provided by the excellent Sara Smith of StormVixen.

Lara Leon talking about adoptee guilt

Adoptee-only virtual retreat for National Adoption Week 2022: what to expect

We can’t wait to see you at our adoptees-only event on 15th October! Claire had the idea for this event when she recalled how dysregulated adopted people can get during National Adoption Week. This yummy event should ground us and set us up nicely before the week, which can be problematic for some.

Originally Claire had the idea of doing the event in person in London, but logistically it wasn’t possible for 2022. The event is kindly sponsored by PAC-UK who have also provided some subsidised places. These have not yet been snapped up, so please email hello@howtobeadopted.com to get your code to book, no questions about your finances will be asked.

Book now

So let’s see what’s in store for you lucky adoptees:

Gentle grounding yoga session with Claire

Claire qualified in Kundalini Global Yoga this year and is excited to bring the benefits to adoptees - it’s a new form of Kundalini which is more accessible and inclusive and it’s been shown to help the nervous system.

Adoptee guilt with Lara Leon, adoptee and therapist

Many adoptees suffer in silence, not understanding why they feel so confused, sad,  or lonely. Until recently, the plight of adoptees wasn’t well understood, and so open communication about these feelings wasn’t (still isn’t) something that is openly encouraged in families and peer groups.

As if this weren’t enough to contend with, the inability to bond or form strong loving attachments to adoptive family members may result in further feelings that the adoptee may have to cope with alone. Many adoptees experience a sense of guilt as they try to navigate and understand their feelings (or lack thereof) towards their caregivers and siblings. They often end up overcompensating, acting out or distancing themselves, causing further hurt to all involved.

This talk will highlight some of the key points about adoptee guilt, and how to go about tackling it.

‘Life Story’ with Gilli Bruce, adoptee and counsellor

We know from the world of psychology, that everyone forms a sub-conscious story by the time they reach the age of 7. This ‘story’ is about ourselves - and may include aspects of our worth, how we must behave and where we belong in the scheme of things. Most of us are unaware that we have this story hidden within our sub-conscious, but it’s there – operating behind the scenes and having a significant impact on our lives.

Naturally, adoptees have a story too and being adopted can lead to particular kinds of story that our young selves concocted to make sense of this confusing childhood experience. We will explore the concept of Life Story, the impacts it has on our lives and how we might want to change our story into an adult’s version that will serve us better.

You might want to have pen and paper to hand for this section of the day.

Breakout sessions: connect with other adopted people

After lunch, it’s your time to gather in breakout rooms (supported by the HTBA team) to share thoughts on the day so far and connect with other adopted people. We know so many of you contact us asking to be put in touch with other adoptees so here’s your chance. This is the only section of the day that will NOT be recorded.

Anne Heffron joins us from the States

The author of You Don’t Look Adopted is joining us for a. motivational speech on the power of writing your story even if no one else reads it. If you’ve never heard Anne speak before, get ready for a treat!

Postcard to myself

Lovely exercise to end the day.

The day runs 10am-3.30pm GMT with plenty of breaks

All sessions will be recorded with the exception of the breakout rooms

Cost: £29 Book now

Member price: £19 (find out about becoming a member)

Subsidised places are available, please get in touch on hello@howtobeadopted.com if you’re financially challenged - no questions asked.

Any questions about the day, email hello@howtobeadopted.com

‘Did you have a good adoption?’ and other dumb questions…

My sister and I are 14 months apart. We were adopted into the same family; me from the NCU of Southampton Hospital at 16 days old, and my sister from a children’s home age 7 months. She’d been there for 3-4 months after being with her first mother for around 3 months.

I was adopted as soon as my paperwork went through at 11 months old. However, our parents fostered my sister for a number of years before adopting her. We weren’t sure why at the time but now I think it was because her first mother was contesting her adoption. I remember standing up in court with my sister and my parents and being asked by the judge, “Do you want Nadia* to be your sister?” and I said to the judge, “She already is my sister?” I’m still not sure why they asked me and what they would have done if I’d said no!

When adoptees raise questions about the ethics around adoption, the power imbalances and the skewed narratives, the response is often, “I’m sorry you had a bad adoption”. What on earth does this mean and why does it negate what the adoptee is saying? This is partly why over the years I’ve chosen to remain ambiguous about whether I had a ‘good/bad’ adoption. Not only because it’s a reductive question, but because if I say ‘yes’ will people choose to listen to me over those who had a different experience, when all of our experiences are (should be) valid?

So, based on the markers of success, did I have a good adoption? Well, according to social services, I am what is termed a ‘good outcome’. My parents had some financial issues after the early 90s recession and we were on free school dinners for a while, but all the traditional markers of success are in place for me: university degree, successful career, happy marriage, two gorgeous kids, support network of brilliant friends, and a big house in a nice area. If you’ve read my blog, you know this isn’t the whole picture, but it’s what people look for when trying to determine if someone had a ‘good adoption’. That and whether you have a good relationship with your adoptive family as an adult.

So, on to my sister. What of her ‘outcomes’? Well, here’s where it gets interesting aka heartbreaking. Despite being raised in the same adoptive family, my sister has experienced substance misuse and incarceration. She is now a mother living without her children after the intervention of social services following a number of issues including experiencing domestic violence.

It’s worth noting that the last fact preceded the first two. I can’t say I would have fared any better if my babies were taken away from me. Can you? Birth mothers are really treated appallingly in this country and as a nation we should be ashamed of our systems. How easy it is to ‘other’ another person like this, who only yesterday was a child herself (see photo above) and now is vilified by society. Adoptive parents reading this, please know that majority of adopted people do want to know about their roots and their first families, and when that day comes do you want them to discover something hopeful or something tragic? If the former, please actively support and fund long-term therapy and help for birth/first mothers.

