How Does It Feel To Be Adopted? – Angela

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BIO: I’m a 48 years old Norwegian domestic adoptee. I work as a conductor and music teacher, am married and have three biological children (with two different fathers) and three bonus children. I’m one of those “your mother couldn’t take care of you due to low income, out of wedlock and no possibilities, so she gave you away”-children from the late 60’s. I experienced lots of emotional abuse in my adoptive family.

 

 

 

Content Warning: The following article you are about to read may contain written material of a serious factual nature that may be disturbing to some individuals. Reader discretion is advised.

HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE ADOPTED?

I’m a domestic adoptee and came to my adoptive family three weeks old and knew all along that I was adopted. I was kind of okay with it as a child, I guess because I didn’t know any other way and because my adoptive dad was a good dad the first years. Things changed. From age three I started spending time reading books, newspapers and encyclopedias, and in my adoptive family that was very odd. None of them used to read books – and here I was at three… And then I was indeed a very musical child. I could hear a song on the radio and rush to the Steinway at my adoptive mom’s workplace to play the song. That was odd to them too and I guess my adoptive mom was kind of spooked when her toddler told her to stop singing because she sang out of tune.

Through my reading I early realized that my home was kind of different from normal homes (I didn’t read only comic books, but also quite serious literature about real people’s problems), and when I started getting opinions of my own, I stopped being daddy’s little girl. My adoptive dad was a racist, homophobic, narrow minded, cheap and selfish narcissist – and I saw right through him. I was his opposite. Curious, eager to learn, trusting statistics over rumors, sharing whatever I had, saw the good in people and found it very unfair to harass people for things they couldn’t help (like being black or gay). So clearly our personalities clashed big time.

My adoptive mom was alright in many ways.

I think she actually loved me.

Unfortunately she did everything he did and always agreed with him to avoid his anger outbursts that could last for weeks and even months, so I lost respect for her as time went by.  She wanted to leave him, but didn’t have the guts to do so. She got scared, I got angry. She got beaten while he didn’t beat me more than a couple of times. I guess he felt intimidated when I stared him right back with angry eyes, totally despising him, so I got away from the physical abuse while the mental abuse continued. Even when she did everything she could, I wasn’t very close to her. If I skinned my knees, I preferred to get the band aid myself and no hugs. I never got close to any of my adopters. I didn’t let her in my personal space while he didn’t bother giving hugs anyway. When I as an adult got my divorce, I took her maiden name as my surname. Adoptive dads surname just makes me feel sick, and I really want no connection to his family at all.

I was never good enough. Not clever enough (unless I brought an A home from school, and then he would brag to his family and give me money in front of them). I was a disgrace and an expense. My cousins were so much better than me even though they actually got into lots of more trouble than I ever did. He let his family discriminate and make fun of me. My aunt said “don’t bring that illegitimate bastard here”. I was and alien and was treated like one. My adoptive mom’s family treated me alright, like one of them, but they lived in another country. (And pardon my English, it’s my third language so bare over with grammar faults.) I’ve wondered lots of times why my adopters bothered to get themselves a baby when he didn’t want to have a relationship with it. Adoptive mom told me it was his fault that they didn’t get any biological children. (Apparently he couldn’t get it up.) I often wonder if I over the years got to be this constant reminder of his lack of manliness.

I’m a second choice.

I grew up with very little toys and clothes, only the essentials I had to have to keep a good facade, even though he made lots of money and could afford expensive cars for himself.  And that followed me. I had to sell stuff to get money for school books, and even occasionally had to steal books (!) he wouldn’t pay for when I was in high school.  Millionaires daughter growing up in poverty. I just wasn’t worth anything. I wasn’t allowed to go to the high school I wanted to go (because then he would have to pay for the bus ticket), but had to take classes in the local high school. So I didn’t take the education I wanted, and my grades dropped, which of course was wrong too.

I was such a loser…

I couldn’t talk about my biological family at home. That was an accusation against His Highness for so graciously doing all this effort to taking in shit from the gutter. Every time I did something a bit beside what he had planned, he threatened to throw me out and disown me. And it used to scare the crap out of me to be left again so I played along – but it was impossible to not annoy him; it could be as little as wearing the wrong pair of jeans.

Such an ungrateful, worthless little bastard, right!

The tense relationship at home, the constant fear of being rejected again and all those years walking on eggshells made me distrust people. Holding a safe distance to avoid being hurt. It made me walk out on relationships too soon, doing too little to fix – because I preferred to leave before they left me. I mean: When parents can leave you, your adopters threaten to leave you, your adoptive family doesn’t want you or respect you… how can a spouse or partner care about you? Nah, better leave before they find someone better. I realize that today and my husband understands my mixed feelings and why it took me so long to trust him (and that I, even though I trust him, not REALLY trust him after all – even though he hasn’t done anything at all to hurt me and really tries to spoil me in any way).

