Are you happy you were adopted? Do you believe you ended up
where you were meant to be? Why or why not?
I think I’m going to need a glass of wine to answer this one… It seems like it should be a simple
question. Yes or no and you have your
answer. For someone who’s in reunion, I
should know a simple way to describe if I’m happy or not. And yet…
There’s a part of me that’s happy I was adopted. I had a reasonably good childhood. It wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine, but I
was (mostly) happy. I had beach
vacations where I’d laugh and frolic in the waves (isn’t that a great
word?). I went to Disney World when I
was six and got to see Barbie from my dad’s shoulders at a parade. I never went to bed hungry, I had a large
extended family that loved me, and I was sung to sleep with a lullaby every
night. Compared to most, I had it more
than good. And I love my family. And my friends, the ones I grew up with in a
town where my adoptive parents chose to live.
And the people I met at the college my adoptive parents took me to visit. And my husband, the person I met because of
the college I attended. Every life
experience I’ve had is in part because of the life that was chosen for me by a
social worker. I’m generally a happy
person, so to say that I wish I had a completely different life would be a
lie. And I can’t imagine never knowing
my parents or growing up any other way. So
to say that I wish I’d never been adopted wouldn’t quite explain how I feel
because saying that would mean giving up everything that I love and hold
dear. I wouldn’t wish that away for
anything.
And yet… For years I
felt like there were missing pieces.
There were times when I felt like the alien child and that I stuck out
like a sore thumb. I heard the whispers
when I was out with my mom and sister whom I looked nothing alike and felt the
sting when people would assume my mother was my babysitter. There were times when nobody in my family
understood why I would talk so fast or with my hands and I’d be told to be
quiet by adults who just didn’t get me.
My sense of humor wasn’t the same as my parents; there were times where
it made me feel alone in my own family.
And there’s that constant fear of rejection. If my natural parents gave me away when I was
a baby, couldn’t anything else happen?
So to say that I’m happy to have to deal with all of these emotions
would be a lie. Because I wouldn’t wish
that on anyone.
Now that I’m in reunion, things are even more complicated. My kept sisters have good lives. They didn’t grow up hungry or miserable. They went to Disney World too. They have a wonderful and supportive family
and from what I can see, grew up understood and supported by their family. When I’m with my natural family, I fit. I can talk with my hands and grin when my
natural father starts doing the same thing.
I can ask all the questions I want and it’s not weird. My sisters and I look alike and people like
to point it out. I’m not the odd
duckling anymore. I’m with my people,
the ones that I was intended to be with.
And yet…
I can’t shake the feeling that things could have been very different
if my natural parents had kept me. Maybe
if they had kept me they wouldn’t have gotten married. Maybe they wouldn’t have had my natural
sisters. Maybe things wouldn’t have
worked out for them the way that they did if they had a baby at home. I don’t have a magic ball to tell me the answers
to these questions. So really, who
knows?
So the complicated answer to this very simple question is that
I’m both happy and unhappy at the same time.
And you know what? I’m OK with
that. I’m at peace with this
duality. I’ve gotten used to standing
with one foot in one world and another foot in another one. It’s not always the most comfortable, but it’s
where I’m at. And I do think at this
point, I’m where I need to be. It may
not always make the most sense to me, but I certainly couldn’t imagine my life
any other way. At this point, I’m an
adult. I make my own way. I take what I was taught by my adoptive
parents, what my natural parents gave me through genetics, and my life experiences
which I claim to be my own and I do the best that I can. I’m not always perfect, but I make my own
decisions based on what I feel is best for me.
I can’t change the past, but I can alter my own future and make it what
I want it to be. For me, that means
living in the middle of two families (three if you count my in-laws). And that’s just fine by me.
