Category Archives: adoption fog

Key Fob Not Detected

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It was one of THOSE mornings.  My husband and I switched cars at the last minute so our teen could drive his car later and not the loaner car I was using while my car was in the shop.

Mornings can be sticky, but today we were ready to go on time.     I hopped into the jeep to start the car -“KEY FOB NOT DETECTED.”  Huh.  The key fob was in the back seat but that’s never been an issue before.  Ok, key fob now up front, let’s try it again.  “KEY FOB NOT DETECTED.”  WTF???? Again.  No luck.  Again.  FUUUUUUCCCKK!!!  Quick dash around the house to discover that hubby’s key fob is not in the house.  Try to call him but he’s on his way to work and on a daily conference call.  Keep calling – maybe he’ll get the hint that he needs to pick up?

I’m on a call.

I know! Car won’t start.  Where is your key?

With me.  Put the key fob near the start button.

Did that, not working.

Keep trying.

I have.  Need to get G to school.  Need a working car today.  You need to come home with key.  It is not starting.

By the grace of God on the 25th try, it starts.  I tell him to meet me at school because the warning light now reads “key fob has left the vehicle” even though the engine is now running, and my key fob is in the car.  I know that once the car shuts off, it’ll be a challenge to start it back up with my key fob. 

I was not my best self when I shouted curse words in frustration.  Our son was watching me and told me to calm down.  “It’ll all work out Mama.”   On our drive to school, he told me that it always works out and I needed to chill.   I called him a prophet and he called me a “mean old witch in a Disney movie.”   It made me laugh.  And it got me thinking.

I am thrilled that my son believes that it’ll all work out.  Not thrilled about the “mean old witch part,” but then again, he is a pre-teen and gets annoyed by what he considers my “arbitrary rules,” like putting his phone away by 8:45 PM.  

It will all work out. 

This is something I’ve been working hard to embrace for the past six months.  I didn’t realize how much I thought it didn’t apply to me.  I believed that things didn’t work out for me – that I had to try harder than everyone else and I couldn’t trust in the process.   Good things happened to other people, but not to me.    This realization has been a part of my process of “coming out of the fog” as adoptees call it.  “Coming out of the fog” means when an adoptee becomes aware of the impact their adoption has on their life.  And no, it’s not because I had a bad adoption experience.  Being separated from my biological mother at birth caused trauma.  I had a subconscious belief that there was something wrong with me, which is why she didn’t want me.  I constantly performed, trying to fit in, to please, to make sure that I wasn’t rejected again.  I couldn’t just be me because me wasn’t good enough to keep.  I internalized these feelings and had no idea how much it colored my thinking until I started to untangle all of this over the past few years.

I have been working on reminding myself that it always works out, but in times of stress, old habits die hard.  I lost my cool this morning.   My son did make it to school with two minutes to spare. My dog made it to the dog park and still had time to romp with friends. It will all work out.  Maybe not the way you planned, but it does.  Or at least that is what I’m still learning, but my son already understands.

Domestic Supply of Infants

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“Adoption is an institution that fulfills several purposes in contemporary American society.  It provides parents for infants who are relinquished by birth parents…It provides individuals and couples a means to bring children into their families when they are unable to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term due to fertility issues……Because of the decrease in the domestic supply of infants, more affluent women and couples have sought to adopt children from other countries.”  Jones, Jo Ph.D. (August 2008) Adoption Experience of Women and Men and Demand for Children to Adopt by Women 18-44 Years of Age in the United States, 2002 Centers for Disease Control, Vital and Health Statistics Series 23 Number 27) pg. 1  https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/series/sr_23/sr23_027.pdf

The phrase “domestic supply of infants” is beyond insulting.   I first heard this phrase in May when Justice Alito referenced the journal article above in the leaked SCOTUS document.   I saw that it was not Justice Alito who coined the term, but the CDC.  He was using it to prove a point that safe-haven laws could help increase our domestic supply of infants, thereby another reason to overturn Roe V Wade.

I’m not here to argue semantics but speak for adoptees. 

Did you know that adoptees are 4x more likely to commit suicide?   We suffer multiple traumas being separated from our birth mothers and families of origin.  Most states do not allow us to obtain our original birth certificates. Our identities are erased.   We have no access to our medical information, so therefore do not know if we have family history of various diseases.  We are over-represented in mental healthcare settings.  Often, we are not able to discuss our feelings with our adoptive parents because they are worried about their roles in our lives. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m one of the “good” stories and yet my adoption impacts me in a variety of ways.  I have very dear friends who are adoptive parents.  I have no doubt that they love their children and are wonderful parents.  Being a wonderful parent doesn’t prevent your child from suffering the trauma of being separated from their biological family, even if they were adopted at birth.  Adoptees, even in the best circumstances struggle with abandonment issues, depression, disconnection, and fear.  A “better life” comes at a price, even if you do everything “right,” there are still issues. 

And let’s not forget the 1-5% of adoptees who get returned.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Parents change their minds and put the children up for “second chance adoption.”    Don’t believe me, read the 2018 article in The Atlantic, “When Families Un-Adopt a Child.”   If you deem a child too difficult or your lifestyle changes, you can put them up for second-chance adoption.  Frankly, this one takes my breath away.

