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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 *Not her real name

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is the exchange that relates to adult adoptees:

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

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

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

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

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

Baroness Ludford: Will that be soon?

Sarah Jennings: I hope so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 - update from Gilli Bruce

Read the full minutes from the Parliament meeting

Photo by Brett Jordan on Unsplash

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

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

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

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

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

Can you tell us a little about your childhood?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The key provisions we wish to see implemented are:-

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

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

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

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

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

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

What will making these changes achieve?

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

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

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

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

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

Thank you

Pam Hodgkins MBE

Adopted person

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

Photo by Aditya Romansa on Unsplash

A letter to... my little sister who has been missing for a year

Christmas is coming again and we don’t know where you are. You haven’t contacted me since January and your mobile is dead. I know you’ve been back to prison because some of your paperwork was sent here. I suppose it’s a good thing you know my address off by heart, but you haven’t used it since.

January was the first time I refused to give you money. I didn’t realise it would lead to not hearing from you for almost a year. I tortured myself for days for not sending the cash when it was below freezing outside, but I’d already sent so much and my husband was sceptical about what it was really for. I suppose I just got tired of being taken for a mug and resented being spun stories about why you needed a relatively small amount of cash in a hurry. Particularly as you barely included a cursory “how are you?” in your text. I suppose I realised how one-sided it all was. I’d travelled miles to visit you in prison, but you hadn’t remembered my birthday in over a decade.  

I’m not sure you got the message that I was expecting another baby. Your niece was born in July. I’d like you to meet her, but I worry it would make you think of your own babies, who you lost. I’m still in touch with them, you know. They’re doing well, so big now. I wish you would write to them, but you said you wouldn’t know where to start and how to explain. You said it gets harder as each year passes, but it gets harder for them too. 

Did you feel like an outsider from the start or did we make you feel like that gradually, day by day?

Your daughter called in tears last week asking for your phone number. For the first time I had to say I don’t have any way of contacting you. No address and no phone number. You’ve never used the email I set up for you and you’re not on Facebook. That stung. I felt ashamed, as though I’d let you slip through my fingers, although everyone else let you slip away years ago. As a consolation I said I’d send her some photos. I don’t have anything recent, but I thought some photos of you as a child would be nice. You were so cute; I loved having a little sister. Those classic 80s pictures of us in our matching pyjamas and goofy fringes. We look happy. But I stare at them, wondering when it all went wrong. Did you feel like an outsider from the start or did we make you feel like that gradually, day by day, until you no longer fitted at all?  

Dad won’t talk about you. He says he’s protecting Mum, but I think he’s closed himself off because he was hurting so much. It’s what men of that generation do. I’m still not sure it was right to “uninvite” you to my wedding but Dad got himself so worked up about seeing you that it seemed the easiest thing to do. Well, easier than having an EastEnders showdown on my wedding day. Selfish, I know. 

Are you still clean? I hope so, but if not I can see why and I don’t blame you. I phoned one of your old hostels and they said they’d keep an eye out for you. They spoke almost fondly of you, and I wonder if you’ll ever know or believe deep down that you’re likable. I’m so sorry if anything I said or did contributed to your lack of self-esteem.

Now that I’m a mum myself I’m sorry I didn’t realise how much you were struggling. It’s so bloody hard, I can’t imagine doing it by myself, miles from home with no money coming in. 

Christmas is a time for family, so I wonder if you dread it. You’ve lost more than your fair share of family members, it’s true, but, other than your birth mother who tragically passed away weeks before you were due to reunite, we’re all still alive. Bridges could be mended if you’d just pick up the phone. 

I hope you won’t be alone on Christmas Day. I’ll be with my in-laws this year, but I’ll spend all day hoping for a text from an unknown number: “Happy Xmas, babe.”

Sis xxx

This letter appeared in the Guardian weekend on 5th December 2015 and all submissions are usually kept anonymous. When I saw my letter had been published I was shaking. It gave me the boost to start this blog a few years later.

Photo by Eric Ward on Unsplash

9 things I would give my sister for Christmas

Would her own name, her own bedroom and a hell of a lot of support around attachment have stopped my sister becoming what they call in the trade “a bad outcome”?

As thoughts turn to Christmas, I don’t know where my sister is – again. Even with all the therapy and mindfulness in the world, I can’t always stop my obsessive thoughts about how she was failed by so many along her journey, including me. (With the caveat that many have helped too, although often after much of the damage had already been done.) 