With my sister’s permission, let me be crystal clear about her circumstances. She went back into local authority ‘care’ as a teenager, had her first child at 18 and was a mother living without her children by 25. She subsequently became addicted to heroin and homeless. She was in prison when she heard her birth mother had passed away. Thanks to the understanding of the chaplain, she was able to attend the ceremony. She travelled to her own mother’s funeral in handcuffs with a police escort. This was the first time they had ‘met’ since my sister was 3 months old. She never got to look into her mother’s eyes and ask her what happened. Can you imagine the resolve of a person who withstands all of this pain? Who goes through all of this alone? Can you still ‘other’ this person, and call her a ‘chav’ and watch Benefits Britain or Jeremy Kyle to laugh at people like my sister?

And as for me, her big sister, I’ve had more conversations with prison chaplains, soup kitchen owners, and dodgy boyfriends than I’ve had with my sister in the last 20 years. My dad asked me to uninvite her to my wedding as he didn’t want any drama. My kids haven’t even met their auntie. In fact, I did a survey recently where I asked adopted people about their relationship with their adoptive sibling and 80% of people said “complicated” or “non-existent”. On top of all the other challenges of being adopted, we are also often struggling to form and maintain relationships with non-genetic siblings who have similar levels of trauma as us.

And what of my sister’s children? Did they have ‘good adoptions’? This was 20 years later, of course. Things have improved, haven’t they? Well, only a little. After they were adopted, the brothers’ and sisters’ relationships were not nurtured by their respective adoptive parents, and they ended up finding one another on social media as teens. Lots of emotions to navigate by themselves as teenagers, while their friends were busy worrying about things like homework and TikTok. Yet another additional challenge for the strong superheroes we call adoptees.

I write this blog post from my swanky hotel in Cyprus on holiday with my family, painfully aware of my privilege as the one who had the ‘good adoption’. So, when my husband smiles at me across the restaurant table and says, “Are you having a nice holiday, babe?” I smile back but it’s tinged with survivor’s guilt. Why am I here while my little sister is living on the breadline, trying to piece together a relationship with her children via Facebook Messenger when every conversation is a blessing and a painful trigger for these two (now three) generations who have grown up separated from one another, told to be grateful to adoption.

I have no idea what steps I danced that my sister didn’t that meant I’m here in this five-star hotel and she’s not. And why my voice gets an audience in a national newspaper, while she is confined to the fringes of society. Neither of us even thought she would live to see her 40s, but she’s still here. She may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and sometimes she’s not even mine, but we promised to be sisters forever. So next time you ask if someone had a good adoption, consider the nuances of that question, if it’s even an appropriate or acceptable question to ask, or something that could ever be summed up in a one-word answer to a closed question. Are you really asking, did you go to university, and do you see your adoptive parents for Sunday lunch? Because is this your marker of a good adoption? Does this reinforce your view that adoption is ‘a good thing’ with no grey areas?

And if the answer, is no I was expelled from school and I spent much of my 30s in prison, then wouldn’t you potentially learn more about what’s wrong with adoption from the second person?

 *Not her real name

After the Guardian article, where else can you find How To Be Adopted?

If you’re new to the blog and need a How To Be Adopted fix, we’ve got you covered:

1. AdopteesOn interview with the amazing Haley Radkee, where Claire does something really scary in the first few minutes of the interview. See if you can spot it! Host, Haley, also wrote a guest piece for How To Be Adopted. We love you Haley! Claire is also in the AdopteesOn off-script having another chat with Haley - this one is just for Haley’s Patreon subscribers.

2. Grazia piece on post-natal depression linked to adoption grief which was the first time Claire used her full name in public! Eek! Cue being disowned by her family - it didn’t happen but the fear was there despite no evidence. Thanks adoption ;)

3. PAC-UK National Adoption Week conference ‘voices of change’ where Gilli and Claire spoke about coming out of the fog and Claire showed a piece she wrote for the British Association for Adoption and Fostering back in 2007! Hang on to the Q&A in the afternoon if you want to hear Claire getting p*ssed off with adopted people not having enough of the floor!

4. Adoption and Fostering podcast talking about contact after adoption, aka maintaining lifelong relationships (as it should be called)

5. Lara Leon Adoptee or Adoptee webinar for How To Be Adopted. This was our first webinar and we were so happy to see so many of you, thank you one and all. The wonderful Lara also has a great YouTube channel

6. One Adoption conference on contact after adoption, aka maintaining lifelong relationships (as it should be called): presenting to 200 social workers, policy makers and family judges - get in touch to find out more and book Claire as a keynote speaker

7. PAC-UK blog, part of Family Action - Claire wrote about searching for her birth mother back in the late 90s before the internet and DNA testing!

8. Gilli’s talk on her research into the life-long impacts of adoption which was another awesome webinar we did this year.

9. And of course the Guardian piece from July 2022.

Closed adoption in Aotearoa New Zealand - new book 'Adopted' by Jo Willis and Brigitta Baker

THE EXPERIENCE OF CLOSED ADOPTION IN AOTEAROA

To not know your family story is a huge loss of your sense of self. It has the potential to undermine your wellbeing and your relationships across a lifetime.

Adopted is the powerful and honest account of two of the thousands of children adopted during the era of closed adoption in Aotearoa New Zealand, between 1955 and the early 1980s.

Jo Willis and Brigitta Baker both sought and found their respective birth parents at different stages of their lives and have become advocates for other adopted New Zealanders. They share the complexity of that journey, the emotional challenges they faced, and the ongoing impacts of their adoptions with candour and courage.

Closed adoption also exacts a physical and emotional toll on birth parents, partners and children. Their stories are also told in this compelling book.

Adopted is the new memoir by Jo Willis & Brigitta Baker, published 11 August 2022 by Massey University Press. You can pre-order the book here – it will be shipped to you upon publication.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Brigs (Brigitta) Baker has been in reunion with her birth family since 2008. Her professional experience ranges from leadership and advisory roles in the private and public sectors, to senior level consulting positions within human resources, leadership development and organisational development. She is a qualified coach and experienced workshop facilitator — skills she now uses in mentoring and supporting adopted people.

Jo Willis longed to know the truth about her birth family when she was growing up and was reunited with them with the help of Jigsaw. The journal she kept from the age of 16 helped her process her experience and navigate the impact of adoption. The journal was the beginning of a collaborative work that became Adopted. She is a passionate supporter of adopted people and advocate for legislative change.