It is important to point out that the adoption industry is a billion-dollar industry.  People are making money off babies.  Adoptees are treated like a thing –a product – a person to be bought/sold.  The industry has an age-old sales pitch that everyone wins – the birth mother’s “problem” goes away, the adoptive parents who can’t have children get a baby, the baby is given a better life, and everyone lives happily ever after.   Except that this is not a Disney movie.

People need to understand the dark side of adoption.  Stop saying that adoption is the solution to abortion.  Please stop using us as a pawn.  Please stop ignoring adoptee voices.  Please stop telling us that “I know of a good adoption.” Just stop.  Listen to adoptees.  Hear what we’re saying.  We can help.  But do not speak for us.  Sex education, birth control and abstinence are ways to prevent unwanted pregnancy, not adoption.  Adoption has a place in our society, but not in the way that is has been handled in the past. 

If you’d like to read a really good book about the history of adoption, check out:  American Baby: A Mother, A Child, and the Shadow History of Adoption by Gabrielle Glaser.  Not only was it well-written, but quite eye opening about the “industry.”

Mistake

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I’m ridiculously hard on myself and always have been but haven’t thought much about the reasons why I’m so hard on myself until recently. 

A few weeks ago, my husband made a mistake – a big, costly mistake.  In reaction he simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Oh, I made a mistake.”  Immediately I felt myself tense up. I was shocked by his reaction. I thought to myself, are you kidding me?  THAT’S YOUR REACTION?  You make a huge mistake and you shrug your shoulders??!!!   Even typing this a few weeks later I can feel the tension building in my stomach and shoulders.  How can he react like that, so calm about his mistake?

I was startled by his response, along with being completely annoyed by his reaction (and the mistake), but I was simultaneously curious.  How is possible for him to react so casually about this mistake?  Why isn’t he taking this more seriously?  Why isn’t he yelling at himself or punishing himself?  And it was with this question that it dawned on me that I have some work to do around mistakes, especially because my children seem to be taking after me and are extra hard on themselves when they make a mistake. 

When it comes to mistakes, I am tough on myself.  I personalize it. I say the meanest things to myself, but usually not out loud.

And here’s where the hard truth comes out – the one that hurts to admit.  The one I am scared to share yet has colored much in my life without me even realizing it. 

I am a mistake.

Yes, you read that correctly.  I am a mistake.   A whoopsie, an “oh no I am a pregnant, 20-year-old un-married Catholic dating a Protestant” woman’s child.  I can’t say what I ingested while in-utero, but I suspect that the words screamed at my birth mother were not kind nor supportive.  The little I do know is that her parents were pissed, and she was sent out-of-state to have me and give me away.  No black marks on their perfect Catholic family.

So, you see, I really was a mistake.  

I was adopted and raised by loving, but flawed people.  My Mom is a perfectionist and so when I made a mistake or didn’t measure up, she’d get upset.  I understand now that my mother’s perfectionism had to do with her own trauma and anxiety, but as a child, I had no clue and would get very nervous when my mom got angry for fear that if I upset her, she’d give me back.  Spilled milk infuriated her.  She would get impatient with me when I didn’t behave in a way that she understood or when I didn’t agree with her.  I understand now that this disconnect had to do with the fact that we are not genetically related, as more research is done on adoptive families.

To me, a mistake was proof that I was damaged, and it confirmed my worries and belief that I was unworthy.  It was an earthquake, rattling the foundation of what was an already shaky sense of self.  One who was trying so desperately to please her parents, to do whatever they wanted to ensure their love, but would always slightly miss the mark.  I was fearful that a mistake would cause my parents to give me back – to return the damaged goods.  I felt like I had to be the perfect daughter in the mold they wanted – and when I fell short, which was frequently (because let’s be honest, who is perfect?), I was super hard on myself, figuring it was a character defect keeping me from this elusive perfection.

The amount of tension I feel in my body as I write this is incredible.  I feel sick to my stomach, afraid to even put this on paper.  If I’m brave enough to post it on my blog, which I don’t promote and that my parents may never see, will I still be punished for it?  Why am I terrified to share this painful truth?  I’m sure I’m not the only one who has felt like a mistake.

Whoever thought that revealing one’s self would be so challenging?

I’m doing the work, through journaling and therapy because I no longer want to go through life being hard on myself.  I certainly don’t want my boys to feel that they are anything less than the wonderful, flawed humans that they are. I am working to heal myself.  And while it is still cringe worthy when I make a mistake because old habits die hard, I’m working on being gentle with myself.   I’m going to post this without agonizing over whether it is “perfect” enough to put out there.

Here’s what I do know:  I’m here. If I was truly a mistake, I wouldn’t be here.  Maybe my birth mother and her family believed that I was a mistake, but I’m not.  She MADE a mistake by not using birth control – or having sex before marriage – however you want to look at it, but I AM NOT THE MISTAKE.   I am here for a reason, so that can’t be a mistake.  I can’t carry her mistakes or her shame anymore.  I can’t carry my mother’s anxiety and perfectionism either.   They’re on their own.  They’ll have to heal themselves because I’m focused on repairing myself.

I wish I could wrap this up with a nice tidy bow, saying that I’m no longer hard on myself, but that wouldn’t be honest.  Instead, I’m taking this day by day.  Every day is a new day to practice, to embrace my shortcomings and work on saying, “oh well, I made a mistake but I’m not a mistake.”