Being An Infinite Heart With Ears: The Greatest Gift You Can Give an Adoptee This Holiday
For adoptees reading this, you don’t have to carry the weight of others’ expectations this holiday season. You are allowed to give yourself the kindness and understanding you long for from others.
The holidays are a season of warmth, joy, and togetherness—or so we’re told. For many adoptees, however, this time of year can feel extremely heavy, complicated, and emotionally fraught. It’s not just the twinkling lights or the echo of familiar songs that stir something deep within; it’s the presence of others—family, friends, strangers—who gather around the holiday table with well-meaning but unsolicited advice about how we, as adoptees, should feel, act, or heal.
For adoptees, the holiday season often magnifies the complex dynamics of identity, separation trauma, abandonment, rejection, endless grief, belonging, and complex loss. Many of us carry an invisible ache—one that doesn’t show up in gift exchanges or festive photos. This ache doesn’t mean we aren’t grateful or happy in certain moments. It means our experiences are layered. There’s the joy of connection, yes (for some), but also the complex grief of disconnection. The absence of our biological families while sitting with another. The weight of navigating questions, comments, or even silence about who we are and where we come from.
When we gather at these tables, surrounded by people who clearly do not fully understand our lived reality, there is often a well-intentioned but misguided urge to “fix” us. Words like, “You should just focus on being grateful” or “Your adoptive parents gave you such a better life” can feel dismissive and invalidating. They attempt to tidy up a narrative that, for many adoptees, is far from tidy.
What adoptees need most at these tables is not advice. It’s presence—a heart with ears—someone who can simply hold space without rushing to fill it with solutions. Sometimes, all we want is for someone to say, “I see you, or I hear you,” or to lean in with a hug that speaks louder than words.
For adoptees reading this, you don’t have to carry the weight of others’ expectations this holiday season. You are allowed to give yourself the same grace, kindness, and understanding you long for from others. It’s okay to say no, take a breath, step back, and, most importantly, set boundaries.
The Critical Importance of Boundaries in an Adoptee’s Life
Boundaries are not just tools for surviving the holidays—they’re essential for living authentically as an adoptee. They help protect your emotional energy, honor your story, and create space for healing. Without them, we risk becoming overwhelmed, misunderstood, or even retraumatized by those who may mean well but lack the sensitivity to navigate our experiences thoughtfully.
Here are some areas where setting boundaries can be particularly important:
Conversations About Adoption
You are not obligated to answer personal questions about your adoption, your birth family, or your feelings. A simple “I’m not comfortable discussing that right now” is enough.
If someone’s comments feel dismissive or hurtful, you can redirect the conversation or excuse yourself altogether.
Family Dynamics
Holidays often bring up complicated emotions surrounding both adoptive and biological families. Limiting the time you spend in environments that feel triggering is okay.
If you need to step away to process emotions or take care of yourself, honor that need.
Expectations of Gratitude
You do not owe anyone a performance of gratitude to validate their perception of adoption. Your feelings are valid, whether they are joyful, sorrowful, or somewhere in between.
Protecting Your Energy
Say no to events, conversations, or activities that feel draining. Self-care is not selfish; it’s survival.
Your Story
Your adoption story belongs to you. You decide who gets to hear it and when. You don’t have to share unless it feels right for you.
To Non-Adoptees: Learning to Be an Infinite Heart With Ears
If you’re not adopted but love someone who is, the best gift you can give this holiday season is your presence. Learn to be a “heart with ears.” This means practicing deep listening with empathy without rushing to respond, judge, or solve. Being a heart with ears is about quieting the impulse to share your perspective and instead focusing entirely on the adoptee’s lived experience.
Here’s how you can hold space more effectively:
Pause Before Speaking: If an adoptee shares something personal, take a moment before responding. Avoid phrases like, “But you’re so lucky!” or, “Everything happens for a reason.” These can feel dismissive. Instead, try, “That sounds really hard—thank you for sharing.”
Ask Open-Ended Questions: Gently inquire with phrases like, “How are you feeling today?” or, “What’s been on your mind lately?” Let the adoptee steer the conversation.
Resist the Urge to Fix: You might want to ease the discomfort by offering advice, but emotions are not problems to be solved. Simply saying, “I’m here for you,” or, “I can’t imagine how that feels, but I want to understand,” can mean the world.
