Skip to main content

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. AnonymousAugust 17, 2017 at 12:21 PM

    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

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Poor Mistreated Adopters

Yeah, you heard me. I didn't stutter. Some of you are not going to BELIEVE some of the shit I've read this week. And some of you are going to be asking me, where did you find that blog? I need to follow her! Don't worry, I'll attribute the website at the end of this article. I think some of my fellow adoptees might like to take a look at it well. The blog post is about what she refers as "trauma children". By this she specifies that she's talking about older fostered adoptees who have been traumatized by the system. But frankly, some if not all of the behaviors she twists and misconstrues to suit her victim model would apply to a lot of us, not just kids that came out of care later. Many of us have had some of these manifestations of C-PTSD. Especially those of us mistreated by our adopters. For example: "You’re pushed away. You’re spat upon. You’re punched. You’re hit. You’re rejected. You’re lied to and lied about and often. You’re the scapegoat
14 comments
Read more

Biology Matters

Inability to accept a universal truth does not render it false. Closing your eyes and refusing to admit the tree is in front of you won't stop you from running into it. I can now say with definite certainty that the biological imperative is real and not to be belittled or diminished. Sense memory is real and palpable. Family is NOT about love. Family IS about DNA. DNA does, in fact, matter, regardless of what any adoption agency, counselor, or adoptive parent might tell you. These are lies they tell to obscure the realities of adoption and to make it more palatable. Some of them actually believe it. We didn't grow in their bellies, and this "growing in their hearts" nonsense is absolutely insufficient. DNA matters. The connection to and from DNA matters. We don't have to love them. We don't have to like them. We don't have to have contact. The connection matters. Families are fucked up. Your sister hates your brother and everyone only tolerates mom. Da
11 comments
Read more

Silence, Delete, Report, Remove

I understand. I scare you. The truth scares you. Your pain scares you. And more importantly, perhaps most importantly of all, my pain, OUR PAIN, scares you. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to ban and block. To a degree, it's okay to talk shit about me. We're all adults. Do you know what's not okay? Trying to shut me down. Trying to silence my voice. Trying to cut me off from my comfort, connections, and freedom. The constant neverending petty target on my back. The barrage of abuse in my inbox and the constant reporting and harrassment. I don't report you, because, unlike you, I have actual work to do. There are too many Adoptees out there who lack a voice. They think they're alone. They think they're crazy and the only one feeling this irreparable, undefinable loss. They don't understand why they feel what they do, or that they're allowed to feel that way. They're brainwashed. They're damaged. They're wracked with guilt becau
8 comments
Read more