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Dear Adoption, You Forced Me To Be Perfect



Dear adoption,

Because of you I was not allowed to be human. Humans are allowed to make mistakes. To be imperfect. To have feelings that aren't happiness and gratitude. Humans are allowed to be sad. Humans are allowed to get dirty and sick. Humans are allowed be afraid.

I was never allowed any of those things. I was "the perfect baby". That's what the adopters call us, right? Perfect babies. The right children. The baby they've been wishing for. We've waited so long. Been so disappointed. Drowned in miles of heartache. But now have our perfect child. The right child. The one we've been waiting for. The baby who makes our family exist, fills the holes in our souls, and cures our infertility. Now we can build our beautiful life with our perfect child.

Adoption, that's a lot of pressure to place on the head of a little person whose skull hasn't even solidified yet.

You made me into a doll. A cabbage patch kid, with their blank, staring eyes. A blank page be written upon. A blank canvas, just waiting for my first brush stroke.

Here's the thing, Adoption. I wasn't a blank slate. I wasn't perfect. And I had feelings. I had a family. I didn't need a different one. I had a history. I didn't need to have it rewritten. 

What I needed was to be who I am. I never got be her. I was imposed upon, perfected, shined, and polished. I was made to think upon myself and my feelings as inferior. I was the billboard, "our perfect daughter". I was a prop. The star of my amother's dog and pony show.

You made me feel like my pain, my abandonment and rejection, was all in my head. You told me I wasn't allowed to be unhappy or ungrateful. You told me to smile. To be thankful at how "lucky" I was. You told me to be who my aparents wanted me to be. "You were born the wrong person," you said to me. "This is who you should be."

But that's not who I was, adoption. I didn't get to be me. I spent most of my life locked in a cage of your construction. The floor I laid on poison, the bars electrified, shocking me every time I dared to try to escape. Barbs that ripped me open. Nails that pierced my flesh.

I never thought I would escape that cage. And even now that the door is open, I'm finding out difficult untangle my flesh from your barbs.

Thank you, adoption, for diminishing, commoditizing, and silencing me. Thank you for swallowing me into your depths and only spitting out the pieces you deemed worthy. Thank you for rendering me powerless, subhuman, and stuck in eternal "adopted child" hell. Thank you for boxing me into being a voiceless child forever. Thank you for stifling my every normal impulse, negating my every natural instinct.

Guess what, adoption? I'm an adult now. I have a voice. I'm not an object, a blank slate, a gift, or a perfect child. I am a human with a voice and feelings. And the feelings I have toward you are not gratitude, humility, or pleasure.

I hate you, adoption. And I'm going to stop you if I can. You don't need to devour any more lives.


Comments

  1. You are not a blank slate.

    I don't know what your adoptive parents hoped for you to be, but from what I've observed, I'd say that you have a brilliant mind, piercing intuition, a fantastic insight in to human nature, and excellent writing skills.

    You are full of passion and are gifted with a golden tongue.

    I enjoy have learned much from your blog and encourage you to continue.

    Laws governing adoption need to change. The institution of adoption needs to change. Legal rights don't match natural rights.

    Have at 'em.

    You have the gifts to create real change.

    ReplyDelete

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