Photo of Jo Willis taken by Florence Chavin

THE TEN QUESTION Q&A WITH WILLIS AND BAKER

Q1: What prompted you to share your story?

JW: This is the book I wished that I could have read secretly under my duvet when I was only just surviving. I needed someone who had been there, understood and could lead me through this and out the other side. It was time to speak up and begin to deconstruct the dominant narrative that adoption is a positive experience with no impact on any of the parties involved. Adoption is no one’s first choice. It is a westernised solution that has loss at its core. By debunking the myths, those directly impacted by this experience can regain their sense of worth and dignity and access help to heal and redress barriers limiting their wellbeing.

BB: For me, I had kept a journal of the search for my birth mother, so there was a point when I was reading back on what I’d written and thought, ‘This might be useful for other people.’ It was around that time I was introduced to Jo and found she’d been working on a book for several years, so it seemed natural to collaborate. I think for both of us it is summarised in the description we use of this book as being ‘a hand to hold through the adoption journey.’

Q2: How did you meet each other?

JW: I had been writing a version of the book — a mish- mash of thoughts on my own adoption journey and reflections from adopted people/clients about what they needed. The book had stalled because I was going through a patch of being tired of doing it on my own. I needed to partner with someone who had writing acumen and who was as passionate as I am about helping our peers and educating others about the impact of adoption. I mentioned this to my admin support person in the adoption team and within days she said ‘Can you ring Brigitta Baker? She is an adopted person inquiring about searching . . .

and by the way she wants to write a book.’ I called Brigs immediately!

BB: I was wanting to find out more about my birth father, so I contacted the Adoption Services team in Napier. I was chatting to the women who answered my call and mentioned that I was thinking of writing a book about reunion, and she said, ‘Oh, my boss is writing a book on adoption too — you should talk to her.’ We met for a coffee, and it was honestly the most validating experience I’d ever had as an adopted person. I left feeling for the first time that I wasn’t alone in this.

Q3: What do you hope people will get out of reading the book?

JW: We have spent literally decades unravelling the impact of early separation and growing up under the closed-adoption system through books, articles and therapy to understand the full impact that our adoptive experience has had on us. I hope that Adopted will offer deeper understanding and insight into this experience for all involved. I hope that those affected by adoption will see that the issues challenging them are not them being bad or that something is wrong with them but that it is a totally understandable, even predictable, response to a devastating experience.

BB: An understanding of the unconscious trauma inflicted on adopted people through disconnection from their birth family, the potential impacts of unprocessed grief and loss for all parties in the adoption circle, a sense of how common these experiences are and the toll they can take on relationships. I hope that it also promotes a more open dialogue about this topic in a country that had one of the highest rates of closed adoption in the Western world.

Jo Willis is an adopted person and a specialist in the field of adoption counselling, coaching and education. She is viewed as a leader in personal development within the adoption field. As an adolescent, she lobbied local and national politicians for amendments to be made to the 1955 Adoption Act. At the age of 21 she was reunited with her birth family.

Brigs (Brigitta) Baker was adopted during the closed-adoption era, and has been in reunion with her birth family since 2008. Her professional experience includes human resource management, leadership development and coaching. She is currently training in both psychotherapy and counselling, with the aim of working more deeply with adopted people to help them process their experiences.

Q4: How does being adopted affect your sense of self?

JW: Growing up, and well into adulthood, I felt something was missing. Reunion with my birthparents went some way towards filling the void but not all the way. Adopted people seldom see themselves as complete. They can feel that a part of them/something is missing and often blame themselves. There has been no acknowledgement that this might be due to their adoption experience.

BB: Unlike Jo, I didn’t grow up with any sense that something was ‘missing’ for me. I was in complete denial that adoption and not knowing anything about my birth heritage or whakapapa had any impact on me. I bought into the philosophy that I was a blank slate, a sponge that absorbed everything I needed from the family I grew up in. I had no curiosity about my biological history or the stories that pre- dated me. It wasn’t until the birth of my eldest daughter (who according to everyone was the spitting image of me) that I even allowed myself to think that I might have missed out on something; that I, too, might look like other people out there somewhere in the world. My sense of identity was completely welded to the ‘fake history’ of being the natural child of my adoptive parents. Not being in a relationship with my family of origin until I was almost forty meant I had to reconstruct this understanding of ‘self’ decades after most people begin the process.

Q5: Did your relationship with your adopted family change when you started looking for your biological family?

JW: I didn’t tell my adoptive family when I first started searching for my birth family. I thought that they would be anxious for me and maybe even protective of me doing this. Or they might have wanted to help. I wanted to protect them and also not have an additional emotional element in the mix. I also felt I was being disloyal to them. I wanted to do this on my own for all these reasons. While I was terrified of what I might discover, it was also incredibly empowering to take action on my own.

I told my adoptive parents after I had met both my birth parents, Sue and Tony. I was very nervous but it was a ’good’ story to tell. They were genuinely happy for me. They were also amazingly welcoming of both birthparents into all of our lives. My adoptive mother expressed that ‘there was enough love to go around’. Once we could all be open about this, my relationship with my adoptive family flourished due to acceptance and inclusivity.

BB: Internally the relationship changed hugely for me, but wanting to be the ‘good girl’, I worked damned hard not to show it. I probably wasn’t very successful, as I felt a great

deal of internal conflict about trying to keep both my adoptive and birth families happy at all times. The tension I felt whenever we were all together leaked out. My daughters talk about that in the book, which was really tough to read.

It was almost a sense of whiplash for me — swinging from feeling that anything prior to being adopted was irrelevant, to feeling like I wanted to reject everything associated with my adoptive family. It was quite dramatic and for a long time I felt anchorless. Even now, when someone asks me where I’m from, I don’t know how to answer, nor do I have a strong sense of where my roots are. That is something taken away from us in closed adoption. I know for some adopted people they feel strongly aligned with their adoptive family, for others, they can comfortably stand with their feet grounded in both their birth and adoptive families, and some are estranged from both. It’s still a ‘work-on’ for me.

