On Being Adopted

I was reading a link at Jezebel.com about a womans journey through her gender transition and her search for her bio parents. One of the first comments that popped up was from a person calling themselves Winona discussing their thoughts:

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I’m pretty fucking open about a lot of things, my family history being one of them. So I added my two cents. Midway through I realized that this was totally a blog that should happen, and well here. Here is my thoughts on being an adopted child who seeks out their biological family.

 

“My sister and I are adopted from two different families. Our parents were honest from the beginning with us, answering difficult questions, calming our fears, and doing parenty things that parents do. Although my sister and I are raised in the same house, we have two very different stories that have shaped our lives.
My bio parents are dead. They died during the adoption process, I have virtually no memory of them, and have never met my siblings. I know I have two older brothers and two older sisters that were taken away by the state before I was born. I know they are scattered in Northern California, Oregon, and Washington. I do not think they know I was ever created. I have always longed to find my family, but am held back with the fear that they will not want me in their life for whatever reason. I don’t know why I have this yearning. I think for me its both logical and curiosity. I want to hear stories of my parents. I want to see who got whose traits. I want to know medical conditions, who gave me my RA, who gave me my impeccable eyesight. I want to know if my forehead wrinkles are nature or nurture. I want to know my biofamilies experiences. Do I have my mother or fathers hands? I don’t think my biosiblings or any biorelatives I meet will ever feel like anything more than a part of my life. My mom is my mom, and even knowing I didn’t come from her blood hasn’t changed a thing.

My sister’s bio parents are alive and well. We as a family kept in touch with her biomom from birth, and with her biodad for the first few years of her life (which has its own fucked up story for another day) Thanks to the magic of the internet my sister was able to find her biodad and now has an incredible relationship with him, his wife, their children, and their family. She has also been able to maintain her relationship with her biomom and meet her husband. It’s kinda a phenomenal story. She did this all with the support of our mom and me, kept us involved every step of the way, and was willing to let it go if one of us was not comfortable with the process. My sister knew how terrifying it could be for our mom, fears of rejection and replacement and who knows what else. She also knew how sensitive this could be for me, that I could never meet my parents. Not once did anyone feel replaced, rejected, or like they weren’t part of the process. Meeting my sisters biofamilies was just like meeting estranged cousins for the first time. It felt like we all belonged together.

I can’t speak on behalf of every adopted person out there, but I can speak for my family. There is a natural curiosity of it, knowing that there is this whole other unit that gave you away… It creates questions thought up in your childhood that dwell and grow with you into adulthood. I will never stop loving my mom. I will never think of another woman as my mom. She’s the one that picked me out of a cabbage patch, taught me how to be myself, and has supported every single adventure I’ve gotten myself into. There is no way my bio-family can compare to what she has done for me.”

 

So yeah. I’ve known since I was a small child that family isn’t always blood, and have lived my life knowing this. I think being adopted has given me the heart I have; I know what it’s like to be taken in as if you were family, and it is something I strive to do with the people in my life. With that I leave you with our family christmas photo from a couple years back. Adoption: it’s serious business.

-Me

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Published in: on November 25, 2012 at 6:05 pm  Leave a Comment  
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