Return to Seoul - adoptee film screening at London's ICA + Q&A with Laure Badufle

I was recently blown away by Return to Seoul, which I saw with a good adoptee friend of mine. If you can get to see it, I highly recommend it.

Very excitingly, there’s a screening and a Q&A with Laure Badufle at the ICA in London on 8th July 2023 - French/Korean adoptee Laure inspired the character of Freddie. If you can make the date, I would urge you to go along as there will be lots of other adoptees there.

The Q&A with Laure will be hosted by Debbie Iromlou from the Adult Adoptee Movement, a UK-based group of inclusive adult adoptees. Formed by using lived experience to challenge attitudes on historic adoption and to change the narrative of adoption. Debbie is also a transracial adoptee who has written a guest blog for How To Be Adopted and runs a group in London called TAAN - transracial adult adoptee network. To find out more, you can email adoptionsupportduty@islington.gov.uk

But, back to this amazing film which really blew me away. So often we see chocolate-box endings to films about adoptees and adoption reunion - I’m thinking about the film Lion, for example. With Return to Seoul, I do feel there are many realistic moments that adoptees can relate to. Of course, I’m not a transracial adoptee so there are many additional layers there too. If you can’t make this special screening and Q&A, look out for the film when it comes to TV/streaming services.

More info about the film:

Official trailer for Return to Seoul

*** Opportunity for adoptees to watch the film for free from 7 July 2023 (credit card details needed but then you cancel your free trial after you have watched the film) ***

Davy Chou’s RETURN TO SEOUL, which premiered in Cannes 2022’s Un Certain Regard, is an unpredictable and refreshingly authentic story of a young woman’s search for identity. Park Ji-Min delivers a revelatory performance as Freddie, an adoptee who was born in South Korea and raised in France. Freddie is magnetic, spirited and hard to pin down; never in one place, or with one person, for long enough to get attached. At 25 years old, she visits Seoul for the first time since her adoption, in an attempt to reconnect with her biological parents and the culture she had to leave behind.

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

Valid - a guest blog by adoptee Helen Mary

Only slowly their hurt dies cry by cry 

As they fit themselves to what has happened

Ted Hughes (1985)

I met my mother for the very first time in the Autumn of 1994 when I was 29 years old. In Debenhams café in Hull. No third party, no preparation, no help, no mediation, it didn’t seem necessary at the time. Just a bright and sunny morning full of hope and promise. 

I realise now looking back the enormity ofsuch a meeting, and wonder whether the support of an insightful and wise professional would have been helpful. I can see my tendency to minimise or deny things. Thinking I can do this on my own. 

My birth mother was late for our meeting, about twenty minutes late, I’d started to think she wasn’t coming. That’s how much I’m worth, not really much. There weren’t even mobile phones then, I just sat and waited, and wondered if my mother may actually have decided not to bother coming. Passive acceptance on the one hand, a flicker of anger on the other (how dare she let me down - these angry feelings are fleeting, and possibly healthier than my usual passivity). 

An age passed and eventually my mother turned up. She had one of my sisters with her (I’d learnt that I have two biological sisters).  She hadn’t mentioned she was going to bring my sister and I wasn’t prepared for this. Why didn’t she come alone, just herself? Surely. Now I felt a bit like a curiosity they’d come to see, the two of them in their alliance. I didn’t think it was respectful to come like this. I suddenly felt very alone there in that café. This extraordinary event amid the clattering of crockery, the coffee machine, the shoppers and ordinary life. 

On one level, on the surface there was something sort of nice. Meeting someone who I could see was a bit like me (scatter brained- she’d forgotten where she had parked her car. My adoptive parents were very organised, competent, things were planned, there were routines). I don’t recall us hugging or embracing. Not genuinely, possibly not at all. There was no emotion really. We got along but it was as if we were just chatting, like we were shoppers meeting for a cup of tea. I was polite and accommodating. So much was denied. I suppose it just didn’t feel real. I couldn’t really imagine what real would feel like.

“The adoption system traditionally requires that children disavow reality.” Lifton (1994)

Looking back, I suppose I’d imagined something life changing and healing would happen that day. That my motherwould embrace me with love and I would suddenly feel profoundly alive in a way I had not previously known. Alas that didn’t happen, those hopes and dreams already ebbing away in those endlessly long minutes of waiting..

Also, looking back, I think this story illustrates that its probably not a good idea to undertake such a journey on your own

And finally I should add that there is eventually a happier ending, but that is another story….

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

7 tips for adoptees who are new to this blog

Hello! You may have seen us in The Guardian and are curious as to what it’s all about. Adopted people needing support? What for!? Well, a warm welcome! You’re about to find out what the challenges are and how we’ve been campaigning for change in support for adopted people.

Here at How To Be Adopted, we have been pondering what it means to be adopted for a number of years. (Feels like longer, says my husband!) So, if you’ll permit us we wanted to share what we’ve learned in 7 tips, covering the journey we’ve been on:

1. Read, watch and listen to all the adoptee content

   Many people start with this stage, almost like a hyper-fixation, you consume as much as you can find - from books, to podcasts and blogs. A popular pitstop at this stage is all six series of the podcast AdopteesOn - caution, may leave you crying on the kitchen floor with relief and recognition. Anne Heffron’s You Don’t Look Adopted is a popular book choice, and her Instagram is full of truth bombs.

   This Paul Sunderland video on addiction and adoption is important, but very hard hitting. Make sure you have someone to hold your hand while you watch.

2. Find someone you trust to talk to

   It’s quite common to withdraw a little at this stage as you’re processing everything you’re reading and learning. You may find that people you thought were a safe sounding board are bringing their own opinions to the table when you really need someone to listen. If you have an understanding friend or partner, bravo. Otherwise you may want to find a therapist. This is where we break the bad news that adoption-competent therapists are thin on the ground in the UK as they have to be registered with Ofsted to treat adopted people. PAC-UK are a good option at this stage, ask if your local authority funds any therapeutic sessions with them. If not, the phoneline is a godsend.

3. Connect with other adoptees

   How To Be Adopted is a good place to start. We hold regular adoptee events in person and online including the North London adoptee group. The next one is 15th October 2022 10am-3pm, a virtual retreat to boost our wellbeing before National Adoption Week. Find out more and book

   We’ve put together a list of the adoptee peer groups we know about in the UK. In the US there’s AdopteesConnect.

   Another UK organisation who run events is Adoptee Futures.

4. Stay boundaried on social media

   Following on from the above, you may head to social media to connect with other adopted people. It’s worth knowing that Twitter can be a really tough place to be, so take it very easy! Instagram is slightly kinder, in my experience.

5. Get support for search and reunion

   Sadly, reunion is rarely like Long Lost Family. If it’s something you’re thinking about, PAC-UK is a good start as are Barnardo’s and Family Connect. These are for England and Wales. The important thing to remember is, if reunion doesn’t work out, it’s not your fault - these are relationships for which we have no blueprint and many birth parents carry a lot of shame (this is not our shame to carry, by the way!)

6. Look after your wellbeing and stay in the body

   You may want to consider other therapies on top of / instead of talking therapy. We cannot recommend anything in particular, but some adopted people have found cranial sacral therapy, reiki, EMDR, massage, somatic therapy and music therapy helpful.

   Coming out of the fog, as it’s referred to, is a very emotional, draining time for many. So prioritise your wellbeing as much as you can. At this stage you might start learning about the nervous system and realise that you have been living in flight/fight/freeze/fawn. Be compassionate with yourself. Try to stay grounded (exercise from Gilli below), and consider anything that takes you into the body, such as yoga, swimming, walking, gardening. The Body Keeps The Score is an important read.

7. Check the credentials of support organisations

   There are a number of organisations who purport to offer support for adopted people. It’s important to look into this, as the big ones are actually set up by and run for adoptive parents. That’s not to say you shouldn’t use them, but be aware.

To stay in the loop about our events and campaigns, sign up to the How To Be Adopted mailing list

Gilli’s grounding exercise

Some signs that you may be ‘ungrounded’ include:

• You get distracted easily

• Feeling spaced out

• An inability to concentrate with focused attention

• You over-think or ruminate

• You engage in personal dramas

• You experience anxiety and perpetual worrying

• A sense of urgency, a need to be fast-paced as if everything needs to happen right now

Physical clues may include:

• Poor sleep patterns and on-going fatigue

• Inflammation

• Poor circulation

• Palpitations or feeling as though your heart is racing

• Knotted stomach or tension in the body

• You feel fidgety and it is hard to sit still and relax properly

Research on grounding has been accumulating over the last 15 years and there is growing evidence that grounding techniques will:

• Elevate mood

• Reduce emotional stress

• Improve immune responses and reduce inflammation

• Improve blood flow

• Improve sleep, rest and relaxation

Grounding techniques

Cover your crown – place one or both hands over your crown, close your eyes,

breathe deeply and mentally push yourself down gently for 30 -60 seconds.

Feel your feet – stand or sit and put all your attention into your feet. Feel any

sensations of socks, shoes, floor surface, temperature etc. 30-60 seconds.

Stand like a tree – stand with your feet parallel and at least shoulder’s width apart.

Keep your head floating above your body, chin tucked in and spine straight. Rest

your hands at your side or on your navel. Without collapsing your posture – sink all

your weight and tension into your feet, allowing it to sink deeper and out into the

ground below. Imagine roots growing from your feet and out into the ground.

Extend these roots out to the sides like the roots of an old oak tree. Extend them

deeper into the ground. Strengthen a sense of being so firmly rooted into the

ground that nothing could blow you over – you are firmly anchored into the ground

and are part of it. Hold this for 60-90 seconds.

Follow your breath – focus on the sensation of the breath and track it as it enters

the nose, down into the lungs and back out again. Don’t force the breath to change

just notice it. In particular pay attention to the space between the outbreath and the

next in-breath – this is the moment when the body enjoys total stillness and where

you will find it.

Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash

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

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To my friend - a letter to my adopted friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The day I found my adoption certificate

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

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

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

Finding out my mum was not my biological mother

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

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

Getting my files

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

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

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

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

Getting my full birth certificate

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

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

Asking Long Lost Family for help

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

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

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

Meeting my biological mother

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

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

The story unfolded. 

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

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

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

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

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

It all starts to make sense

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

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

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

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

An ode to the honeymoon stage of adoption reunion

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Navigating the world with a dual identity 

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

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

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

The importance of names

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

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

The importance of photos and stories

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

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

Who we look like

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

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

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

How identity shifts after reunion

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

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

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

Danielle 

 Photo by Tachina Lee on Unsplash

Searching for Truth guest blog by Yuna Silverstein

I always knew I was adopted—not because I thought I looked different from my parents (because I really didn’t think so), but because my parents always read me stories about it. I was part of the first wave of Chinese adoptees, a mass exodus beginning in 1991 (I was adopted in 1998) characterized by mostly female infants who were filling China’s orphanages due to the One Child Policy in effect from 1979 to 2015. It has been estimated that about 110,000 children from China have been adopted internationally, with most adoptees now living in the United States like me.

From the very beginning, Chinese adoption had a very strong sense of community, centered around the almost religious belief that Chinese baby girls were unwanted and abandoned by their birthfamilies. This had been the adage the world news had been spreading, echoed from every corner of the globe. Indeed, the stories that my parents read to me at night, written specifically for Chinese adoptees, told of the night that my birthmom needed to sneak out of the house and place me in a public place so that I would be found by a nice policeman and taken to the orphanage in the morning. My parents could not with a child get into the details of why exactly my birthmom would need to do all this in secret, but they tried to place any blame on the Chinese government and the law, wisely deciding early on that my birthparents should be given the utmost love and respect, and should not be painted as the villains. There was never any reason to doubt this story as all Chinese adoptees, including me, were given official abandonment documents that said when and where we were abandoned.

Growing up around Philadelphia, there were plenty of Chinese adoptees in the area. I absolutely never felt that my family was not normal because we were a demographic in our own right with our own get-togethers. The neighborhood I grew up in and the public schools I attended were extremely diverse—something I appreciated much more as I grew older. Because of this, I was not bullied for my race or for being an adoptee. Being adopted was normal for me and I was always a little surprised when my friends’ parents looked like them. I don’t recall any friends ever seeming surprised that my parents were white and most often when I told someone I was adopted they didn’t blink an eyelash because it was just so normal.

The Chinese community welcomed us adoptees with open arms. At Chinese school, they made a special language class just for us adoptees and our adoptive parents. Someone in the neighborhood made an all Chinese adoptee traditional dance troupe and there were plenty of Families with Children from China (FCC) events to go to. I mention these experiences because when I tell people that “I am a transracial adoptee with white parents,” I think there’s an automatic (and rude!) assumption that I’ve been “starved for culture.” Yet, for all of these programs, some of which I enjoyed more than others, I drew my largest sense of identity from growing up with other Chinese Americans. I very confidently identify as a Chinese American woman and I’m just as Chinese as any of my Chinese American friends.

Given that I didn’t think being an adoptee was particularly special, for years I had no doubt in my mind that adoption was not affecting me. While I was always very open about wanting to find my birthmother in particular, I was also very aware that China was the most populous country and that under the circumstances of the One Child Policy it had been made impossible to track her down. My birthmother was not allowed to give birth to me, or allowed to keep me, or allowed to bring me to the orphanage—hence the only option was to abandon me in secret. This meant I had no names or addresses to go on! I was also always very sad to believe I was abandoned, because that is such an ugly word that carries with it unwanted, with absolutely zero context of what my birthmother had to go through. I also had to make peace pretty early on with the fact that I had no idea what my given name was, as my Chinese name was assigned to me systematically by the orphanage, as was my birthday.

But I was still “in the fog.” I had no idea about pre-verbal PTSD, separation trauma, or hypervigilance, why I sat by the exits for a quick escape, or why I had panic attacks when I felt my safety was threatened by seemingly ordinary things. I also had no idea that I had insecure anxious attachment, meaning that I was really, really close to my parents. It was what made it particularly difficult my first year away from home at college. Cognitive behavioral therapy really helped me to sort through many of these very early thoughts and feelings, because it is very powerful just being seen and understood.

I came “out of the fog” after my first year of college and my journey of self-discovery quickly accelerated, especially when I learned that my orphanage, like most others, had actually forged abandonment documents and actively prevented birthfamily reunions. (I highly recommend watching One Child Nation to understand more.) To make a long-story short, though it had been pounded into our heads that we were abandoned, the truth in the majority of cases was that our birthparents relinquished us to individuals who could be trusted to bring us safely to the orphanage. This changed everything. Yes, there were abandonments, but they were forced abandonments because the law gave birthparents no choice. There were also police confiscations of infants and children for families who violated the One Child Policy. So many things actually happened in China that I’ve tried to document. So many women were forced to undergo abortions and were forced to be sterilized. Because of censorship in China, much of this was only known in pieces to the outside world, and now because of DNA matches, we are finally getting the truth about what happened.

Looking back, I suppose it could be fate that I was adopted from the Dianbai orphanage in Guangdong province, because this was how I knew of the Stuy family who organized a few Dianbai reunions. For years, Lan and Brian Stuy have been working to unite birthfamilies and adoptees via their organization DNA Connect. Suddenly, the impossible was unbearably possible. Adoptive and birthfamilies were coming together and the lies each side was fed were finally being scrubbed away. It is so painful to want something so much, but I can’t help but hope that I’ll get a match someday too. Even if I never get a match, there is something liberating about knowing the truth about what happened to us collectively so many years ago in China. It may not seem like it should matter to my current everyday life in America, but it does, because I am so much more solid in who I am. I cannot begin to express how much lighter I feel to finally, finally learn more of the truth.

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You can read more and connect with Yuna at her blog, Hello Noble Soul

Photo credit: Rawdyl at Unsplash

Why are you so angry? Part two

A confession... I wasn’t telling the whole truth in my popular blog post about angry adoptees…

I worked so hard on my blog post Why are you so angry? It’s been read by 4,000 people and is my most popular post after What does it take to love an adoptee? The post was prompted by an email I received from a single male adopter asking (rhetorically I think),“Hello, i've (sic) parts of your blog. You seem very angry that you were adopted. I find that hard to understand- would you rather a child not prosper mentally and go on to lead a better life and have a dad/mother who loves and cares for them.”

In response to this, I wanted to explain in a constructive way why many adopted people are angry. I wanted to explain why having adoptive parents who love and care for you is not always enough. And I wanted to refute the suggestion that being adopted means you can prosper mentally (once I’d finished totting up how many thousands of pounds I’d spent on therapy). 

Rather than my personal story, I chose to focus on things like the social narrative around adoption and the disenfranchised grief adoptees feel. All of my points were researched and from the heart. However, I deliberately didn’t share much of my story. I was terrified of ‘being found out’ and being labelled ungrateful. Not by haters on the internet, but by the people who matter dearly to me. I was terrified of tempting fate and ruining my reunion should any of my bios stumble across the blog. Worse still, I was terrified my parents, brother and sister would see it and metaphorically throw me out; closing ranks as those bound by blood are known to do.

So, now in 2019, almost a year later, here are some of the things I am really angry about.  Looking at the list, many of them I’m actually really sad about. There is a known link between anger and sadness: the NHS states that anger can be a part of grief and “…there are things that make lots of us feel angry, including being treated unfairly and feeling powerless to do anything about it.” 

It goes without saying that my parents did a lot of things right, and I was – on the spectrum of adoptees – incredibly fortunate to track down and meet both bio parents. Goes without saying, and yet I feel the need to add it here. Mum, if you’re reading – this is my disclaimer. I love you and I know you did the best with what you knew at the time. It just wasn’t always enough. 

 The secrets we keep

• My birth mum initially didn’t tell my biological dad she was expecting.

• My paternal grandparents were not told or asked if they would consider raising me.

• My biological father was not named on my birth certificate as was the law at that time: couple not married + father not present at registration = “Father unknown”. (Remember these were the days when a man’s reputation was more important than a child/future adult’s identity*.)

• My parents waited until I was 13 to tell me I had been an identical twin. We were both due to be adopted by my parents but because she died at birth she never became part of our family and was never considered their child or my siblings’ sister.

• My twin was buried in a communal grave behind the hospital and I had to contact the local council myself to be given the ‘co-ordinates’ of the grave. I visited this baby cemetery by myself and will never forget the chilling experience. Why have my parents not visited? I’ll let you consider that.

•  My dad intimated that my biological dad was a nasty piece of work, so I believed for a number of years I may have been conceived due to rape or incest. This was not the case. They were just two teenagers from Southampton.

 The baby they longed for

• I was in hospital for 16 days after I was born and my mum can’t remember on which of these days she met me.

• My dad’s mother disowned him after they adopted me. They weren’t on the best of terms anyway, but a bastard baby was perhaps the nail in the coffin?

• From quite a young age, my mum told me she “tried for ten years before you came along”. As I grew older the penny dropped… if a woman can theoretically get pregnant 12-13 times a year, they tried 100+ times before they conceded defeat. Although very loved, I was not especially ‘wanted’ or ‘special’, I was choice number 100+.

• My parents had two biological children after adopting me and another little girl. I love my siblings dearly but I cannot deny this family dynamic was challenging at times. When my sister had her son a few years ago, while delighted to have a new nephew I was gripped by a primal feeling that this ‘real’ grandson would usurp my son. Blame on too much watching of Game of Thrones! There’s always a hierarchy and blood trumps all.

Therapeutic parenting hadn’t been invented

• On the whole my parents didn’t recognise/support me with my attachment-related feelings and behaviours.

• My parents moved house a lot and I went to four primary schools, which I believe may have contributed to my attachment issues.

• My compliance and people-pleasing was not discouraged, in fact at times it was encouraged as this made for a simpler life for my teachers, parents, etc.

• Some of my idiosyncrasies were seen as odd and different by my parents. The same for my sister. Our quirks were generally not celebrated or recognised as a) they didn’t fit in and b) they may be genetic and passed down from ‘they who must not be named’.

• My sister and I were not encouraged to have our own stories; we were characters in our parents’ adoption story.

• When my sister said she wanted to find her birth mum, aged about 11, my mum scoffed - rather than swallow her pride and normalise those (normal) feelings. I think it’s so important for adoptive families to have therapy in order to compassionately handle these moments.

Are you the woman I’ve been searching for?

• I feel that I can’t really be mad at my birth mum because she was adopted herself (at an older age than me in sadder circumstances) and didn’t hugely get on with her parents i.e. had a ‘worse’ adoption experience than me.