Q6: You have included the words of your birth parents, partners and children, which provide an insight into how adoption affects the wider family. What led to the decision to do this?

JW: We wanted to illuminate these issues and educate about the complexity, the emotional challenges, the legacy of adoption for all parties involved — partners, children, friends — because compassion and empathy flow from understanding, which is healing for all. The residue from adoption trauma oozes into relationships and I felt guilty about how my adoption-related emotional and psychological baggage landed heavily on those I loved. I wanted people to understand that this was an almost-predicable aspect of the terrain and for adopted people to take responsibility for their part in the dynamic. Self-empowerment and growing beyond these limiting patterns is life changing.

BB: Early on Jo and I talked about how many adoption stories tended to be one-sided and what a point of difference it might be to try to tell our stories from multiple viewpoints. I know when I’d read these books, I would find myself wondering what the other ‘players’ in the story were thinking, and what their experience was like. We were very privileged that our families were willing to be part of this work, and we’ve had lots of feedback on how much readers have enjoyed this aspect of the book. All of the interviews we did added so much richness to the story, and the addition of my daughters’ contributions right at the last moment before the book was printed was an absolute gift. Up until that point they hadn’t really been old enough to contribute in the way Jo’s children had — but one of our editors encouraged me to submit these additional sections. The girls were both incredibly honest in what they shared — there were certainly some brutal truths I had to face in reading the first draft!

Q7: It is a very personal subject and was no doubt a difficult process at times. At any point did you feel that it was going to be too challenging?

JW: Oh, yes, many times, especially before I met Brigitta. Writing one’s intimate experience (which for me began as a cathartic release in a personal journal) brought me face to face with deep insecurities, incredibly confusing and painful emotions, and challenges to my core beliefs. This can be a heavy load to manage on one’s own. Alongside my personal writing and healing I was also an adoption social worker and counsellor for adopted people which at times triggered my own pain and mirrored my own struggle. The adoption journey is life long; so many times during the writing I faced challenges in the relationship with my birth mother or myself. This was hard because at times it felt as if adoption was literally consuming all of me and permeating every aspect of my life. It was extremely intense. Teaming up with Brigs brought more lightness and ease to the process. I’m so grateful for this collaboration, as I’m not sure this book would have ever seen the light of day without it!

BB: Hell yes! Too many points to name. We had no issue creating content we felt was going to be of value, so during that phase of the work I felt invigorated, and the writing flowed. What felt hard and overwhelming at times was trying to pull it all into a structure that made sense and would appeal to an audience. It was also extremely difficult dealing with the range of emotions that came from sharing such a personal story. There were times I felt I was in therapy myself rather than writing a book — delving into a lot of my own unprocessed trauma, as well as living through reunion with my birth family in ‘real time’ while working on the book. Jo and I also had to deal with being in a relationship as a writing partnership . . . and as two adopted people, we brought a lot of baggage with us that made it really tough at times! We actually had to take a few breaks over the years, and there were many occasions when we thought we just couldn’t do it. But what kept us going was the belief that if reading this story could help just one adopted person feel heard, seen, and not quite so alone in their experience, it would be worth it.

Q8: Have you been surprised at any of the feedback you have received?

JW: Both surprised, immensely delighted and profoundly moved by it. Nothing negative at all just gratitude and expressions of support from a wide range of readers, adopted and non-adopted.

BB: So far, I’ve been surprised at how overwhelmingly

supportive the feedback has been. I think Jo and I were both braced for some backlash, and that may still happen, but there has been such strong acknowledgement of how engaging and ‘real’ the approach we’ve taken is. The adoption space can be highly emotive, and many adopted people and their families simply don’t want to talk about their experience, or acknowledge that adoption might be playing out for them in ways that aren’t positive. Our aim with telling our stories is to open up the dialogue about adoption in Aotearoa in a safe and inclusive way — it impacts so many people in this country — and to respect all experiences of adoption.

Q9: What would you say to someone who is thinking about searching for their birth parents?

JW: Prepare by knowing why you want to do this, how important is it to you. Be honest with yourself about what you are seeking and how you might feel if you discover things that are not ideal. Prepare by reading about reunion experiences — for example in reunion, after the honeymoon period, how do both parties engage in a healthy relationship when both have wounds that they inadvertently project onto each other? How might you navigate loyalty towards your adoptive parents and your birth parents if applicable? Relationships are tricky and these ones can be extra tricky. Prepare by putting in place support people (personal/ professional) you know are there for you to talk to, lean on and help you, if needed, from the outset. Listen to podcasts for the lived experiences and reach out to those who have been down this path before if possible. Local adoption social workers are there to help also. Prepare for anything, nothing and everything!

BB: I would say do your work first! Ideally with the support of a counsellor or other professional. Gain an understanding of why you want to search, what you want to know and understand about yourself, what expectations you have, and what you might need if these aren’t met. Read other stories or listen to podcasts about the experiences adopted people have had searching so you have an idea of what might play out. There is now so much more content available on this subject than when Jo and I went through it, although much of it comes from overseas.

Once you start the search, have at least one person who can be one hundred percent in your corner as you go on the journey — someone who can hold space for you, cheerlead, advocate for you if and when it gets tough, and who can help you work through the emotions that will invariably come up. From my own experience, I’d also say try really hard to notice when you are falling into the ‘good and grateful’ adopted person role and putting other people’s needs before you own. At the end of the day, however, you can never be fully prepared, so accept that there is no ‘perfect’ way to do this. Nothing in life that involves secrets, shame, judgement and loss is going to be easy to navigate!

Q10: Currently a review is underway of the adoption laws in New Zealand. What do you want to see changed?

JW: Firstly I would like to hear a public acknowledgement and apology for the practices under the 1955 Adoption Act that this legislation was inhumane. Financial reparation was offered in Australia to those affected to access help, and I would like similar here in New Zealand. Adopted people are often not in a financial position to fund the support they need. Ongoing access to counselling or services that can support the development of the child, mediate relationships when required, and help all parties involved navigate this lifelong process with more ease.

I would also like new legislation to reflect our current social and cultural values and be in line with the principles behind the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child, including only separating a child from their parent in exceptional circumstances and that public authorities have a duty to extend particular care to children without a family and without means of support.

There are other important elements to include around research, policy and practices regarding adoptive parents and the needs to the child; for example, that there is only one legal birth certificate with all information contained on it. I’d also like to see a child-centred law that in no way fosters secrecy, shame, or severs a child ever again from their human right to their whakapapa, lineage or family.

BB: That’s a big question! Jo and I both made lengthy submissions to the current review, but I’d certainly like to see adoption as a social and legal construct abolished in favour of some form of long-term guardianship. I absolutely recognise that there are some circumstances when it is not ideal for a child to be raised in their family of origin; however, establishing healthy attachment wherever possible to the person who carried us for the first nine months of our lives, maintaining strong connections to kin, and having access to our heritage are all critical for healthy human functioning.

The whole concept of legal ‘ownership’ of a child by parents who have no biological connection to them simply seems wrong to me. When biological parents do have to relinquish their children, we need far more education and support for them to maintain the relationship throughout the child’s developmental phases, including into their teenage years, when the search for self is so critical.

I would also love to see the financing of professional support for all New Zealanders who have been affected by adoption. We are overrepresented in all measures of compromised mental health, including addiction, depression, suicide and having higher rates of incarceration and relationship breakdown — yet there is an absolute lack of adoption- informed counsellors and therapists available.

Massey University Press

Albany Campus, Private Bag 102904, North Shore 0745, Auckland, New Zealand

Email editor@massey.ac.nz Phone +64 9 213 6886 www.masseypress.ac.nz

Media contact

Sarah Thornton, Thornton Communications

Email sarah.thornton@prcomms.com Phone (09) 479 8763 or 021 753744

Dancing on eggshells - guest post from adoptee David

Maybe it is the people pleaser in me, but as an adoptee I find reunion like dancing on eggs shells.  There are so many people's feelings to juggle and for some reason we put ourselves last in that list. We talk about the adoption triad, the child, adoptive parents, and the birth parents, but there more people involved when it comes to reunion.  This can range from siblings, both bio and adoptive, our spouses to wider family in general.  Everyone has feelings on the situation, even if they don’t vocalize them.  We’re afraid to upset any of them in case we are discarded and end up as alone as we were when we were given away.

I was born in 1983 and was adopted shortly after birth.  I had a happy childhood and spent my entire youth in the fog.  I didn’t want to look for either birth parent. I thought I wouldn’t be prepared for what was on the other side if I opened the door. That all changed in 2006 when my parents received a letter from the county council adoption services which said my birth mother wanted to know how I was doing.  This could have been addressed to me, but the adoption agency chose to send it to my parents in case I had not been told I was adopted.

The music starts, and my first partners take to the dance floor.

I seem to remember my parents handing me the letter and watching me while I read it. It was a lot to take in so I can’t be sure this memory is correct.

I was in a daze for several days after, the actual woman who gave birth to me wanted to know about me.  I didn’t think this would ever happen, what do I do and how do I handle such a massive situation.  I know, I’ll talk to my parents about it.  I remember trying to talk to my parents about what to do, they were and still are the people I go to for life advice, but on this occasion, I found out the situation was different.  My dad said, “surely you must know what to do”, his tone was frustrated and almost angry, like it was choosing between them and my bio mum.  I countered with the argument that both my parents and bio mum made their choices regarding adoption and gave it thought.  I never made any choices but am supposed to know what to do.  I heard the eggshell crunch as I stepped on the dance floor.  The passage of time has shown my parents that there is no threat to them, I love them all the same.  This allows me to be heavier footed as I throw my metaphorical shapes.

My next partner, and the most delicate to dance with, is my bio mum.

Meeting my bio mum was a whirlwind, at the time we were in different social classes.  She had done well for herself, she was 38, and her and her husband part owned a company and two restaurants.  I was young, 23, and came from inner city terraced housing, with working class parents.  She was ready for dancing the Waltz, and I was warming up for Gangnam style.

 I tried to navigate the relationship seeing if I could fit in and be up to what I thought her expectations were.   I sometimes found myself in uncomfortable situations and didn’t speak up as I thought it might jeopardize our fledgling relationship.  For example, the day we met she invited her husband and children to meet me, only telling me when they were on their way.  I wasn’t ready for this; in hindsight I should have spoken up.

I opened my life to my bio mum, which meant juggling my parents' feelings and still building a relationship with my bio mum.

The only thing I ever asked of my bio mum was information of my bio dad.  This wouldn’t so much trigger an eggshell crunching, but more an explosion like dynamite.  Over an 8-year period I only ever asked about my bio dad 3-4 times. The first couple of times she shut down as soon as I said “Can you tell me about my bio dad”. 
The next couple of times I got the smallest of snippets.  A name, his sisters first name and was told she would not have any idea where they were now.  This was hard to deal with, yet I did the dance and swallowed the pain of opening my life but not getting the information I wanted in return.

Eventually I got to the point where I said to my bio mum, on a phone call, either tell me more about my bio dad or we won’t talk any more.  She said “ok” and put down the phone.  I didn’t speak to her for a couple of years after that.  It cut very deep, being dropped like a stone for asking one question in a pleasant and civil manner.

My wife told me years later how much this event affected me. I thought I was fine.  But my wife said my self-esteem plummeted at this point and I had a lot of inner anger.

The next set of dance partners is a complicated mix…

My wife and I eventually found my bio dad and his family.  He had a very distinct surname and we tracked down my grandparents using old telephone directories, electoral roles and Zoopla (to see if the house they lived in had ever been sold).

I dealt with this reunion differently, I chose a slow dance rather than jumping into something too fast, but it was complicated and delicate all the same.
My bio dad was hard to locate, so I approached my grandparents via a letter.  They responded and were very open and supportive. My bio dad is an ex-heroin addict and has demons of his own.  My nan had him when she was fifteen. My bio dad found out at age twelve that his dad, who he grew up with, was not actually his biological father.  This does play into the reunion dance as I must be careful what I say on this subject as he and my nan have different views on being told at a later age about his true father.

