The Feeling of Not Belonging Anywhere

Michelle is one of our most eloquent adoptees in the video series. She is so open and honest about the challenges and I love her courage to speak up about the topics most hidden in adoption – eating disorders and suicide attempts and what underlies these; and the struggle to find a place to belong and need to know the truth of our origins.

Click on Michelle’s image to listen to her video.

Michelle

Resources

Read Michelle’s other blogs: Mother and Letter to President Moon.

Adopted Families and Eating Disorder Recovery

Risk of eating disorders in international adoptees: a cohort study using Swedish national population registers

Eating Disorders in Adopted Children

Do I have an Eating Disorder?

Behavioral symptoms of eating disorders among adopted adolescents and young adults in the United States: Findings from the Add Health survey

The Link between Childhood Trauma and Eating Disorders

Adoption and Eating Disorders: A High-Risk Group?

Issues in Attachment that may contribute to Eating Disorders

My Adoptee Journey

by Anna Grundström, adopted from Indonesia to Sweden.

It wasn’t long ago when I used to think of my adoption not as a journey, but a destination. I ended up where I ended up, and it was clear early on that there would never be answers to why. My questions took to the backseat and remained there for years, observing a ride I didn’t connect to, my own beginnings.

About two years ago, I somehow transitioned from the backseat to the driver’s seat and put both hands on the wheel. While there were still no answers to my questions, I realized that I could still ask them.

I’ve come to understand that asking isn’t always about getting a wrong or right answer, or even an answer at all, in return. Asking is more about acknowledging myself, my own thoughts and feelings. Giving permission to wonder out loud, to be upset, angry and frustrated. To recognise the loss of things, places and people. And sometimes there are answers, so subtle that I almost miss them: like noticing how I tear up when the sun first rises in the morning, or how a particular sense of longing shoots down my spine when inhaling a random scent.

There’s something about recognising the loss of our past as adoptees, naming it, embodying it – even if we don’t know why or how. Somewhere within our body we do know. Somewhere in the body it is all still there. To celebrate, to grieve and to accept – it is all part of my adoptee journey.

Anna provides Guided Movement and Creative workshops for adoptees – check out her website to see what’s coming up!

So Much Loss in Adoption

by Maars, taken from the Philippines to Canada. You can follow Maars @BlackSheepMaars

I have been researching my roots for the last 3.5 years. When I first started this journey, I had nothing but scribbled memories of moments that provided places and names. Mostly by things I’ve overheard growing up when my family would speak about me and my joining of their family. There were a lot of pieces of unconfirmed information, and most are assumptions and even made up.

I sat on the couch and wrote every bit of memory in my brain of what’s been said, what’s been mentioned, what’s been gossiped, what’s been screamed at me.

I had no real information to begin this journey, and even when I pleaded for information and called around asking questions. No-one was particularly keen on saying anything. It felt like a secret I wasn’t meant to discover. But I went ahead anyway, and the first year took a lot out of me, even mistaking a woman in America for my birth mother.

I had no real tangible expectation, direction, or any idea where this journey would end up. However, after finding my birth mother, I had but one goal. To piece together our little family, to heal my birth mother’s broken heart of having had to relinquish her first two children.

I wanted to find my biological full-brother, so that at the very least she can heal her guilt and her shame before leaving this lifetime. But I couldn’t do it. I was too late, I didn’t find him until 5 months after she passed.

Growing up as an only child, growing up feeling alone in the world, an alien to my own kind, my roots, my heritage, my ancestral tradition – everything I am made of, I would have but one person left on this planet, that shares the same wounds as me because of adoption. And yet, the trauma of adoption in our lives would eventually lead us to separate again, for the second time.

THERE’S SO MUCH LOSS IN ADOPTION!

I still try to work through my paternal side, hoping for anything, clues, but the inevitable is searching for someone/something you never even knew existed, is a feat to explore.

#adoptee #adopted #adoption #reunion #searching #familyresearch #biologyresearch #ancestry #mystory #myjourney #mysearch #biologymatters #findingmyroots #brokenbranch

I’m like a Deer Caught in the Headlights

by Krem0076, an Korean intercountry adoptee raised in the USA.

Krem0076 as a toddler

I am an adoptee from a closed international adoption. I have paperwork but for many of us, our paperwork is often fraught with mistakes, lies and discrepancies. That is a challenge – is my information accurate? My birth name? My birthdate? My origin story if I even have one? Are any of the names in my paperwork real or accurate?

I have names for both my b-mom and b-dad and I decided in 2017 to try searching for my b-mom on Facebook. Here’s another challenge – because I am adopted from Korea and wasn’t raised reading or speaking my language, I had to figure out how to translate the English version of my b-mom’s name into Hangul and hope it was accurate. Thankfully I have a fellow Korean adoptee friend who could do that for me. I searched and found a woman who has physical features that are so similar to mine, it was like looking into a future mirror at myself around 50 years old.

The next challenge was – do I message her? And if I do, what the heck do I say? “Hi, you don’t really know me, but I may be your daughter whom you relinquished back in 1987. Did you relinquish a baby girl then? I promise I’m not crazy or going to cause trouble.” Yeah, I don’t see that going over well. Do I friend request her? How do I approach her without spooking her? What if she’s married and has other children? What if I’m a secret? What if she denies me?