• My birth mother admitted she drank and smoke during pregnancy and “walked up and down a lot of stairs” from which you can draw your own conclusions. 

• Early on in reunion my birth mum forgot my birthday. I know memory loss is a recognised phenomenon with birth mothers; it still made me feel pretty shitty.

Still my dad even if you didn’t want to raise me

• My biological father didn’t tell his children they had a sister. 

• My biological father’s wife refused to meet me for a few years. When we were due to meet and I got stuck in traffic, she said it was a sign from God and cancelled the visit. I’ll leave that one there!

• He had to be cajoled into telling his mother and siblings about me. I still haven’t meet my two uncles or my aunt and I met my bio father in 2006!

• When I said being adopted was hard, my birth dad asked me to imagine what it was like to be a young man in the late 1970’s. I kid you not. He also once asked me when I was going to “stop harping on about adoption”.

Of course we don’t mind you searching!

• My parents knew my birth mother’s married surname but kept it from me. I spent my late teens and early 20s searching for her using laborious non-internet methods. Hello microfiche!

• When I showed an ex-boyfriend all my precious files, he looked at my birth mother’s marriage certificate dated a few years after I was born and said, “So you’re officially a bastard then.” Nice bloke.

• I asked my biological and adoptive parents to meet for the first time over a coffee before my wedding day. They refused and I was so anxious I got hammered fairly early on and don’t remember over half of the day. I feel sad when I look at some of my wedding photos. 

More support needed for adopted adults 

There are lots of things to be happy about, even grateful for, with my life as it is now. This is not a blog about how much my mum loves me and how much joy she gets from my children. This is a blog about anger and sadness and not getting the right support particularly as a child but also as an adopted adult in reunion.

I had some support from PAC-UK and some self-funded therapy but I have mostly relied on peer support to get me though reunion, which has been one of the most challenging experiences of my life. 

Thank you to On Being Adopted, Anne Heffron, Caitriona Palmer, Haley Radkee, Sarah Meadows, Mark Wilson and all my on- and offline adoptee friends – you rock. Thank you for making this lonely and misunderstood journey that bit easier.

*Not sure how much further society has come on this one. Answers on a postcard!

Photo by Gabriel Matula on Unsplash 

Alone - a guest blog by transracial adoptee, Debbie Nahid

I was born in 1968. My mother had concealed her pregnancy for eight months when she boarded a plane in the Middle East bound for London. On her arrival, she visited a doctor in a Harley Street clinic and asked for help to give birth secretly. The doctor contacted a private adoption agency who agreed to place me with an adopted family in England so she could return to her homeland and escape the threat of an honour killing. If her family discovered she was pregnant with me, we would have been killed to protect their honour and reputation.

We spent ten days together in hospital before I was removed and taken into temporary foster care. My mother had signed all the relevant documents but she had named a father on my birth certificate and it was this that prevented my adoption into a family. At two months, I was handed over to the care of another foster mother who had been deemed unsuitable by social services and desperately longed for a baby of her own.

I was taken on a train to Suffolk and raised in a rural community of white English people. My mother was a single woman who did not have any extended family or partner to support her. I did not look like her; I had thick black hair, dark brown eyes and a tan on my skin that never faded. I felt like an outcast not only in my town but in my own home too.

My mother refused to tell me the truth about my birth and I was raised to believe that she was my biological mother. She also claimed that my father had come from Iran and apparently died before I was born. She did not have a photograph of him or myself as a newborn. I can remember questioning her many times but she would not discuss how I came to be in this world.

I grew up feeling extremely lonely and isolated, not just by my physical difference but also by her inability to be open about my existence. Social workers used to visit our house regularly but I was never told that I was the reason for these visits; I thought they were just being friendly when they asked about racial abuse I was experiencing at school. My mother used to tell me that the social workers were bad people who wanted to destroy her life and I believed her.

When approaching sixteen I discovered the truth. My mother woke me one night to tell me I was not her real daughter but she would not explain how I got there to be with her. In that moment, my whole world froze before me. I felt empty and frightened. I did not know who I was and I needed to find out. She told me that the name I had been known by for sixteen years was not officially mine.

A social worker came round to explain that I had a different name all along, a foreign name and that I was ‘a foreigner’. I wasn’t given any counselling or support during this period and it has set me up for a lifetime of mental health issues. I don’t think you will ever understand how it feels to discover you are not the person you thought you were. Everyone and everything becomes a lie.

I began to run away from home and each time I did this I was picked up by the police and taken back to the place I was running from. I eventually made it to London where I found the adoption agency and met with the woman who helped my birth mother. However, she didn’t want to help me and insisted I should drop any idea of searching because I would put my mother’s life in danger as the threat of an honour killing was indeed real. She also said that my mother had ‘moved on’. I was bereft, with no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

There is no help for an intercountry adoptee, which is essentially what I was - no helpful social worker, no access to records and no intermediary. The only way I was able to trace my birth family was by travelling to go in search of them, which at the time was to an extremely dangerous region, as a war and then later an invasion all hampered my efforts but didn’t stop me from pursuing the truth.

I found my birth mother when I was twenty four years old. She was married and had four children. I was afraid that she would reject me all over again, but she didn’t. She wanted to meet me. I wasn’t aware that my arrival would trigger her shame and guilt for having a child out of wedlock in a Muslim society. At the time, I was overwhelmed by my own feelings and it felt like rejection when she insisted on pretending I was somebody else. It was deeply upsetting for me to have found my birth mother after years of searching to then have to pretend I was someone else. It felt like another lie.

For the first time in my life, I was in the same home as my biological mother and my half sibling. I saw likenesses and mannerisms; I saw a physical resemblance that connected us all and yet they were strangers who had a different upbringing to me. They were raised in a different culture to the one I had been brought up in. It wasn’t just about colour, it wasn’t just about race, it was about a cultural identity that I found difficult to partake in because it was so unfamiliar to me. I may have appeared the same as them but my mindset was completely alien to theirs. My birth mother was a woman who had grown up in a restrictive society and this prevented her from openly acknowledging me because she feared the consequences.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get long enough to know her because she died quite suddenly and by the time I received the news, it was too late - she had already been buried. I would spend the years that followed trying to build a relationship with my half-siblings and trying to reach out to my birth mother’s relatives who did not want to build any relationship with me. They wanted to keep my identity a secret to protect their family honour, which meant rejecting my existence.

I think my life would have turned out differently if I had always known the truth about my adoption because it wouldn’t have been such a shock. I didn’t know then that I was led by trauma and living a traumatic existence. I was searching for honest people but I only found deceptive ones. I had a right to the truth because it is my history, my biology and my genetic code. From the moment I was born until now everyone who could give me information has tried their best to withhold it from me, using the threat of an honour killing as a justification.

Now I am a grown woman with children of my own and I am searching for the truth about my biological father’s identity, so my story continues....