I moved away from my adopters as soon as possible. When I got pregnant (age 27) I needed to know my biological family. I remember crying at the GP’s office because I couldn’t answer her questions about my medical history. It felt as if I gave my unborn child a death sentence. I had met my biological mom a couple of times before, but we never really discussed these issues. Now I needed to know, and because I was an adult she gave me my birth certificate and a paper with my biological dad’s name. I contacted him too, not to get another parent, but to get some answers.

I don’t have any contact with my biological mom today, but I’m Facebook friend with my biological dad. I’m Facebook friend with two siblings, two siblings are both on Facebook and we meet in real life every now and then.  I don’t have any contact at all with two.  It was strange to meet myself in my brother and sister. We have gotten quite close these past couple of years. My sister was my maid of honor when I got married. By the way, I got a man I know to walk me down the aisle, while I didn’t tell my adoptive dad and his family that I was getting married. It was a very nice wedding without any adoptive family members at all!

How strange to meet siblings and be like someone!

We look alike, we say the same things, do the same things, have the same expressions and mannerisms, dress alike, my sister and I both treat our ex’s (and our children’s fathers) with the same respect, we’re all quite afraid of conflicts. My brother and I both did an adventurous journey to a very different place on earth. We like big machines, we played the same instrument, and we hardly touch alcohol. We share views on so many things in the everyday life. It’s just incredible! I mean, I’m a result of 10 % upbringing and 90 % DNA. I couldn’t have been more like my siblings if we had grown up together.

But even if I have lots in common with my siblings, we’re not ‘truly’ family because we don’t share all these moments that family brings. We didn’t grow up together. We haven’t got a shared memory bank. So they are my family but aren’t, and I don’t trust them to care about me. My adoptive family aren’t my family either. So apart from my own children I’m all alone in this world. My family tree emerged from nothing and started with me.  The family tree on my adoptive family and biological family’s side are just people I don’t care about, they’re only names. They’re not ‘mine’. I really couldn’t care less about my adoptive dad, biological mum and biological dad. They’re strangers. I care more about my dogs. (But don’t you dare to touch my children! I’ll rip your heart out! They’re my life. My heritage. Me.) I wish I could trust my biological family. I wish I could trust any people instead of expecting the worst and giving up too soon. These trust issues has cost me partners, friendships, jobs… I just walk away and don’t look back, and I have this feeling that I’m better off alone. I used to put my head in the sand and let life walk by.  Sometimes I’m even afraid my children don’t care about me and that I failed there too, even though they’re all doing fine and we have a good relationship.

I don’t even trust my children not to leave me.

I cried when my adoptive mom passed away, but didn’t care very much. It was a bit sad, that’s all. I had hoped he would’ve died first, but he didn’t. I have no contact at all with him. It’s what’s best for me. I need to get distance to him. I’ve had my fair share of depressions, PTSD and anxiety, and it was when I realized I was perfectly normal that I could start to heal. I was just responding normal to an abnormal situation! What a relief! I’m not mad! It’s not MY fault the relationship with my adoptive dad didn’t work out. I tried and tried, and I was ridiculously kind as a child and an easy-to-handle teenager with no drugs, no drink, no crime, no pregnancies. Everything to keep his anger level down. And even that wasn’t enough. I used to think he would appreciate it if I killed myself (and that it would have hurt him to have to use money to bury me). I used to think the world would be a better place without a freak like me.

But you know what?

I’m not the scared little girl I used to be anymore! I’m done with holding back. Done with trying to please him. Done with “being okay”. Yes, it has cost me a couple of friendships to get this far, but it sure was worth it. If they can’t accept the truth, then I don’t need them in my life. I’m on the barricades now, fighting for a society where almost no children at all get adopted and where everyone knows his/her family if possible. I’m fighting against CPS and their foster care system that tear children out of their families for no reason at all. I’m fighting for family preservation – and I’m pro-abortion – I’m one of those adoptees who think abortion is a better option than adoption.

No one deserves to lose their entire family. No one deserves to be punished for thinking about their biological family. No one deserves to go through life as an alien, not being sure who you are and what you should be like, knowing if you’re good enough or where you got your mannerisms from. Every child needs to know their roots, their culture, their name, their siblings and their parents. I need to be ME, not the picture strangers meant me to be. I wasn’t born a blank slate, but had to go through forty years of my life to realize who I was and having the guts to follow MY dreams (which I also got punished for – I mean, I don’t have a real job or a real education in His Highness’ eyes.)

I’m a proud advocate for family preservation!

Adoption should be the very last resort.

Angela

Adult Adoptee

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