Adoption and Identity

For many this year has been a season of isolation, uncertainty, and mourning. I believe that for myself—and hope for you, dear reader—that it has also been a period of discovery, awakening, and growth.

As November—recognized in the US as “National Adoption Month”—draws to a close, I feel compelled to reflect on my own experience of adoption. In particular, I would like to touch upon the opportunities I’ve had this year to explore my identity as a transracial/transnational adoptee.

In May I had the good fortune to stumble upon a large community of Asian adoptees, and my interactions with this group have helped me to recognize some of the ways that adoption has influenced my life: there were questions of identity, belonging, and self-worth that were begging for answers. To be clear I think it’s possible and even probable that these questions weigh upon all of our minds regardless of ethnicity, familial background, etc. I also think that one’s experience of adoption can, and frequently does, exacerbate these issues.

I was raised in a family that always affirmed me as a beloved child, never holding adoption over my head as a qualifier to my place in the family. My younger sister was also a transracial adoptee (via domestic adoption) and we were acquainted with other families with adopted children. This normalized adoption to me from a young age, so I never viewed adoption as out-of-the-ordinary; though I knew it wasn’t exactly common. While I am thankful for this, I believe it also made me less likely to consider the idea that adoption came along with negative consequences.

To go along with my early awareness of adoption, I was also fortunate enough to have some background information on my birth family. My mother was single, and knowing the difficulties of raising a child in a country that typically looked down on lone parents, she decided to give me up for adoption: according to my paperwork I was relenquished to the welfare agency on the day I was born. I also suffered from a birth-defect that in all likelihood would have put a tremendous financial burden upon my birth mother. Sometime in my early childhood, unprompted, I developed the idea that putting me up for adoption was the logical choice—that my birth mother hadn’t had any other options.

This rationalization of what may have been a heart-wrenching decision on the part of my birth mother became internalized in my young psyche. Rather than dealing with the emotional damage of being abandoned (a harsh term for a harsh reality) at birth, I sought out solace in what I considered to be the pragmatic reasoning for my birth mother’s choice to give me up. Looking back at the times I’ve faced rejection or perceived abandonment throughout my life, I know that this way of thinking is deeply ingrained in my patterns of thought: I still seek out rational explanations for these occurences and shy away from addressing feelings of rejection or loss.

The loss of birth family, culture, and country is an ordeal that is shared by transracial and transnational adoptees, but how this experience of loss manifests in each individual’s life is different for every adoptee. There are certainly common threads that run throughout our lives; that is one of the facets of the adoptee community that make it such a tightknit group, yet overwhelmingly comfortable and refreshing upon first encounter. But adoption is complex, and each adoptee’s story is unique. Everyone has had distinct experiences of how their adopted family has treated them, how they learned about their adoption and the circumstances surrounding it, and how far they have come in processing the effects of adoption in their life.

To my fellow adoptees: it is okay to feel gratitude for you adoption and for your adoptive family while still acknowledging the pain of losing your birth family, culture, and/or country. For a long time I felt that any attempt to reclaim my identity as Korean was an affront to my parents—an act of ingratitude towards the people that gave me a home and family. These feelings arose in spite of my family’s attempts and encouragements for me to reconnect with the culture of my birth country. If you find yourself in the same place, know that your feelings are valid. Respect where you are on the journey of discovering your own unique cultural identity, and respect where other adoptees are in their own journeys.

To adoptive parents: please recognize the inherent trauma of being given up for adoption that your children have experienced. All of the best parenting in the world cannot make up for the fact that we were relenquished by our first families. This has nothing to do with your own capabilities as a parent, but it has everything to do with the well-being of your children.

To general readers: adoption can be a beautiful, life-giving process. It can also be an exceptionally harrowing experience that only compounds the terrible losses of one’s infancy (and childhood). Never make an assumption about an adoptee’s life. Never tell them to be grateful for their adoption. Adoptee’s attempt suicide at a rate that is four-times higher than the non-adopted population. You are not entitled to our stories, but if we offer to share ours then please listen. It can be so hard to find spaces where we feel comfortable enough to express ourselves.

To my family: I love you, and I could not have asked for a better family.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring