Attention Moms: It's 2016

I’ve been MIA for a while. In addition to working a lot of hours, I have custody of my 16-month old great niece until July 2016. It’s a privilege and a joy – and also brings a change to how much I am able to do things like blog. Or be in the bathroom by myself. But here I am today with some thoughts. First I want to thank those of you who reached out to me during the holidays to say you were thinking of me, and are thankful for what I write here, and about adoption in general. I appreciate that you expressed that more than you know.

Me on my birthday this year. It's how I spend the day, with my great niece.

So, although I could write on and on about the journey of caring for a baby from day to day, let's get to the heart of what I'm going to say that's adoption related.

This story is on Lynn Grubb's blog today. It's the journey of Buck Winslow, an adoptee whose natural mother refused to tell him who his father was, lied about the name, ultimately confessed the name but caused a lot of pain and heartache all around regarding it. In the end, through DNA he finds his paternal family and regarding that reunion it seems things are just wonderful at this time. While in some ways it’s a great story in other ways it’s so sad.

I am disheartened by two things - how common this behavior is among mothers and how many people dismiss a grown woman’s wrong doing. I guarantee there are some people out there reading this article who feel for  Buck's mom.  Many times when a mother behaves this way we hear about how they had no choice, how the times were so different then, how they were mistreated, shunned, etc. While I don’t deny any of that, it’s 2016.  It’s not 1966 anymore.  We know you get triggered and flashbacks, and emotional pain even though it’s not the fifties or sixties or whatever-era anymore. And whatever has happened then or is happening now – it doesn’t excuse your responsibility to tell the truth and to pursue emotional health NOW for yourself and the good of those around you. Take the excellent advice of therapist Karen Caffrey, LPC, JD in her article, Birthmothers and the Responsibility to Heal.

It’s sad that this behavior exists but more maddening to me anyone enables or   sympathizes with it. I already know I'll be more than likely vilified for this in the comment section, but I don't care. It that happens it's only a reflection that it touches a nerve and further proves my point. 

I believe one of the reasons some people dismiss the wrong-doing is because they believe adoption makes up for it. It’s my hunch that many who are not in the adoption constellation don’t see why any of this is important as long as God “worked everything together for good.” Maybe everything hasn’t worked together for good yet. Have you thought of asking the adoptee and prefacing your question with an assurance that you really want to know  their true feelings and will not judge?

So today’s thought from me to you, although it is nothing ground breaking and earth shaking is that I become tired of people excusing wrong behavior and would like moms to realize we are living in a new era and healing is available. There is absolutely no good reason, no acceptable reason, no God-honoring reason why anyone would not know the truth of their origin. And, for the record, the calendar just turned another year and I have yet to know half of mine.

     

A Complicated Question for Adoptees

“Where are you from?”

 It’s one of the most complicated questions I face.

 I wonder if other adoptees are as conflicted as I am about the question.

 Do they just quickly answer with one location, when  asked?

Most times, I just say, “I’m from Tampa.” (Which is where I live now.) And then people follow up with, “Oh, you were born and raised there?”

Then I’m left to explain why I come from multiple places.

As far as I know, I was conceived in Richmond, Virginia.

After that, my mother became homeless.

She was kicked out of her parent's home and landed at the Florence Crittenton Maternity home in Norfolk, Virginia.

As I share in my memoir, Worthy to Be Found, my mother describes that time as  "nine months of living hell."

After my birth, we both came back to Richmond, Virginia where my maternal family is from. I was in foster care for a while until I became a “viable” adoption. (Translation: It was determined I was healthy enough to adopt and was not going to be a poor investment of my adoptive parents investment paid to the Children’s Home Society.)

My mother tried to go home but was kicked out again for having been pregnant and having me and her sister, my Aunt Jeri* helped her survive that time.

I was adopted through the Children's Home Society of Virginia in Richmond.

See me in the reflection on the doors? Yep, I went back...several times.

We lived in Virginia for a short while, and then settled in Baltimore, Maryland where I spend the most of my growing up years.

Being asked, “Where are you from?” is a simple question for most, and makes for good start up conversation. But, for me -- an adoptee, to answer truthfully when I’m asked, makes for quite the loaded question. And then, when I do answer with the facts of the places I come from – it quickly segues into adoption in general and people tend to have a zillion questions. One's like...

“Do you know your real family?”

All of my family members are real.  

“How is your mother doing with all of this?”

They are referring to my adoptive mother 99.9% of the time. Okay, 100. This question pretty much guarantees I won’t end up being real close to this person that’s doing the questioning. Rarely is it endearing to me okay, never that a stranger cares more about what my adoptive mother thinks than they care about me -- the person they have actually met who is sitting in front of them. Yeahhhhh that is pretty cray cray. Not once has anyone ever asked, “How did you do with all of that?" People seem to be obsessed with what adoptive parents care about. Rarely do they think about the adoptee. Even when you're grown and have a mind of your own. 

“I have a niece who is adopted. Unlike you, she never wanted to search.”

Yippee for your niece. She may be able to sell you a fog machine if you are ever interested.
But I digress. Back to where I’m from…

While Baltimore very much feels like home, so does Richmond.
 It always has.

When I drive through the streets there, it’s a depth of feeling like I don’t have with any other city besides Baltimore and it’s been that way as long as I can remember. I feel a mix of emotions when journeying through the area, that I can’t fully describe. And I know to most people who are not adopted that would seem bizarre. Nevertheless all I can tell you is, since I was a very small child , I have always felt a wave of familiarity unlike anywhere else when we go through the streets there.

If you are not adopted and you ever want to ask an open ended question to an adoptee that cannot truly be answered quickly, just ask where they are from. And then, you might want to listen without asking ludicrous questions like how their mother, whom you have never met nor probably ever will, is doing regarding their adoption.

*Names of my maternal family are changed in my writings, out of respect to their privacy.

All photos by Deanna Doss Shrodes