With sensitivity to the fact that this is not my story to tell, and there are minors involved, here are nine things I wish for my sister:

1.   Her own name

All the reasons we were given about her name being changed were logical and seemed to add up. We didn’t question it. Now I know from speaking to other adoptees that having your name changed can bring a lot of issues. If it had to be changed, could she have been given a middle name linking her to her first family? 

2.   Better understanding of attachment 

My sister had some time without a primary care giver and I am wholly convinced it did irreparable damage. If we had understood this better we could have tried to support her more appropriately. Instead, we were all raised with the post-war “put up and shut up” model that my parents were comfortable with*.

3.   Support at school

My sister had huge issues at school, but was assessed as “on the border” which they rounded down to “doesn’t need support”. If I had a time machine I would get her to take that test again and lose one goddamn point. She needed and deserved so much more than any teacher at any school gave her. She was treated as a “normal” pupil who could and should be expected to adhere to school policy. 

Before I got back in my time machine, I would ask her teachers to read the stats around life outcomes for care experienced children who are excluded from school. And ask them to consider that exclusion is another rejection, another confirmation of unworthiness and dispensability.

4.   Her own bedroom

Having your own space is important for developing a sense of identity, particularly in adolescence. Our house wasn’t huge and two of my siblings shared a room. This meant when my sister most needed her own space, she literally had none. I cannot add any more here except to say, I was selfish and I should have agreed to a ‘timeshare’ of my room.

5.   A relationship with her birth mother 

Although originally thought to be unsafe, her birth mother went on to have a large, happy family. I do not know why the ‘rules’ cannot be updated if a birth parent’s situation changes along the line. I believe they would have both benefitted from some form of contact, as is more the norm today.

6.   A lifestory book

A lifestory book including photographs is something I would gift all us older adoptees, although I know many younger adoptees would say theirs are a load of rubbish. With more than one home before she came to us, the first few chapters of my sister’s life were blank. Without anything concrete, except a teddy with her original name, it may have felt that these chapters simply did not matter. It doesn’t take long for a traumatised brain to change that sentiment into “I don’t matter”.

7.   A friend

As I now have some understanding of attachment I can see why she had difficulty forming and maintaining friendships. And I am ashamed to say we weren’t good friends growing up, particularly not when she most needed one in our early teens. 

A good friend can be a lighthouse. If I could, I would gift my sister one good friend to understand her and see her through tough times. 

8.   A reunion with her birth mother

For reasons I cannot share, their reunion was thwarted and there won’t be another chance. 

When the reunion was first mooted, I could have got on a train to chaperone and support her. I didn’t. This makes me feel really shitty. I’m so sorry, sis. At the same time, there is not enough support in the UK for adoptees and care leavers undertaking delicate reunions. I believe the system that separated mother and child has a duty to support them during reunion and beyond.  

9.   A hug over a hot chocolate

I miss you sis, you crazy fool. Please hang in there wherever you are and don’t you dare go anywhere before I get to say all this to your face over a hot chocolate. (Definitely not a cup of tea; your teas are minging!) x

* Every time I mention my parents in a blog I literally seize up. I have written about the fear before, and it belies my age by about three decades! But I promised myself when I started this blog that I would not excessively compliment my parents in order to sugar-coat some of the challenges. None of my blogs are the whole story so please do not assume anything about my relationship with my family from reading a few blog posts.

Sorry these seats are taken: a short reflection on adoption reunion

As some of you will know my reunion hit a bit of a stumbling block earlier this year after being fairly rosy for a good number of years. I’ll go into this in more detail when I’m done processing everything as it’s all still pretty fresh. It has a lot to do with coming out of the fog, I think.

In the meantime, this is just a short reflection that came to me after journaling the other evening before bed.

Imagine being invited to a small party and when you arrive the host greets you warmly but doesn’t offer to take your coat. Confusing, huh? This is how reunion felt to me.

Imagine you arrive to meet friends in the pub and they don’t shift up to make room for you at the table. They seem pleased to see you; they are smiling. But no one offers to make room for you. Afterwards you realise they were only smiling with their mouths.

I really wanted them to shimmy up to make room for me at the table, even if someone’s bum cheek was hanging off the edge of the bench. Reunion felt like the whole table just shrugged and said it’s lovely to see you but these seats are taken.

I would love to hear about your experiences with reunion, and if you have found journaling to be useful in managing the feelings around adoption. It’s great to be able to share what’s in our toolkits.