Long Lost Family's response to my open letter

Last year when Long Lost Family was back on our screens, I wrote a rather cross open letter to the LLF team. Having recently come out of the fog and working with adoptees both in London and online, I felt the show wasn’t a realistic portrayal of adoption reunion. I also said that in the episodes I watched the adoptee often appeared alone with no family or friends, and the adoptee always called the birth parent ‘mum’ or ‘dad’ upon meeting. I added that I was concerned about what support was given to adoptees who appeared in the programme.

Here is an excerpt from my open letter to Long Lost Family:

“While I was still in the adoption fog, I watched you avidly. I delighted in the resemblances between the reunited relatives and looked forward to a good cry at the emotional climax of the programme (…) Now, with two adoption reunions under my belt, and being firmly out of the fog, I can no longer watch you. I’m sorry (…) While non-adopted people delight in the drama, you are a source of frustration and bewilderment for me and many adoptees I know. “

This year, when the new series came out, my open letter caught the attention of the LLF team and I received this reply. I’d love to know whether you watch Long Lost Family or What Happened Next and and what you think of this detailed and thoughtful reply from the executive producer.

Dear Claire,  

I am writing to you in response to your letter to Long Lost Family, which has been brought to my attention by Nicky Campbell. We are aware that the stories that we include cannot reflect every adoption and separation experience. I am sorry that this means you choose not to watch the programme.

We acknowledge that the series represents the stories of only a few of the 4,000 applications we receive each year from people searching for their families. This is a fact which we do acknowledge in the opening commentary of the programme.

The reality is that some searches are impossible for us to solve; some birth relatives do not want contact in any circumstances; and some do want contact but without LLF cameras being present. All of these variables we understand and must take into account. However, this means that the stories which can be told do tend to be those with positive outcomes. In our follow-up series, 'What Happened Next', we have deliberately chosen to include stories in which the relationships did not work out, or which show the enormous complexity of building a relationship after a lifetime apart.

'LLF' and 'What Happened Next' should be seen in tandem. They are watched by the same audience and demographic.

To answer some of your specific complaints:

• We do try to include family members whose lives have been impacted by adoption, from the adoptee to their spouses and children, sometimes even their adoptive parents. These decisions are predicated on the wishes of the people involved.

• We have included examples of adoptees talking to their adopting parents about the impact that the search process has had on them. For example, we have shown an adopting mother expressing concerns. In another instance, an adopting mother chose to meet the birth parent of her daughter. They chose for their meeting to be filmed.

• We do not dictate the names that adoptees choose to call their birth parents. This is certainly not something that is scripted or requested; all of the contributors use whatever terminology they are most comfortable with, be that Christian names or formal/informal titles. There may be deep rooted explanations for why some adopted people choose to use the terms "Mum" and "Dad"; it is their choice.

• Most importantly, both the searcher and the found person are offered intermediary support by a qualified ASA, qualified social workers, and counsellors or psychologists if needed.

The countless complexities and sensitivities of individual searches are difficult to reflect. No single story can ever be a universal truth.

However, we feel that in creating a documentary series that reaches 5 million viewers, we have helped to shift public opinion by removing the stigma and shame that has for many years surrounded those separated from the family of origin. The programme has inspired many people to search for the answers to their own family mysteries. It is a known fact that fostering and adoption teams deal with many more enquiries in the period after these documentaries have been aired.

While some of those people searching will find further difficulties and complexes as a result of their search, statistically, many are happy that they searched even if it is only to have answers to their questions.

Finally, the Long Lost Family search and social work team have provided answers for, and reunited, more than a 1,000 searchers over the past 10 years; of whom less than 20% are filmed. The remaining 80% are given the exact same duty of care search experience and support as the 20% who are filmed. This is something of which the entire team at LLF are justifiably proud.

Thank you very much for your letter and for raising your concerns with us. I do hope we have been able to answer the points that you have raised about the search process and the duty of care that lies behind the programme.

The Executive Producer at Long Lost Family

Photo by Erika Giraud on Unsplash

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I’d like to thank the producer for this thoughtful and detailed reply and for giving permission for it to be published in entirety. It is still my hope that within my lifetime we see the full adoptee experience realistically portrayed in the mainstream media.

I’d love to know what you think of Long Lost Family, so let me know in the comments below or find me on social media (links below).

Here are my other blogs on adoption reunion:

• Adoption Reunion: Top Tips

• Reunion Rocks, Reunion Sucks

• Sorry These Seats Are Taken

And my most popular blog post: Why Are You So Angry?

Finding the pieces - an adoptee's journey to feeling whole

I hope you enjoy this moving and inspiring guest blog from adoptee Gilli Bruce.

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Finding the pieces of your jigsaw is one thing… you also need some glue.

As an adoptee I felt like a hotch potch of pieces, many pieces were missing, some were broken and some were from the wrong box all together. My attempt to piece together my fractured identity started quite late, I was 43 before I could steel myself to brave it.

Childless, an only child and in a decidedly dodgy second marriage – the need to literally pull myself / my ‘self’ together grew too strong to remain marginalised in my sub-conscious. By this point the missing pieces, blanks and questions had gathered enough collective force to propel me into action.  

All that - and the pain of course. Up until then I’d squashed down the emotional turmoil and buried it under the pile of nonsense, cultural myth and family legend that insisted I was lucky to be adopted. There are many different tales and chapters in my adoption story – but this short account deals with the aspect of ‘pieces’.

If you are raised with your birth family – it is taken as established fact that you get trait A from this person, feature B from her, talent C from him – this ailment from her and so on and every one in your family knows these things too – so you belong. Being adopted in 1962 – I knew nothing. Nada. Zilch. I minimised the need to find my ‘pieces’ telling myself; “I’ll just find the bit about my medical history – fill the information void so I can answer doctors’ questions, see what’s in the blood that I should know about.”

Secretly I wanted ALL the pieces – every last scrap that could tell me who I am, every clue that could complete the puzzle and help me to feel whole, I just couldn’t admit it even to myself. The fear of not being able to find anyone or anything was too real and the fear of being rejected again – unthinkable, so ‘I’ll just go for medical details’ felt like the safest route forwards. And still……

Massively curious by nature anyway (who does that come from?) I wanted to know whose nose I have. Whose genes gave me this unruly hair? Whose sense of rhythm has me up on the dance floor at the first opportunity? Whose love of colour draws me to art and design? And who’s to blame for my weird digestive system that makes me need to eat painfully slowly? None of these aspects were from my adoptive family. I was different. I didn’t fit.

Bigger questions such as ‘What the hell happened?’ Have you thought about me AT ALL?’ ‘What were you bloody THINKING of?’ would come later and belong to a different account - at the beginning these were still buried.

I really believed that finding these genetic pieces would make me feel whole – bring some  sense of who I am….if I could just find who I’m meant to belong to I’ll be all fixed I thought. Again way down in the sub-conscious was an idea that went something like…’ I will find this family, we’ll all bond and I will belong to them and all will be well’.

I hadn’t factored in that pieces don’t just stick together on their own – you need some glue. In families that glue comes from early infant bonding and shared history – naively, impatient to belong immediately I didn’t really acknowledge that, I had no genetic belonging experience to refer to.

So – finding the pieces as I did, was and is a wonderful and helpful thing – it WAS a good start – but I was disappointed (this sounds a bit bonkers now) at the start of my family finding - to NOT feel magically transformed. I realise now that at that first starting point when we all met, we didn’t really know if we all wanted to belong to each other, to even BE bonded. The glue was still in the shop. We hadn’t even set off to town to buy it – we weren’t certain we wanted it. But, really quite quickly I did piece together the picture:

• Nose – Birth Father 

• Unruly hair – An Aunt 

• Sense of rhythm – Birth Father

• Love of colour / art – Birth Mother

• Weird digestion – Birth Father 

Now, 12 years later, I have nice relationships with both birth parents (we get together a few times a year) and I have 4 siblings; 2 lovely brothers and 2 amazing sisters, a wonderful brother-in-law, great nieces and nephews – all lovely people. So by now, I now know where a fair bit of ‘me’ comes from:

• Being something of an organiser – Birth Mother

• Being sensitive and needing of solitude – Birth Father

• Being independent, strong and determined – Birth Mother

• Being a gentle, softy too – Birth Father  

• Being madly affectionate and tactile – both sides of my birth family – all cuddlers (no wonder it was tough growing up with non-cuddlers)

• Being a mad animal lover – an Uncle and Sister too

And so it goes on and we are all still learning. The younger of my two brothers sees his mother in my gestures, the elder of my two sisters sees her sensitivity in me and we see each other’s vulnerability in each other. I saw myself at 17 in a photograph of my younger sister they showed me of her at 17 – I actually thought they’d somehow got a picture of me in an outfit I couldn’t remember!

The stories of the search, the finding and meeting along with the aspects of finding my birth family that have been tough are for another time. My early years, the rebellion, the mad times in the fog, the life lived on the run all have some value in the sharing along with a life lived as a joyful soul who has been successful and had lots of fun despite it all.

Thanks go to my birth family for welcoming me back and their willingness to keep on building and bonding with me, for this is what I learned – the pieces of information did help but the glue was time. Time and shared history, commitment and patience allow me to share that today I have a soul-mate relationship with my elder sister who I’d choose as a dear friend even if we weren’t related.  My younger brother is wonderful, he and I are building our closeness when we get chance and I value his presence in my life. It seems we had to make some shared pieces and create our own glue along the way – the ‘Superglue quick fix’ simply isn’t available for human bonding.

As for feeling more whole – I realise that actually in the end – that was down to me. The King’s horses and the King’s men couldn’t put this Humpty together again – I had to do it myself. 

I now have a solid sense of self that became actualised through the process of fighting to find my records, pushing on when it was tough, working with tenacity to reach career goals, caring for myself with costly therapy and finding a non-religious spiritual practice. I’ve worked hard to create lasting friendships, a lovely relationship and found what works for me through sheer hard work. So in being my own best friend I am finally standing on solid ground, feeling mostly whole, most of the time which feels like some kind of ‘normal’ whatever that is.

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Deep thanks to Gilli for sharing this moving and inspiring piece. I think many of us can relate to the feeling of squashing things down until such a time when it feels unavoidable and necessary. I also relate to Gilli’s description of the bonding challenges created by adoption reunion. I’d love to know what you think, and I will pass all comments on to Gilli. Thanks for reading x

 Photo credit: "031 - Irony" by Del Amitri is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

I am your daughter

I am very pleased to feature this guest blog on adoption search and reunion, including DNA searching, from adoptee and psychotherapist Lara Leon. It’s a tough read. Thank you Lara for taking the time to write this, I am sure it will help many adoptees feel less alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Monday 28 October 2019

“Hi Lara, this is Andy from FinderMonkey.  I’m ringing to tell you that the DNA match is a very close match.  This man is probably your father or your uncle.”

I’m taking the call between clients, in one of the 15-minute intervals between being their ‘rock’, their therapist, for an hour at a time.  The room is their safe space, painted in soft greys and with a high ceiling which feels unthreatening.  I move slowly towards the sash window and look out onto Market Street, in my opinion the prettiest street in the Poole’s Old Town.  I look towards the Guildhall, formerly the old Market House which originally housed market stalls.  I have often imagined the cacophony of 19th century traders eagerly selling their wares.  But now in 2019, couples seal their promise of eternal love, and families and friends toss confetti towards the optimistic newlyweds standing on the concrete steps that descend in gentle curves on either side of the Georgian building to the street below.

Therapy saved me.  I was 21 and married to someone I didn’t love and who certainly couldn’t love me (or anyone else probably).  This time in my life was just one of many examples of my destructive patterns, of seeking love and approval in all the most damaging ways.  I had found myself fantasising all too often about ending it all – surely that would be easier?  In desperation, I visited my GP and there in that small consulting room I found I couldn’t explain a thing, but the wracking sobs came so hard and fast that I failed to contain them.  He referred me, at what might have been the most carefree period of my young life, to my first counsellor.  And so began my long journey into therapy, self-help and ultimately psychology and psychotherapy.  

I take the call in that quarter of an hour that I use to empty my head and ‘shake off’ the emotions of the last session.  I should have let my phone keep ringing, but I knew this call might answer one of my most enduring questions.

My throat dries up and I feel my heart bruising the inside of my chest.  My father?

Sending my DNA to be processed, using FinderMonkey search agency to locate my biological father had been a final attempt.  Since the age of sixteen, with no solid leads, no surname and no address, I’d failed time after time to find out who he was.  I made the decision so that I could tell myself that I had tried everything possible.

I had known I would search for the people who made me ever since I’d been able to understand in grown up terms that I was adopted.  As a child, teenager, young adult, I had felt outside somehow. Weird and disconnected from the world around me.

‘What happens now?’ I ask.  Already I begin to imagine meeting the the man I know of only as Gerry.  I am 49 years old and I feel as excited as when I got my first wellies when I was about 6.  They were red as a ripe tomato and I refused to take them off.  I insisted on wearing them all night long at my nan’s house.  I must have been a real sight in my nightdress and wellies, tiny in the vast spare-room double bed which was always adorned with a very 1970s purple satin eiderdown.

“We will write to both brothers now.  We will explain that a blood relative of theirs is searching and we will invite them both to make contact with us.”  As though reading my thoughts, he continues “Don’t worry, we are trained in this sort of thing.  We will get back to you as soon as we know anything.”

I sense that the next few days will feel interminable, the nerves about whether he will want to know me have already set in.  He doesn’t even know I exist.  The letter will most likely be the biggest shock of his life. 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Thursday 7 November 2019

“Hi Lara, this is Michelle from FinderMonkey.  How are you?”

I detect something in her voice.  Sympathy?  My stomach flips. Why isn’t Andy calling?  I inhale deeply.

‘I’m OK I think…’ I offer.

