Living Adoption Out Loud

If there is one thing I know for sure, it’s this: the adoption community is a healthier one when its experiences and stories are shared out loud. We’ve learned, over many years, that silencing the voices and perceptions of those within our community will never help to forge deeper levels of understanding and inclusion.

What was once thought as a healthy choice: distancing adoptees from the truth of their birth stories, is now known to be of great disadvantage to their overall well-being. We’ve learned the importance of supporting and hearing all members of the adoption triad. We’ve arrived to an empowering place within the adoption conversation as we speak this declaration: the adoption community will no longer be treated as a secret society.

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An Adoptee’s View: The Importance of Self-Compassion, by Elaine Pinkerton

The yen for authenticity is a universal quest. To paraphrase Meister Eckhardt Tolle, “We long to know who we REALLY are.” This knowledge comes from within but also from our environment and the people immediately around us, our families.

Families: a loaded word.

It’s been said that the road to adoption recovery is a search for authenticity. Adoptees must choose from two family trees, one biological and another through adoption. In writing my memoir, The Goodbye Baby-A Diary about Adoption, I realized that neither family tree was the answer. My feeling of being “at home in the world” had to come from a source within, a gradual unveiling, a stripping away of masks I’d assumed for a lifetime.

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Adoptees: You Are Stronger Than You Know

I once believed that adoption was my weakness. I no longer think this true. Adoption has become my strength.

There was a time in my life when I thought of myself as fragile. I had been internationally adopted out of foster care, as a child. I viewed myself as broken. After all, I questioned, what parent would leave behind a child that was whole? There must be a kind of brokenness about me. I was convinced that the shattered pieces of me were the driving force behind my parents’ decision to walk away. I had done something wrong. I must have committed some sin that mom and dad could not forgive.

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Saying Goodbye to Adoption, by Rachel Garlinghouse

One. The number of medical issues we had that led us to considering adoption.

Ten. That’s the number of years my husband and I have been in the adoption community.

Twenty. The number of times our profile book was shown to expectant parents.

Four. The number of children we have adopted. Also the number of open and transracial adoptions.

One-thousand. The number of times I’ve mulled over our adoption journeys. Perhaps more… Definitely more.

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The Day My Son Said His Birth Mother’s Name

This kid, my son. He’s always had a “bigger than life” way about him. From the very day when we left the orphanage in Russia, I knew that my Vitya was made for incredible things.

Vitya’s caretakers told me how he was known as the “pacifier thief” within the orphanage baby room where he spent the first year of his life. He’d pluck the pacifiers out of the mouths of other babies and stuff them into his own. It was common to see my boy, on any given day, contently sucking on three pacifiers at one time. He’s always been a bold boy. And, we’ve always had a special bond.

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To My Daughter on the Day of Your Adoption, by Jamie

To my daughter on the day of your adoption,

I’ve called you by that label, “daughter,” many times. But today is different.

Today there’s no prefix, no subtext, no “sort of but not really” as there have always been before. You’re not my foster daughter, I don’t love you “like you’re my own.” Today you are wholly, completely, for forever my daughter. Nothing is changing, but everything is changing.

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Changes, by Adoptive Black Mom

On my own blog, I spend a lot of time reflecting on how adoption and motherhood has changed me and my life path.  I began the adoption process nearly 5 years ago, and I remember thinking about how to make space in my life for someone else. At the time, I was nearly 40, entering the final year of a doctoral program, having just survived a dramatic health scare. The confluence of these things pushed me to jump headlong into the adoption process. It was just a little crazy.

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Adoption, Autoimmunity, Honesty

I love my life and every single lesson that I’ve learned along the way. I’m grateful. Yet, as an international adoptee, I cannot say that I haven’t experienced moments when I’ve mourned the very fact that I’m adopted. Truth is, sometimes adoption hurts deep. No matter the life chapter an adoptee may be in, the hurt is real. It’s important to express that hurt, to let it out.

This can be difficult when so much about adoption is wrapped in joyful ribbons and bows. I understand this joy, as I honor the beauty of adoption each and every day. In so many ways, adoption has been a great blessing in my life. Yet, as an adoptee and adoptive parent I would be remiss if I dismissed the voices within my adoption community that express feelings of being left, abandoned, erased. I would be remiss if I dismissed the voice within myself, as well.

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Interview with International Adoptee Lily Vanek

1.) Tell me about your adoption experience. What was it like? 

I was a 90’s baby, and during that time, they had a one child policy in China. That’s why I think my biological family had to give me up. I remember some of the people from the orphanage. There was a caretaker there, we called her “Ai Ei”. She would take me home with her and show me love—and at that age, you really need it so you can grow into an adult that can form healthy relationships.

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10 Needs Adoptees Want You to Know About, by Michelle Madrid-Branch

“I was so afraid of being seen as imperfect. What happens to imperfect things? They get sent back…”

The above words were my reference of thought for much of my childhood life: you better be perfect or you might get sent back to foster care. I can recall, as a little girl, the panic I felt each time my adoptive mother would leave the house. I was certain that my foster care giver, in England, would come to America to get me while mom was away. Mom would surely have learned what I already knew — that I wasn’t her perfect girl — and I’d be returned to the place from where I came.

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