My grandparents asked if I really wanted to meet my bio dad after they told me he had been an addict and had been to prison.  I said I did and have managed this relationship ever since.  I get on well with my grandparents, but find the relationship with my bio dad difficult, he is unreliable, and I have to make all the effort.  I don’t gel with him on a personal level, but I do not want to sever that relationship as that is what my bio mum did to me.  I love spending time with my grandparents, aunty and cousins.  I don’t want to leave my bio dad out, but I don’t want to spend time with him either.  This is a difficult dance to choreograph.

A second reunion and more dancing

When my son was born, I reconnected with my bio mum.  I didn’t want him to miss out knowing he had an aunty and uncles because my bio mum would never have reconnected.  I had to do all the repair work, even though I felt it was not my job to do.  It is hard to be the better person in this situation as all the pain was inflicted on me, my bio mum told me she would never have reached out to me.

After this reunion my wife was talking to my bio dad's sister, my aunty.  She said did my wife know that her son, my cousin, is friends with my bother on my bio mum's side.  They had been friends since infant school and had grown up together and spent a lot of time at each other's houses.  My bio mum knew where my bio father and his family were all along.  When my wife told me on the car journey home, I felt so angry.  The pain caused by never being given information about my bio dad and the lie of telling me she had no idea where they were felt awful.  But, as a good little people pleaser, I suck this up to prevent an eggshell being broken and tolerate the excuse my bio mum tells that she didn’t want to ruin the friendship my brother and cousin have. 

My wife found it hard when I reconnected with my bio mum.  My wife is a loving and protective person, she couldn’t understand why I contacted my bio mum when all she caused me is pain.  This is a subtle little dance all on its own, my wife has an opinion on this subject even though she doesn’t always voice it.

I honestly don’t know why put myself back in this situation with my bio mum, my logical mind says I shouldn’t have done it, I am worth more.  But my heart says you need to prove yourself worthy of your bio mum, you are good enough to fight for and keep like her other children.

I am still wary of this dance, like the eggs will suddenly all crunch and the music could turn off at any moment, purely because of something I might say.

I must be very careful when meeting either side of my biological family, they live nearby each other; my cousins and siblings went to the same schools.   My bio mum doesn’t want to interact with my bio dad’s family, even though they never knew I existed my entire life.  My bio dad's family are welcoming and kind, but the pain my bio mum went through in giving me up (forced by her mother, who is now deceased) means she could never face discussing that with them.  I am guessing at this last point; I think it is too sensitive a subject to ask about.

Extra dance partners…

With all the dance partners I’ve described, along with so many others I haven’t mentioned, like siblings or friends, it can feel like a disorganized line dance with 10 or more people.  You’re dancing with everyone at once, to their own music, and you are trying to be so delicate on the dance floor when really you just want to stomp around and enjoy yourself.

My reunion story is lucky and simple compared to others. I have found and have a relationship with both sides of my biological family.  I have been welcomed.  But even in this ideal situation, there are so many people involved all with their own feelings.

As adoptees we can never truly be ourselves, we are always beholden to the decisions and feelings of others.   Some people, such as our biological parents, have a power over us we cannot control.  We go back to them even if it causes us immense pain.  We accept their lies to preserve relationships.  We do the dance.

My advice here will be hypocritical as I don’t follow it myself, I am too afraid.  I think we should be ourselves, talk openly even if others are uncomfortable with it.  Not many people think about their words before they talk to adoptees, so why shouldn’t we be as free.  We never asked to be born or given up, we don’t owe anything to anybody but ourselves.  Be aware that the eggshells will break, and relationships can end.  Hold your head high and ask yourself, if someone isn’t supporting you then do you really need them.  Being a people pleaser and keeping quiet only hurts ourselves.  We always absorb the pain that others have caused.

Be free, choose the music you like, and dance as hard as you can.  We only get one life, no matter how we got here we should enjoy the party the same as everyone else.

 Photo credits:

Egg photo by Fernando Andrade on Unsplash

"File:Psy performing Gangnam Style at the Future Music Festival 2013.jpg" by Eva Rinaldi is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Group of people dancing: Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash

An update on the Ofsted regulations that obstruct counselling for adoptees in the UK

An update on the push for changes to the regulations that obstruct counselling support for those affected by adoption.

For those of you who may not be aware – there have been obstructive restrictions in place for many years in the UK, that dictate who and who can not offer counselling support to those adults affected by adoption.

 As it currently stands, young adoptees up to age 21 (25 in special circumstances) can access counselling with specific counsellors - who have completed specific costly training with a few specific providers (that’s a lot of specifics right there) and who are registered with Ofsted (as this work comes under the Department of Education). This counselling is available to support families with adoptees and I wholeheartedly agree that this group should be protected by regulations and that indeed adoption-specific training is necessary and beneficial. So far so good. The problem here, is that adult adoptees and birth mothers who had to have their babies adopted – also come under this regulation.

Why is this a problem? Well – due to the costs, limited availability and the whole procedural machine that is entailed with Ofsted regulations – hardly any independent counsellors undertake this costly training - or have the will to create the processes and procedures required to meet Ofsted standards (hats off and thanks to the few committed souls who have by the way).

So – Ofsted registered counsellors are a rare breed and availability is very patchy around the UK. I researched provision in the North and searched all counties between Birmingham and the borders of Scotland and only found 7 Ofsted registered counsellors listed – that’s for half the country! I’m sure there is more provision in London and the South but this paucity of provision across the UK makes finding support incredibly difficult (happily on-line working eases this situation somewhat).  

We have been doing what we can to get these restrictive regulations changed so that more adoptees and birth mothers can access the counselling support they need. We have badgered Ofsted (thanks go to Matthew Brazier who has been super-helpful and supportive) and generally made noise about this and have created our own support streams via blog posts, webinars and adult adoptee peer- support groups. So far so stuck. However – the GOOD NEWS is in!!

