Nobody’s Child: How Adopted Children Feel As Adults
When I tell people that I am adopted, there are many questions, “Do you want to find your real mother one day?”, and “Do you ever wonder what really happened?”
I often wonder what led to the events that led to my mother abandoning me but some stories are best left to the imagination or at least to the past where it belongs. Children, who are adopted, live with this illusion that they are different because society gives us the idea that being adopted has a stigma. We are the unwanted children who were brought in by another family, much like some fairy tales- either it ends “happily ever after” or in a nightmare. We live out our entire lives with the knowledge that someone out there gave birth to us and abandoned us.
As a mother I cannot imagine anything more than feeling pure love for my children, a feeling that intensifies with the knowledge that my own mother did now have the same feelings for me. As an adopted child, I experienced deep feelings of isolation from everything and everyone. Even as a small child, I had the knowledge that I was left behind. Why did my mother do that do me? What did I do wrong?
According to psychologists, many adoptees experience similar feelings of abandonment, loss of identity, and struggle against feeling that “something is missing”. We often see biological parents walking in public with their children, and experience that feeling of wanting to belong- even as adults. So the answer to why don’t I search for my biological mother is I am better off to not know. It took many years to come to terms with the concept of abandonment: the idea of reuniting with a stranger seems less enticing as I grow older. I have a fulfilling, busy life filled with challenges and positive experiences- the idea of rehashing the past and retelling a stranger my feelings and accomplishments seem almost mundane and insignificant.
Truth is that I am “ok” not knowing why
No matter what my mysterious beginnings are to my life, I am well not knowing. At best it is left to my imagination what happened: was I dropped from an alien ship, was I cloned in a lab, or was I a lost descendant of Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia? At the end of the day, I am well with who I am and I am quite certain I am better with imaging a better history of my life than concentrating on my personal origins. Apologies to those who mean well by asking thoughtful questions about this, but really I am well not knowing.
