When I represented youth in LA County foster care, one of my favorite days of the year was Adoption Day. Just before Thanksgiving, many dependency court adoptions were finalized, and cases were officially closed. However, behind all the excitement, smiles, dresses, suits balloons and cakes were families officially, legally severed forever. A lot of drama, trauma, memories, intangible pain that couldn’t be swept away in a court file. The start of a new family didn’t necessarily take away from the loss of an old one. I was missing that understanding and perspective then.
At the time, I did not realize my experience and upbringing as an adopted child so personally impacted my work and interaction with my clients. Looking back, my own upbringing was more similar to my clients than I was aware. I was oblivious to the emotional and psychological abuse I endured growing up. I knew I grew up “different” than others, but if you said it was abusive, I wouldn’t have believed you.
I was adopted at almost age 4 from South Korea by a Japanese mother and Austrian father, who were both university professors. Looking from the outside in, how fortunate was I to become part of such a worldly, educated family who survived so much in their lives, including World War II, immigrating to America, who were living the American dream. My parents, especially my adoptive mother, appeared to be the stereotypical strict, Asian mother who expected academic and professional excellence above all. As we all know, though, looks can be and often are deceiving. What the outside world didn’t see or hear was the dysfunction, the abuse, the fear, the sadness, the piercing words.
From as early as I could remember, my adoptive mother made it known to me and everyone she knew and met, people who were practically strangers, that I was a poor orphan girl on the streets of Korea and she rescued me and saved my life. Her favorite phrases to say to me included: your birth mother abandoned you, God is punishing you, you owe me, I sacrificed myself for you, that’s the thanks I get for saving your life, if it weren’t for me, you’d be dead, I know best, all to exert her unrelenting control and power and dominance over me. She was the parent and I was the child and as the child, I was forever obligated to her. Not only was I obligated as her daughter, but as her adopted daughter, and on top of that, I was obligated to conform to the Asian standards of duty and respect to my parents and elders.
Praise was hard to come by, criticism was the norm and my adoptive mother showed her disappointment freely and frequently. I was a good daughter when I met her approval and conditions which included being obedient, showing my gratitude and performing to her liking, especially academically, which I did not do often. It felt like I had to earn her praise, her approval, her love. It was hard to earn, but easy to lose.
My adoptive mother dismissed my feelings and ultimately, dismissed me. I remember when I was younger, she would threaten to withhold food as punishment and remind me that she and my adoptive father wouldn’t be alive forever. How psychologically vindictive was it for her to threaten withholding food to an abandoned child who was found on the streets and lived in an orphanage before being rescued (her words) and remind that child her adoptive parents wouldn’t be alive forever.
As a young child, I did not realize or understand the effects of what she was saying was having on me. In fact, I believed it to be true. As matter of fact, who knows what would have happened to me if she hadn’t “saved” me and of course, they wouldn’t be alive forever.
As I got older, though, I grew resentful, even felt hatred towards her, but it is not until recently that I am starting to understand how harmful and demeaning her words were and have negatively impacted my relationships and my life as a person, wife, and especially a mother. Words can have a long-lasting negative impact. You can’t see it, but it’s there. My adoptive mother’s repeated criticism and choice of words are in my head, like a broken record on repeat.
My awareness of the harm she inflicted started to become very apparent when I became a mother and it has only grown as my children get older. My adoptive mother especially was entirely focused on raising a well-educated, book smart daughter who was financially and otherwise independent. There was no guidance or support or even acknowledgement when it came to emotional intelligence or well-being. Emotions, especially negative ones, were not just ignored, but punished. Basic interpersonal skills and communication were minimally addressed. Her communication with me was in the form of lectures and demands. In turn, now, I struggle to offer my children what I wanted and needed as a child. I have learned as I go to listen to them and their needs, praise them, and give them the space to grow in a way I did not experience. I know I cannot repeat the cycle, but it is so hard at times to give them the attention, connection and unconditional love that I know they need because I did not have a good example of how to offer that and I did not experience receiving it. Being a parent, a mother does not come naturally to me and I spend an inordinate amount of time over analyzing, criticizing and questioning my choices, sometimes to the point where it consumes me.
After I finished law school and started working, I felt a sense of freedom that I was finally on my own and not held captive by her financial support, which she used as a stronghold. Yes, she did offer me an education, but her financial support of that education was constantly held over my head and was a way for her to justify her behavior towards me: look at all I paid for you these years, now you are forever indebted to me. I had the false hope that once I was financially independent, our relationship would change and we would become more of equals, but she still treated me as the child and she was the parent, she knew better, she was always right. For a time, my husband and I lived in Los Angeles and my adoptive parents lived in northern California. We were looking into buying a house and contemplating moving to a different state. I remember my adoptive mother offered to help us pay for the down payment of a house, but only on the condition we stayed in California and a room would be available for her should/when she needed it. I often commented to my husband that to her, having children was a business arrangement. She said to me at nauseum that since she took care of me as a child, I would, in return, need to take care of her when she was elderly and needed assistance. Obligation and duty was paramount to mutual respect. When we did not agree to her terms, she withheld her financial support.
I go back and forth daily wanting to forget my adoptive mother, but I realize that part of me will always long and wish for her praise, affection and unconditional love. I spend a lot of time resenting her, but I also think about how I wanted so much to please her but frequently failed. Even though my adoptive mother passed away over a year and a half ago, I find myself still thinking about how it could have been and glamourizing her life, offering to the outside world her accomplishments, her professional legacy in order to uphold her reputation she worked her entire life to create and maintain, almost to compensate for her shortcomings as a mother.
I think about my adoptive parents’ lives and upbringing and how their experiences, challenges and struggles impacted their lives and how they perceived the world around them. For example, I can’t imagine being a school age child in the country side of Japan when the Hiroshima bombings happened or being a Jewish immigrant drafted into the U.S. Army as a teenager. This offers me perspective and context as to why they acted how they did. It doesn’t excuse their actions and words by any means, but it offers some explanation.
I do realize my experiences offer me the opportunity to be more aware and mindful than I might otherwise be. When I was a young adult, I was living in a superficial, image driven space whereas now, I am focused on my offering both myself and others truth and authenticity. Today, especially with social media, we’re facebooking, instagramming and pinteresting our way through life. How things look to the outside world and the impression we’re making are more important than the reality of what’s happening behind closed doors. Our motivation is extrinsic instead of internal and we’re teaching that to our children, intentionally or not. We’ve lost our authenticity and vulnerability to each other, and more importantly ourselves.
As I write this, I know there are people who may read this who knew my parents, especially my mother as their colleagues, friends, students and others who may criticize me for writing this and making what they think should be private family history public or think that I am being ungrateful. I want to make it clear that in recounting my history, my intention isn’t to disrespect my adoptive parents or vilify my adoptive mother. In fact, I do honor them as human beings who lived purposeful, meaningful lives.
My goal in writing this is to share, in writing, what other children may be feeling and instead of suffering in silence which I did for so many years, maybe other children, especially adopted ones, will realize the toxic environment they are living in and can do something about it sooner rather than later. There is a misperception about adoption and the unfortunate reality is it doesn’t always have a happy ending. It took my adoptive mother’s death to acknowledge and explore my feelings, which I’ve felt for decades but was always hesitant to bring to the surface for fear of retribution from her. When she passed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and freedom from her, from her judgment and I could finally breathe fully, clearly and freely. Now that she is deceased, I finally feel the space and freedom to explore my feelings, say them out loud and figure out how to use them to positively impact my life and relationships.
Sometimes I wonder how my childhood, teenage, young adult, and my current life would be had my adoptive parents been different or if I was adopted by another person or people. Then I think this journey is mine and my adoptive mother was and is part of my journey. She was a daughter, so am I. She chose to be a mother, so did I. The differences though are that I am aware of and acknowledge my imperfections, I am willing to seek help and I want to change and improve for my children, my family, and most importantly myself. As the famous quote goes: “You can’t go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.” Every day, every moment, every interaction is a chance for me to change and improve, to build and live the life I didn’t get growing up but always longed for.