This was back in 2017 when I first found my potential b-mom, and after weeks of agonising and being petrified but simultaneously excited, I sent her a message and a friend request. I waited days which turned into weeks, that turned into months and eventually, years. Nothing. I went from being excited and hopeful to being nervous and unsure. Eventually it turned into bitterness, frustration, rejection and loss all over again. In the end, I numbed myself to it and pushed it into the back of my brain and tried to forget.

Fast forward to March of 2021. I had recently fully come out of the adoption fog, started reconnecting with my Korean culture, language, foods and traditions and making more Korean adoptee friends. I decided to look her up again and see if there was anything new. From what I’ve gleamed as an outside observer, she looks to be married and has 2 adult daughters. It also looks like she runs a berry farm. I decided to message her again, this time in Hangul hoping she’d respond to that better. I’ve also updated my profile name to include my birth name in Hangul, hoping she’d see it. She never read the message and I don’t have the option to friend request her again.

I know I can go through other channels to find and contact my b-mom, but I am a mess. What if they can’t find her? What if they do and she rejects me? What if this woman is her and she rejects me? What if she’s passed away? That’s another challenge – the debilitating and paralysing onslaught of emotions that stop me from moving either way. I’m like a deer caught in the headlights.

For adoptive parents reading this, I encourage you to foster open adoptions if you can – not for your needs and wants, but for the future needs and wants of you adopted children. They will grow up knowing their origins, their medical history, their b-mom or parents. They will have a better sense of their identity. They will be able to ask questions and have them answered. There will still be trauma. There will still be tough days and emotions. But they will have a stronger foundation than I will never have. I’m 34 and drowning somedays. I struggle with being adopted and right now, quite frankly, I hate it.

The Duality of being Disabled and Adopted

by Erin E. Andy (지현정), adopted from South Korea to the USA.

March is Cerebral Palsy Awareness Month.

As someone who has lived with this condition all my life, I can say it’s a struggle. As someone who is a transracial intercountry adoptee on top of it, I have felt conflicted about my identity.

There are times my limbs do the opposite of what I want them to do. There have been times I’ve had difficulty getting out of bed when my body is too fatigued by the spasms. There have been times I’ve had to take extra doses of medication to calm myself so I can function in my daily life. There are more times than I would like to admit being stared at for the way my body acts. I’m fully aware of the judgemental looks I receive, which makes my body involuntarily tense up even further. I can never hide my excitement or nervousness as my Cerebral Palsy gives my emotions away.

When people joke about “maybe I should use a wheelchair instead of walking”, it comes across as insensitive. Yet those jokes persist. It can be tough at times to see people mock those of us who can’t control our bodies.

Growing up with Cerebral Palsy, it was difficult enough to fit in, constantly being reminded by my wheelchair and its restraints that I was different. However, on top of coming to terms with my disability, I had to face another aspect of my identity: being a transracial intercountry adoptee.

Within my adoptive family, I felt somewhat comforted knowing I was being raised with other Korean adoptee siblings as well as having a dad who is of Japanese descent. However, going out with my mom was a stark reminder that I was adopted. I don’t look anything like her, and seeing strangers looking at us curiously made it clear that this was different; that I was different. Only when our family attended campouts with other families with adopted kids did I feel comfortable. I wasn’t the only one who was disabled and adopted. I felt accepted. They normalised my existence.

With that said, it was difficult as I grew up to come to terms that my biological family relinquished me. I often wondered why. I was told they were trying to give me a better life, but the pain and rejection of being given up is difficult to reconcile with their good intent.

I never asked to be disabled. I was angry they gave me up so easily. I never understood the reason, at least not for quite some time. I was given up at the age of five, so I knew my biological family, but even so, they made the choice to relinquish me to Holt Adoption Services. I stayed in a foster home for a little while until the adoption agency found a family to adopt me.

Upon going back to Korea in 2014 for a reunion with my biological mother and seeing my homeland again, I came to an uncomfortable realisation: I hardly saw anyone in a wheelchair on the streets in Seoul. I didn’t see anyone else like me outside of my tour group who had a physical disability like Cerebral Palsy. It wasn’t until we went to an orphanage in Ilsan that I saw a few people with physical disabilities. I was confounded and ultimately disappointed. After coming back from Korea, I saw videos and articles over the years of how they viewed the disabled.

Would I have been here in the USA if I had been born head first and given the oxygen I needed to avoid having this disability? What would my life have been like if I stayed in Korea? Would I have been placed in an orphanage as I grew older, or would I have been sent to an institution to live the rest of my days hidden away from the outside world? To this day, I ponder what my fate would have been, had I not been adopted.

My adoption came about because of my Cerebral Palsy, but the struggle of each doesn’t deter from the other. While I still mourn the life which could have been had I never been disabled, I know this life is worth living, here in the USA.

I have a loving husband, many friends from various places, families who care about my well being, and perhaps the biggest thing, the ability to thrive.

I never asked to have Cerebral Palsy or be given up for adoption…

But, even so, I’m here. I exist. My condition is not who I am nor should it define me.

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