Autonomy Under Siege
Born in The Shadows, Living in The Light: My Adoptee Epiphanies, The Fight of My Life - A Serialized Memoir on Substack By Pamela A. Karanova
“There comes a point where we need to stop just pulling people out of the river. We need to go upstream and find out why they’re falling in.” ― Desmond Tutu.
Consider Reading Chapter 1. First:
“Then something happened that changed how everything felt inside me. I was five years old, sitting next to Anita, watching one of her many favorite TV shows, when a woman gave birth. I watched her face twist and strain, and I felt my own body tense up like I was supposed to remember something. I asked Anita if I came out of her tummy like that. I remember asking it simply, as if it were an obvious question. She said no.” - House Arrest: Childhood Edition
Find the full archive of chapters here: Index
Content Notice and Reader Discretion
This chapter may contain firsthand accounts of adoption and separation trauma, emotional abuse, religious coercion, childhood sexual abuse, substance use, self-harm ideation, and interactions with the juvenile justice system. These experiences are described from the author’s lived perspective and may be distressing for some readers. This work is a serialized memoir. It reflects personal memories, perceptions, and experiences and is not intended to serve as clinical, legal, or medical advice. Names and identifying details may be altered to protect privacy. Reader discretion is advised. Please proceed only if you feel emotionally safe and supported. If this content brings up thoughts of self-harm or suicide, consider reaching out to a trusted person or a professional support resource in your area before continuing.
This Substack is a supportive space. You do not have to agree with everyone here, but you do need to show up with respect. If you are not here to engage with kindness toward me and others on this platform, this will not be the place for you, and anything less will be removed. By continuing to read, you acknowledge and accept responsibility for your own emotional well-being.
Chapter 2
Autonomy Under Siege
“Then came the day when I looked into a mirror and saw ten thousand faces; in that moment I understood that my body not only holds a multitude of stories but that I also exist in many places and many times at once” - Yung Pueblo
Some battles are silent, fought in rooms where the air turns thick and expectations close in, suffocating hope. Even before I knew the word “autonomy,” I ached for it, a raw emptiness that throbbed inside me. I felt trapped, unable to shape myself, as freedom hovered just beyond grasp, pinned back by invisible chains.
In our home, independence wasn’t a gift. It was a fragile space, constantly threatened and negotiated through whispers and glances, selfhood subject to mood and disapproval.
Anita’s living room was less a place for living and more a paper fortress. Towering filing cabinets lined the walls like silent guards. Desks sagged under the weight of manila folders, unopened mail, legal pads, and stacks of documents. Papers spilled onto the floor, forming their own quiet ecosystem. To most people, it probably looked like clutter. To me, it looked like possibility. Somewhere inside that paper jungle, buried between utility bills and insurance forms, were the missing pieces of me. My origin story had to be in there. Proof. A name. A date. Something that said I existed before this house.
So I became a mini-detective. I learned the rhythm of her footsteps, the timing of her distractions. When her back was turned, or she was lost in a phone call, I would quietly slide open drawers and rifle through folders, heart pounding. I did not even fully know what I was looking for. But I knew I would recognize it when I saw it, adoption papers, court documents, a hospital record with a different name. Each time I closed a drawer empty-handed, it felt like being erased all over again. The papers were always there, but never the ones that mattered. Whatever truth I was searching for remained carefully hidden, either by intention or design. In our house, information had locks on it, and I was not given the key.