“Ok, good.  I have something to tell you Lara.  Are you sitting down?” 

Sitting down?

“Yes”, I say, staring at the grey carpet.

“Ok.  We’ve had a call today from a firm of solicitors.”

Big questions and wild scenarios start to form. 

“The solicitors are acting on behalf of your father Gerald”.

“OK”, I manage. 

“They are executors for his will.  Gerald passed away on 28 May this year.  I’m so sorry Lara.” 

I am no longer in the conversation; I am whipped away.  33 agonising years...  I have been searching for 33 years, only to have missed him by 5 pitiful months!  

And oh, how I have longed to say, “I am your daughter”.

“Ok, thank you for the call Michelle, I have to go now.”

“OK, I am sorry Lara.”

A ball forms in my throat.

“I will be OK.  Thank you.”

I end the call, and I sit to gather my thoughts and feelings.  I fight the nausea.

But I remind myself that I know now who he is!  That was my main goal wasn’t it?  To know his name and see what he looked like? To try and pick out similarities between us?  So, I tell myself sternly that this was a success.  I can hardly believe what I hear myself say out loud - alone in that room.

“I know who my father is.”

I sit in my chair and I look at the silver clock.  Five minutes until my next client.

I breathe deeply for a while.  I need to be ‘present’ for the next hour, so I stand up and shake off the emotion, physically brushing it off of my body with my hands - a technique I learned in therapy training.  

The doorbell sounds, so I rise and move slowly to the door.  I inhale so deeply it forces my back to straighten.

“Hi Susan!”  I smile widely as her expression nudges me back to right now.  I put aside thoughts of Gerry.

“How has your week been?” I ask.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~ 

You can find Lara on Twitter  

Photo by Lucia Hatalova on Unsplash 

Play about adoption reunion coming to London this March

Booking now open for a new play about adoption reunion, Giving Up Marty. I’m very much looking forward to seeing this play performed in London, especially as I supported the playwright Karen Bartholomew to get crowdfunding back in the autumn.

Two identities, no identity, identity shattered - the adoption conundrum.

Joel is found by his birth mum and sister. He’s only eighteen and scared.

Identity means a lot, particularly to a teenager. His life is about to change forever.

Until now he’s just known Mum, Dad and his sister. Life is safe, settled and secure. Yes, he’s been curious about his origins but no more than that. As he turns eighteen, much to everyone’s surprise, it’s Martha, his birth mother and Melissa, his birth sister who come looking for him. The events that follow, leave Joel embroiled in a family history, that changes his life and identity forever. 

There’s long been a fascination with blood ties and those broken, reunited and reshaped. Adoption reunion is epic and complex in nature and never easy, but it's this unease that needs to be heard. 

Motormouse Productions presents Giving Up Marty, a brand new play by Karen Bartholomew. Spare and gutsy, it takes no prisoners. 

Book your tickets here

'This important piece of theatre! It truly represents a ‘slice of life’ that often is not presented or explored.'

'Anything that demystifies adoption is good thing.' 

 'It is not something that is ever going to disappear from our western nuclear family societal structure. I do not have any friend who does not know someone who is one of those characters.' 

'You don’t often see this stuff on stage/film/tv that deals with so many sides of the adoption story.'

Previous work

London Pub Theatres ★★★★ ‘Poignant, funny and beautifully accurate’ 

Everything Theatre ★★★★ ‘Many theatre lovers have missed this gem of a play that deserves more exposure' 

Remote Goat ★★★★ 'Death explored in a brave way' 

Scotsman ★★★'Neville has a bright eye for what, in the early seventies, passed for neat ideas and natty outfits, dressing her set with the kitschiest of tastes and peppering her monologue with some great one-liners... ' 

The Stage ★★★ 'Both writing and acting are well observed and Neville keeps up a strong rapport with her audience'

ABOUT THE COMPANY

Motormouse Productions is a female-led company based in the South East. We tackle challenging topics with a political, social and cultural flavour, always injecting humour where it counts. Our work seeks to engage and benefit local communities wherever possible. 

We have toured and performed in new writing festivals, London fringe and regional theatres. In 2017 our play 'God's Waiting Room' told the story of two sisters dealing with their mother’s impending death. We connected with hospices, death cafes and the NHS, who went on to commission performances and bespoke theatre for their end-of-life services. We have steadily built a reputation for authentic and robust theatre created in Kent. Our work has kindly been supported by Arts Council England, Unity Theatre Trust, Kent Arts Investment Award and the Andrew Lloyd Webber Foundation.

Motormouse on Facebook

Motormouse on Twitter

To my biological father’s wife

Oh shit. I’ve made a huge error. I overlooked you in the excitement of reunion and in the subsequent years. It’s too late now to get back that time and we may now never have a proper heart-to-heart or even go for a coffee just us. I should have suggested it. I’m annoyed I didn’t. I wonder if you found it difficult seeing him so strongly in me?

It took the podcast Adoptees On to make me realise your role in it all. How could I have been so silly? It was never just about me and him. I wish you would listen to the episode. I’d love to know if you can relate to Haley’s dad’s wife and her feelings around the reunion.

I’d guessed you felt mildly threatened and the adjustment to a new normal was probably tricky, but I hadn’t considered the pressure you may be under from friends to shut it all down; to ‘preserve’ your precious family. Of course, in the rush of reunion, and without an expert to counsel us, there would be no way of knowing what was going on in each other’s minds and hearts.

I wish I had thought to include you more. I wish I’d made more of an effort to always acknowledge your birthday, etc, and not just enquire after your health via my father. Of course I know deep down this would not have made the deciding difference, but it may have helped smooth things along.

In the podcast episode, Haley’s father’s wife reassured Haley there was nothing she could or should have done differently in early reunion, but I still managed to find a stick to beat myself with. The wife. Of course! The family lynchpin and decision maker.

Haley’s family worked really hard to iron out the issues around reunion and move to a positive, loving relationship. As part of this they had therapy. I feel like if I had suggested therapy to you both it would have been a flat no. Although admittedly I didn’t try. Thinking about you saying no to therapy makes me feel I am not worth a bit of hard work, let alone fighting for. However, it may mean that as a family and as individuals you are not at that place where you consider therapy as a useful resource for any life challenge.

I appreciate the card you sent me when I was struggling with anxiety and I appreciate how welcoming you were to my children when we visited. I don’t know when we will meet or speak again but I hope it is not under horrible circumstances. I choose to believe you are feeling exasperated at at both our stubbornness (guess that’s hereditary!) rather than feeling relieved that I’m out of the picture. Look after him and tell him I miss him.

Photo by Jeremy Cai on Unsplash

I am not your shame

I'm 37 years old. Last night I was given up for adoption. Again.

I felt alone and frightened, just as that baby was. My nervous system went into overdrive, just as that tiny baby's did.

And the shame. Searing shame overtaken by anger and resignation, but still that lingering shame. It's always there.