On May 25th 2022, there was a meeting in Parliament took place between The Joint Committee on Human Rights and representatives of the government – namely Mr. Nadhim Zahawi The Secretary of State for Education and Sarah Jennings the Deputy Director of Adoption, Family Justice and Care leavers, also from the department of Education.

The chair was Harriet Harman. The case put forward by the committee was entitled ‘A Right to a Family Life’ and covered the experience of unmarried women who had to give up babies for adoption between 1949-1976. (Bear with me here, adoptees are included too).

I have copied the exchange that occurred towards the end of the meeting that is relevant to adult adoptees below, If you would like to watch the whole meeting (it was actually more interesting than I expected) you can find it on line at Parliament TV Live – Wednesday 25th May 3.15- 4.08 pm, The Human Rights Joint Committee, ‘A Right to a Family Life: the adoption of children of Unmarried women 1949-1976’.

This is the exchange that relates to adult adoptees:

Sarah Jennings: Thank you, Baroness, for the question. The Secretary of State was just beginning to touch on the issue that we know has been raised through evidence to this inquiry about the barriers to accessing support because of the requirement that professionals providing therapy and support that relates to adoption services must be registered with Ofsted. We are aware that this has been raised as one of the reasons why people are struggling to access support. I think the Secretary of State was just going on to say that this is an issue that we are very keen to look at.

 Nadhim Zahawi: Currently, the requirement that services are Ofsted registered can be a barrier to adult adoptees accessing and receiving support. I want to try to get rid of any bureaucratic barriers where this will, I hope, improve service delivery. However, we need to be careful that we do not sacrifice quality, which cannot be compromised in any way. I will give you my commitment and pledge that my officials will look at the options as to how we do this. We will consult very shortly on removing the requirement for providers of support services for adult adoptees having to register with Ofsted. In practice, that should make it much easier, and also more cost effective, for these providers to run their businesses. It will mean that support is more accessible for the adults who need it.

Baroness Ludford: I am a Liberal Democrat Member of the House of Lords. You have pre-empted my question. Like others, I appreciate the empathy that you have shown, referring to injustices and pain, and to the huge and unending suffering from these traumatic experiences. You have emphasised the importance of the ability to access therapeutic counselling and say that you want to try to get rid of the bureaucratic hurdles of the Ofsted registration process without compromising quality, and that you are going to consult. First, can you give us an idea of timescale of that consultation? Was it already in the pipeline before this 11 Oral evidence: The right to family life: adoption of children of unmarried women 1949-1976 inquiry prompted you to think about that? Secondly, does removing altogether the need to register with Ofsted contain some dangers of quality dilution?

 Nadhim Zahawi: Baroness Ludford, thank you for the question. Because it is a regulatory matter, we need to consult on it. However, we have been following your deliberations and evidence here as well. When I looked at this with my officials, we thought that we should move on it quite quickly because it is something that we should be able to do reasonably well and rapidly, and in a way that does not compromise quality. I think we can do that, and it will, I hope, inject more capacity in the system.

Sarah Jennings: We are already in active discussions with Ofsted colleagues about it. I think your point about the balance of risk and how to avoid compromising quality, as the Secretary of State alluded to, is why we are very keen to make sure that we consult and that we balance those risks and seek views from the sector as well.

Baroness Ludford: Will that be soon?

Sarah Jennings: I hope so.

Chair: There have clearly been decades of unmet need in this respect and obviously you are addressing it now, as you have told us. Do you have a budget for this? Are you confident you will be able to resource this?

Nadhim Zahawi: I think so. My department will be spending £86 billion a year by 2024. It is a big department and I think we can do this and do it well.

 Chair: Perhaps when you write to us you can give us a sense of whether there will be any ring-fenced budget of any sort and what sort of scale it might be on. For these services to be high quality and accessible to those who need them, there obviously need to be funding streams behind them.

Nadhim Zahawi: I do not want to repeat myself and repeat the numbers, but I can send you the numbers on the increased investment in the NHS that I outlined earlier.

(Joint Committee on Human Rights Oral evidence: The right to family life: the adoption of children of unmarried women 1949-1976, HC 270 Wednesday 25 May 2022 Watch the meeting Members present: Ms Harriet Harman MP (Chair); Joanna Cherry MP; Baroness Chisholm of Owlpen; Lord Dubs; Florence Eshalomi MP; Lord Henley; Baroness Ludford; Baroness Massey of Darwen; Dean Russell; David Simmonds MP; Lord Singh of Wimbledon. Questions 25 - 34 Witnesses I: Nadhim Zahawi, Secretary of State, Department for Education; Sarah Jennings, Deputy Director of Adoption, Family Justice and Care Leavers, Department for Education)

So – watch this space! Fingers crossed we will be reporting changes that affect adult adoptees sooner rather than later, although I do fully recognise that there is still a need for training so that counsellors fully understand the trauma and difficulties associated with adoption. Change must come, but it must be achieved with checks and safeguards in place to ensure that when we do get counselling – it is of the highest quality and meets the needs of adoptees and birth mothers who have suffered for too long.  (Side note from Claire: this training should not be written by an adoptive parent, as we believe the current training provided by Barnardo’s is!)

 - update from Gilli Bruce

Read the full minutes from the Parliament meeting

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

Burnout as an adoptee advocate

I had a great coaching session today and one of the suggestions was to share with you all about my recent experiences of burnout. While my instinct has been to hide away and wait until I feel ‘better’ and able to stand in front of you all as my ‘normal’ self, my coach suggested that it may be helpful for some of you to hear what’s been going on for me to see if you can relate to any of it.

Burnout as an adoptee advocate

In a way it’s amazing I haven’t experienced burnout before now. I am a working mother of two young children who have needed me even more since lockdown. How To Be Adopted is my passion and I worked out I am spending between 40-80 hours a month on it as a social enterprise.  Don’t get me wrong, I love it! There is nothing like the feeling of helping another adoptee feel understood and connected to their community.

