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

Top 5 take-aways from The Open Nest conference 2017

Myths and Monsters of the Child Protection System: examining truth, identity and belonging through poetry, film and photography. 

This was my first adoption-related conference, and what a banger! Sombre surroundings in the Foundling Museum’s picture gallery, with a line-up packed with talent and courage. We heard from adult adoptees and care leavers, adoptive parents, kinship carers and Professors Anna Gupta and Brigid Featherstone – all wrapped up with an improvised, impassioned speech from Lemn Sissay.   

Here are my top 5 take-aways, with tips for adoptees and links for further reading:

1. The power of stories

Storytelling is part of the human condition. A great story is more powerful and persuasive than facts and figures. Yet the dominant stories we hear about adoption and child protection are not the whole picture. Those in control of the narrative – professionals, policy makers and adoptive parents, create them.

This is why it’s crucial that we, as adoptees, tell our stories. And not just us but first families too. Birth mothers, in particular, deserve better stories. As photographer Lizzie Combes said If you don’t see yourself reflected (or you don’t see yourself reflected positively) this can be hugely problematic. It creates stigma and is very damaging to self-esteem.

The Open Nest project with birth mothers was incredibly powerful and I would love to see the Poem Portraits in a public exhibition, if not on a bus or tube poster. I’d also like to hear from first fathers, who rarely appear on mainstream programmes such as Long Lost Family.

2. The importance of language

For many looked after children, the only information they have about their early years is in their file. A file is a collection of documents written by strangers using professional wording (aka jargon).

Families can be misrepresented if social workers are not careful about the language they use in meetings and reports. This is people’s lives, history and heritage we are talking about. Once something is written down, it becomes more credible even if it is not a fact.

When negative language is used about birth parents, children can grow up fearing this “lurking” presence, which can bring on feelings of shame. If my birth parent is a bad person, does that mean I am too?

The advice for social workers is: remember the human in front of you. Can you switch to assuming the positive rather than assuming the negative about this person?

3. Movement and creativity can ease trauma

Trauma is held in the body, and in order to live fully we need to get it out. Rebekah Ubuntu said moving her body is not a “nice to have”, it’s what keeps her alive. She recommended sport and dance as good examples. I would add yoga to this list, and I would love to hear how you use movement to deal with trauma and anxiety.

Rebekah Ubuntu leads questions and answers

Creativity was one of the themes of the conference, and Lemn Sissay stressed the importance of art in all its forms. He said creativity is not “for someone else” or “just for artists”; it’s at the heart of who we are. Many of the speakers used poetry, imagery and Rebekah Ubuntu showed a heart-breaking film shot at her mother’s graveside.

4. All families are dysfunctional

I could have punched the air at this point. What a refreshing, freeing statement. Thank you Lemn Sissay!

As Lemn said, let’s not kid ourselves that adopted children are going from dysfunctional birth families into functional adoptive families. That all families are in some way dysfunctional is a universal truth that is not acknowledged.

So why haven’t some people made this connection? It’s too scary to admit we are all fundamentally the same.

5. Keep talking and hugging

Silence + shame = a dangerous combination. That the two are a lethal mix seems obvious, but both are incredibly pervasive in adoption. Lemn later added: “silence is not resilience”. It’s damaging to grow up in a family where adoption is rarely discussed; the elephant in the room.

Silence is the enemy / Clogged into throats

@anneghemwall

When Lemn Sissay went to live in a children’s home he was not hugged. Worse than that, he said, was the lack of acknowledgement that what he needed was a hug. Imagine the emotional resilience of a child who lives without touch. 

Now, if you’ve read this far go and give someone in your dysfunctional family a big hug.

Thomas Coram peeking out from behind Lemn Sissay in the Foundling Museum picture gallery

The Open Nest founders and trustees have big open hearts and I am so happy the charity exists. Please support them if you can, this is incredibly important work that truly makes a difference.

Useful resources:

Brene Brown is amazing on stories

AdopteesOn is a podcast where adoptees speak about the adoption experience

Lemn Sissay's Origin Stories on Radio 4

Kristen Neff on common humanity and self-compassion

Six Word Adoption Memoirs

The Primal Wound, Nancy Newton-Verrier

The Open Nest conference tomorrow!

Super excited about my first adoption/fostering conference, The Myths and Monsters of Child Protection (bit of a scary title?!) on Monday 16th October. It's run by charity The Open Nest and the venue couldn't be more apt - the Foundling Museum in London.

The theme of the day is so close to my heart: examining truth, identity and belonging through poetry, film and photography. Speakers and attendees will include adoptees, adoptive parents, birth/first parents, foster carers and social workers. Best of all? The awesome Lemn Sissay is presenting - would it be too embarrassing if I brought my Foundling Museum tea towel for him to sign? 

I've been following the Open Nest for a few years and I love the quote in their website tagline: "Coming to anything organised by The Open Nest is like having a big long comforting hug." I'm always one of the first to give out hugs at the adopted adults' support group I attend, and I'm sure I'll be giving (and receiving!?) a few on Monday. 

Can't wait to report back on how it goes. I'll also be tweeting and gramming on the day so make sure you're following.

P.S. I'm expecting to be triggered left right and centre, so will be taking lots of tissues. But you know what they say, better out than in! Or as Brené Brown puts it: "We cannot selectively numb emotions, when we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions."