by Mary Cardaras born in Greece, adopted to the USA; author of Ripped at the Root: an adoption story and Voices of the Lost Children of Greece: Oral Histories of Cold War International Adoption

An Adoptee’s Relocation Journey

Never in a million years would I have ever thought to move back to where I was born. To where I came into this world and into the life of an unwed teenage mother. To where she decided to relinquish me, likely being encouraged to do so. To where I was in an orphanage and a foster home. To where I was left and later to be given to strangers.

Never in a million years.

But after the death of my adoptive parents, and like so many thousands of us, I began to come out of my fog and to realise and understand my existence as an adoptee. I began to write and write and write, in order to sort out my feelings and to be able to share them. (I hope they’ve done some good.) I began to speak publicly about adoption and especially about the plight of Greek born adoptees, still not recognised as a special group of people who were systematically exported from our country, essentially products, commodities in a baby trade, all those years ago, and still today without our adoption records nor our citizenship restored.

I thought deeply about family and what it means. I thought about how the ties that bound me to my extended adoptive family in the United States were beginning to fray. It’s common, I hear. And sad. A second or third abandonment or that’s the way it feels. I know you know what I mean. And in those years, I began to return to Greece, each year, for longer stays. My work shifted from one university in California to another college in Athens. I had new purpose in Greece, founding and directing a center to sustain democracy through civic engagement, The Demos Center. I made friends. I have my partners amazing family who are here. I have my family here who have embraced me beyond anything I could have imagined. Interestingly this family of mine is part of my adoptive extended family, and I am closer to them than their own descendants in the United States. We take for granted families we were born into. Adoptees never do. Never can. We latch on where we can. Where we are wanted. We step into thresholds where doors open.

My homecoming to Greece has been nothing but sweet. It is familiar. It is the ground from where I came and where whatever ancestors I have, came from. It is home and there is so so much more to learn about it, to feel about it, to embrace in this adoption journey of mine.

Returning to your place of birth may be challenging and could be even painful, to go back in time and maybe to see and learn even about your past. But I promise you, in the end, it will carry such meaning.

It’s about ownership. (It’s your country.)
It’s about identity. (It is part of you and who you are.)
Walk through any fear you may have.
Enjoy the return.
It is home.
But if you decide that you will never return again, at least you know, firsthand, from where it is and from whom you come.
For me, it has been a revelation and a joy.

Resources

Who am I? I have the Right to Know (Video)

Mary’s blog above is one of the 44 adoptee experiences shared in ICAVs recent Perspective Paper: Return to Birth Country