However, just before our last webinar, The Long-Term Impacts Of Adoption, with the wonderful Gilli Bruce, I was experiencing physical symptoms of overwhelm in the form of shortness of breath and shaking. I wanted the webinar to go well. (Let’s be honest, I wanted it to go perfectly.) I didn’t want to let anyone down who had paid a donation to attend. Truth be told, my tech/Zoom skills are good but not great and I was worried something would go wrong. Happily, help appeared in the form of an angel volunteer (who wishes to stay anonymous) who ran all the tech for us that day. So, after all that worrying, everything was ‘alright on the night’.

Mum guilt and parenting as an adoptee

In terms of the hours I’m spending on How To Be Adopted, one could argue that’s 40-80 hours that I’m not spending with my children; helping them read, making them pancakes or even cleaning the house (lol). In normal times, I don’t have any guilt about these things as my husband does 50/50 of the ‘family load’ and I believe that I/we mostly strike the right balance between parenting and having my/our own interests. However, as my reserves get lower, the mum guilt creeps in. Parenting as adoptee is not easy and it’s something that many people reach out to me to discuss.

 I spoke to my GP who referred me to a counselling service. However, on the first Zoom call (after one minute) they said they would need to terminate the call as they were not Ofsted registered. Another blow - that I know many of you have experienced - which added to my feelings of frustration.

Finding out I have ADHD

I’m on the waiting list of a diagnosis, but all the signs are pointing in that direction. I impulsively take on way too many projects and then get overwhelmed and procrastinate. I go right up to the deadline for projects which stresses out the people I work with. (Apologies to everyone who has been waiting since last autumn for Gilli’s PDF! I just want it to be ‘perfect’ before I send it but I’m sure you’d rather just have the damn thing.)

I’ve needed some time to process all of this and reflect on the way my relationships and behaviours have been influenced over the last 40+ years.  I’ve found it incredibly helpful to meet other adoptees who also have ADHD and I know that despite the challenges it is a superpower. However, there is a knock-on effect of trying to have a career, a relationship and be a parent and friend with this additional challenge.

Effect on my husband as the partner of an adoptee

This brings me to the impact on partners of adoptees and in particular adoptee rights advocates. I’ve blogged before about the impact of all this on my partner and it got to the stage where he, quite rightly, asked me to pause things as I was clearly struggling. He also suggested that maybe we could have a nice relaxing family weekend without the mention of the novel I’m reading that introduced a lazy adoption plotline 2/3rds of the way through, or the latest Twitter back-and-forth with Nicky Campbell!

The futility of campaigning for change in adoptionland

Some days it feels like it’s all a little futile and that the powers that be don’t actually want things to change. They are paying lip service to adoptees and CEP. Seeing steering groups only filled with the ‘right’ adoptees who say the right things in the right way is box ticking. Seeing national leaders take selfies of themselves with adoptees and post them (without permission) and yet not taking a single thing that the adoptees suggested on board or feeding back to them about actions they had taken off the back of ‘listening’ to them. Let’s not even go there with the Care Review and the Unmarried Mothers Inquiry – which I still have fingers crossed we will get an apology and concrete changes, although hearing a government minister wrongly say that adoptees have enough support and can go to their GP like everyone else was infuriating.

It really does feel like we are banging our heads against a brick wall sometimes. And, to be frank, I have a life to live. I only have one wild and precious life. Do I want to devote it to the thankless task of changing an industry that doesn’t want to change? I’m essentially fighting the entire Conservative government who are openly pro-adoption and openly anti poor people – who represent the higher end of the numbers of mothers currently losing their children to adoption. Existential crisis alert! I recently read a book that challenged me to live an unremarkable life, as it’s said that is the route to happiness.

Seeing national leaders celebrating adoption at Downing Street last National Adoption Week was probably where this malaise started. Time and again we have asked them to present the full story. ‘Celebrate’ if you must, but please acknowledge the lifelong loss and trauma as well. Parading younger adoptees in front of the camera while excluding older adoptees who have spent time learning about their trauma, their coping mechanisms, and the effect of adoption on their relationships throughout their lifetime is not cool.

Comparison syndrome with other adoptee advocates

Comparison is a one-way ticket to dissatisfaction, and logically I know that. I’ve been in therapy for years and taken dozens of self-development workshops, I know this stuff! But when reserves are low it’s easy to fall into the trap of looking at what others are doing and how much funding they’ve managed to achieve.

In reality, what I’ve achieved it beyond brilliant and I’ve managed it with a young family and a job. A senior bod at PAC-UK recently said, “What you do has galvanised adopted people in a really beneficial way.”

Other organisations getting hundreds of thousands in funding to improve adoptee support

Of course, objectively this is a great thing and will help many adoptees. But I do feel that it’s partly due to my hard work, networking, campaigning and galvanising over a number of years that has led to this level of national understanding for the need for additional support. So it’s disheartening to see huge funding for what is essentially How To Be Adopted’s ideas going to a non-adoptee led organisation.

What’s next for How To Be Adopted

The next blog will be more upbeat, as I share with you my top achievements over the last 4.5 years (since 2017 when I began) as I think it’s important for me to recognise that. It will also be a chance to highlight some gems that you may not have seen/read.

I’ll be taking some time to think about where my skills will be best used as it’s clear I can no longer try to be all things to all people and to solve all of the problems with adoptee support, or lack thereof, in the UK, particularly with no funding behind me. Big thanks to the amazing Gilli Bruce, Lara Leon and my fab support network of adoptees – you know who you are! As well as the organisations who have reached out to see how they can help namely PAC-UK and Adopt London North.

The main thing I would urge you to do off the back of this blog post is to sign up to the How To Be Adopted monthly email as this will be the way we’ll be communicating for a while as we scale back the social media. You are also welcome to join the HTBA membership programme and help us shape the future of the service – thanks to our wonderful founding members for your support!

Of course, if you have any brainwaves re resourcing, funding, etc please send them over to hello@howtobeadopted.com or comment below

Claire x

Photo by Anthony Tran on Unsplash

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

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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