Then something else, something new. A feeling of freedom. I felt almost giddy. I don't have to put myself through this anymore. I am worth so much more. I am worth a full page announcement in The Times. I will not be hidden. I will not hide.

One thing I didn't feel was surprise. As an adoptee I'm atuned to rejection in its many forms. You may not have seen it that way. Perhaps to you it was merely an error of admission; a failure to introduce me in a busy room; not the right time, the right place, the right circumstance. In that instant I saw that baby crying and crying and crying as backs turned and footsteps echoed away.

Adoption took my first family, my grandparents, my family tree, my genetic history, my heritage and my bloodline. Enough is enough. Adoption will not take my dignity. You will not take my dignity.

I am not your shame. I have nothing to be ashamed of. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. Except to keep quiet while you humiliated me to cover your own back.

I will not be your secret any longer. I refuse to be complicit in your compartmentalisation.

I know now that you shame me to protect yourself from being shamed by others. You are still protecting yourself as you did when you walked away from that rapidly swelling belly almost 40 years ago.

I need you to know that I am not "Lucy", I'm your daughter. The one you gave away. The one you've been building a relationship with for eleven years. 

I will not come to your funeral as "Lucy". It's time to speak up. If you want your secret to die with you, consider me already dead.

*Name changed.

New play seeking funding: "a tribute to adopted people"

Watch the trailer for ‘Giving Up Marty’ and pledge your support to get the play funded and on the stage in the UK.

There are just 13 days left to get this new play by UK adoptee Karen Bartholomew on the stage. If we can get this play funded it will be of interest and support to adoptees, adoptive families and birth/first families everywhere. Is it so rare there are any plays about adoption, particularly ones written by adoptees so please show your support.

The trailer for Giving Up Marty

A few words from Karen about why she wrote the play

“I am adopted and was reunited with my birth family many years ago. Every storyline I have ever seen on television, film and to a lesser extent stage (if, at all), has never resonated one ounce of truth for me. I am not alone. 

We received an Arts Council grant last year to research and develop the play. We played to Coram (adoption charity) - the response was overwhelming with so many adopted people and families associated with adoption grateful for a play that spoke a truth!

The play, like most of my writing, contains a humorous touch. You couldn't get through this subject without it. I have written the play to encourage people to think about adoption, specifically reunion which rarely has the fairytale ending, so often depicted in media and televised dramas. But the play is also not without hope, love, and reaffirmation.

Now, I want to bring to the stage with an amazingly talented creative team, a story that resonates and is respectful to everyone connected with adoption. The play also speaks to a wider audience and the relationships within the play are just as relevant to non-adopted families. This is a universal play and one we really want to share with you!”

Why I am supporting Karen in her mission to get her play on the UK stage?

To get more adoption narratives by adoptees out into the mainstream, it’s really important adoption is covered in the arts, including theatre. In fact, AdopteesOn devoted a whole season to this, so check out season three of AdopteesOn.

Pledge any amount large or small to the Kickstarter now

An open letter to Long Lost Family from an adoptee

Dear Long Lost Family,

While I was still in the adoption fog, I watched you avidly. I delighted in the resemblances between the reunited relatives and looked forward to a good cry at the emotional climax of the programme. (It’s well-edited, I’ll give you that.)

Now, with two adoption reunions under my belt, and being firmly out of the fog, I can no longer watch you. I’m sorry.

While non-adopted people delight the drama, you are a source of frustration and bewilderment for me and many adoptees I know. How can something so popular, fronted by adoptee himself Nicky Campbell, get it so spectacularly wrong? 

Here are a few reasons you leave a bad taste in the mouths of adoptees, as well as many adoptive families and birth/first families:

1. You shortcut the search process

Searching for birth relatives can take a lot of time, a certain level of skill and some money. I know people who have searched for decades and found limited information. I know people who have relied on the kindness of strangers online to provide a breakthrough. I know people who have gone against all their instincts and spat into a DNA test tube in desperation. I know people who have spent hundreds of pounds on private detectives - the very top researchers cost upwards of £2k.

It is unrealistic to set expectations that the average person could have the success rates of the professional researchers on Long Lost Family. Many of us find incomplete information and/or end up following red herrings for months or years. Not to mention the many contacts made by adoptees via post, email, social media and sites such as Ancestry that go unanswered.

2. The adoptee is usually shown alone

No adoptee is an island, we have families and friends so why are these generally not shown on the programme? I’ve blogged about how lonely it feels to go through reunion alone. It’s the only major life event I haven’t felt able to speak openly to my parents about, despite their verbal support for me searching.

I appreciate many people do not involve their adoptive families when they search, for a number of reasons, but I don’t think it’s helpful to always show the adopted person embarking on reunion alone. I feel Long Lost Family covertly reinforces the idea that adoptees should feel guilty for searching and/or the adoptive parents would be upset or angry if they knew. Even if the adoptee doesn’t want to involve her parents, there must be a sibling or friend they can bring along for support?

3. The adoptee always says “Hi mum!” or “Hi dad!”

This happens too often for it to be a coincidence so I’ve come to the conclusion it must be written into the Long Lost Family contract that if you benefit from the programme’s help you have to stick to this formula. It’s far more common for adoptees to use a biological parent’s first name at this stage, even if they are not on good terms with their adoptive family.

4. There’s little in the way of follow-up after adoption reunion 

I know you have spin-offs where you revisit the families, but overall there is little in the way of medium and long-term follow-up. So many reunions flounder after the first meeting and/or the initial honeymoon stage, and this isn’t made clear, which can leave some adoptees feeling like failures if they struggle. More support is needed to help reunions thrive. 

5. The wider relationships can be hugely impacted, which you don’t show

I feel we have a responsibility to show that it can be difficult for birth parents’ other children to assimilate, particularly if they didn’t know they had a sibling who was adopted. Partners of birth mothers and fathers can also struggle, as shown in this outstanding episode of AdopteesOn where Haley talks frankly with her biological dad’s wife.

I have been contacted by partners of adoptees who are struggling post-reunion, asking what they can do to support. My own partner has had to take on a huge role to support me on the adoption reunion rollercoaster.

6. There’s not enough signposting to support for adoptees and birth/first parents

It’s important to give as much information about the (limited) services for adopted people pre- and post-reunion available in the UK. For support with adoption reunion in the UK, including free/affordable counselling and intermediary services, contact PAC-UK (phone line 020 7284 5879).

7. Adoptees are spoken for 

Let adoptees speak for themselves in their own formats. You can read/hear real accounts of adoption reunion from the following:

• AdopteesOn

• Born in June, Raised in April podcast

• Who Am I Really podcast

• An affair with my mother by Caitriona Palmer

• All You Can Ever Know by Nicole Chung

• Angela M Barra

So, Long Lost Family, I won’t be watching tonight I’m afraid, but I hope this blog post has given a tiny snippet of the reality for many of us.

Yours,

An adoptee x

UPDATE: Long Lost Family replied to my open letter!

Photo by Cheryl Winn-Boujnida on Unsplash