So You Want To Ask An Adoptee Questions
Over the past year, as I’ve gradually gotten acquainted with the #adoptee space and begun contributing to it, the questions started up again. All of my life, being adopted was like having an extra finger; people didn’t generally notice until I pointed it out, but when I did, the grotesque fascination appeared along with the invasive questions. Eventually, I quit bringing it up. Until now.
And I understand why people still have questions. I’ve put bits and pieces of my story out in the world for people to ponder and interact with. That’s just what happens when you write a book — people want to know if it’s true (the events in the book are not). And because I’ve started sharing my own personal perspectives on my Instagram page, the invitation to engage with me is open. I know that.
But while I encourage you to listen to my experience as I share it and take pause after reading my book, remember that I am only one resource. I am an expert on nothing except, perhaps, myself and my art. I am still very much learning and catching up on the history of my people. I’ve only been truly out of the fog for a few years, and the skies keep on getting clearer the more I read.
The tricky thing (or one of them) about being an adoptee is that I am one voice, one story, one experience, in a sea of them, and they’re all set against a cultural and political backdrop of injustice. You should be paying less attention to me and more attention to the system that perpetuates the oppression of people like me.
Do I love my adoptive parents? Yes.
Do I love being adopted? No.
In all actuality, my speaking up should carry a serious gravity simply because my story is not as scary as it could have been (but believe me, I have some horror stories). I was raised with many good things: strong values, a good education, enough money for everything I needed (and more), parents who never quit trying to love me (even to this day, even as I’ve spoken up against some of their methods), and so much more.
I am loved, I am supported, AND YET, my adoption has still caused me psychological and emotional pain throughout every stage of my life. And when a child without an emotional vocabulary experiences emotions so big even the adults around aren’t familiar with them? Those are the ingredients for a breakdown. Ask me, I would know.
Adoptees are forced to deal with the existential questions I am beginning to think the rest of you put off until your mid-life crises. But as children, as teens, as young adults, we are already asking big questions because we have big feelings. We are forced into an existence that is fucking complicated so before you ask, yes, I would have preferred to have been aborted rather than adopted. This existence isn’t easy. Most adults aren’t emotionally mature enough to navigate the waters I was treading when I was 10 or 14 or 25.
And emotional intelligence is a must. But most often, we adoptees just end up with depression.
The questions I get most often actually come from adoptive parents or prospective adoptive parents. I think that the adoptees who engage with my work can appreciate it at face value because our experiences, though all different, resonate with each others’. But adoptive parents and prospective adoptive parents don’t quite understand and so, they reach out to me and others for advice.
But why is it my responsibility to educate you? I mean, beyond all the content I’ve put out into the world? Isn’t my vulnerability enough for you? Didn’t I write a book about this? And blogs? And posts? Can’t you recognize that everything I send out in the world for you to engage with is a privilege for you? Can you not see this struggle that stays with me even as I begin my 30s? Do you really want to be a part of a system that creates stories like mine?
I was a $20k product when I was born, and I am a $20 product now because of my book, but I need you to see BEYOND that.
I am a writer and so you are tempted to edit my words, but I am also an adoptee and I know what it’s like to live an edited life.
It ends here. You want my advice?
You can advocate for us so that we can be treated as equals under the law. We deserve birth certificates, medical histories, and genetic mirroring just like everybody else. You can demand that adoption agencies reevaluate their marketing rhetoric or, I don’t know, demand that agencies stop coercing women with less privileges so they can sell children to make money. You can help us move towards adoption reform. You can vote for people who will raise their voices in support of accessible abortions. You can support strategies to keep families together including affordable therapy, rehabilitation, equal pay, and other like services. You can go to therapy. You can learn how to implement trauma-informed parenting into your family. You can investigate your own saviorism, fertility issues, privilege, entitlement, and whatever else makes you think you “deserve” a child. You can listen and reevaluate your views. We adoptees are here and we are speaking. Instead of arguing with us or worse, ignoring us, all you have to do is show up and listen.
And after you’re done with all that, if you still think that you have a question that I’d have a good answer to? You can start by saying thank you. This is emotional work that I’m doing for myself and other adoptees. I’m not going to give you permission to adopt a child “the right way.” There is no right way. It all hurts.
I’m not an animal at the Zoo for you to gawk at. I’m here to remind you that we have a lot of work in front of us. Are you with me or not?
