Adoption
Home
What is it and where is it?
“Home is where the heart is”. “Please come home”. “There’s no place like home”.
But as an adoptee, I have no concept of what “home” actually means. Is it a place, a person, a job, a feeling? Is it where I was raised by my adoptive family, or where I would have been raised with my birth family? Arriving at the doorstep of my adoptive family’s house, I felt like an alien dropped onto earth where I didn’t belong. I had nothing to grab hold of, no way to get my bearings. Dazed and confused.
Where was I, and who are these people?
I disregarded the alien feeling and settled in. I was family to them, and they were family to me; that is, until, quite shockingly, I was not.
At age twelve I found out I was adopted. My childhood development of my identity and my world was shattered. I didn’t belong in that home, with that family, in that town, with that identity which had been imposed on me.
I was unknowingly an imposter and knowingly an alien after all.
Moving into my adolescent and adult years, I developed issues with attachment, identity, safety, trust, and belonging. I was unsure as to what was right and wrong, fact and fiction. I was vigilant waiting for the inevitable. The rug would be pulled out from under me.
I am fearful if the landlord is at my door; I assume he will say, “You need to move out.” I create a temporary life, all my possessions fit neatly in my car, so I have the ability to flee when it is time to run.
I’m not able to make a “home” because I remain confused about what that word means or what it feels like. I haven’t lived anywhere for very long, I haven’t created a family, and I rarely get involved in the community.
My personality is aloof, introverted, and independent; all the while hoping for connection and permanence.
It wasn’t until I came out of the fog, that I noticed the pattern of many of my life decisions. I have been plagued with the underlying emotions of being adopted; suddenly everything made sense.
My struggles with identity are also evident in my professional life. Every couple of years, I change companies, industries and titles. I am able to work in a creative or financial situation, whatever will keep me afloat. I make sure not to stay for too long because eventually, they will realize I am a fraud.
I am the definitive chameleon.
If I ever find “home”, would I put down roots or would it feel foreign and uncomfortable, catapulting me into another escape?
I am everywhere and nowhere. I am everything and nothing.
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