Dancing on eggshells - guest post from adoptee David

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next set of dance partners is a complicated mix…

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

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

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

A second reunion and more dancing

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extra dance partners…

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

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

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

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

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

 Photo credits:

Egg photo by Fernando Andrade on Unsplash

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

Group of people dancing: Photo by Ardian Lumi on Unsplash

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

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.