Respect Boundaries: If an adoptee sets a boundary, honor it. This shows that you value their well-being over your curiosity or comfort.
Learning to be a heart with ears takes practice, patience, and humility. It’s a powerful way to show adoptees that their feelings are valid and that they have a safe place to be their authentic selves.
A Deeply Personal Truth: No One Could Fix My Pain
No one could fix that pain for me. For years, I searched for someone or something to take it all away—a magic cure, a person with the right words, a relationship, a hobby, a solution that could erase the grief and loss etched into my soul. But nothing worked. The most pivotal moment in my healing journey was when I stopped trying to escape the pain and started to accept that it was here to stay. I came to understand that this adoptee pain is not something that will disappear; it is a lifelong visitor. Its presence is sometimes constant and will always be part of me, ebbing and flowing, occasionally loud and overwhelming, other times quiet but persistent.
Instead of striving to be “fixed” or “whole,” I made the choice to learn how to live alongside the pain. I decided to approach it not as an enemy to be defeated but as a reality to be navigated. This shift was a game-changer. I realized that no matter how much work I put into my healing—and yes, healing has happened and continues to happen—I will always carry the complexities of grief and loss that come from separation trauma and adoption. These feelings don’t vanish; they transform. They become something I’ve learned to hold with compassion rather than something I try to banish.
What to say and not to say to adoptees this holiday season:
What Not to Say:
• “You should feel lucky to have been adopted.”
• “It all worked out for the best in the end, right?”
• “At least you were chosen.”
• “Have you met your real parents?”
• “Aren’t you grateful you were adopted?”
• “It could have been worse—you could have been left in the system.”
• “Your birth parents must have loved you so much to give you a better life.”
• “You were saved from a terrible situation.”
• “Don’t you feel complete with your adoptive family?”
• “Everything happens for a reason.”
• “Aren’t you curious about where you really come from?”
What to Say:
• “I’m here to listen if you’d like to share anything about your experience.”
• “I honor the complexity of adoption and am thinking of you today.”
• “Your story matters, and I’m here to support you however I can.”
• “I see and respect the losses that come with adoption.”
• “You deserve to be seen and heard every day, but especially today.”
• “Thank you for sharing your experiences and feelings—it means a lot.”
• “I can’t imagine what it’s like, but I’m here to listen and learn. I want to be a heart with ears.”
• “I recognize that adoption can bring both joy and deep and complex pain.”
• “I’m here for you in any way you need, even if it’s just to sit together quietly.”
• “You have every right to feel whatever you’re feeling.”
Going Inward
I’ve accepted that I will always wish I wasn’t adopted. I will always wish I didn’t pass this pain down to my kids. It breaks my heart to know that my wounds ripple into their lives, shaping their experiences in ways they never asked for, just as I never asked for this. I will always regret the impossible situations I was placed in, the ones that forced me to make life-altering decisions to survive—decisions I should never have had to make.
Coming to terms with these truths was excruciating, but it gave me a new kind of freedom. I no longer felt the pressure to “heal perfectly” or to live up to the expectation that time and effort would somehow erase my pain. Instead, I began to focus on coping—on building a life where I could thrive despite the ever-present undercurrent of grief. This approach felt more realistic and achievable, allowing me to breathe.
Accepting that this pain is part of me doesn’t mean I’ve given up on healing. Quite the opposite—it means I’ve embraced healing as a process, not a destination. It means I’ve made peace with the fact that while joy and connection can sometimes be fleeting, and while I have transformed so much of my pain into strength, the grief will always live within me. I’ve learned I don’t have to fight it to find peace. I don’t have to fix it to find myself. I can do my best to try to live a full and meaningful life, not in spite of the pain but alongside it.
This realization changed everything for me. It gave me permission to stop searching for an unattainable “wholeness” and instead focus on the things that truly matter—connection, authenticity, and learning to be gentle with myself. Most importantly, I could finally be true to myself. It allowed me to stop expecting others to understand what I was going through, to stop seeking validation from those who couldn’t give it, and to instead find solace in my own strength and the community of those who truly get it.
For those who love an adoptee, this is what we need you to understand. You can’t take our pain away. You can’t fix us; we don’t want to be your fixer-upper project. What we need is your presence—your willingness to listen with an open heart, to hold space for our truths without judgment or solutions. Be a heart with ears. Be the warm hug that says, “I see you, and I’m here.” That is the most profound gift you can give us.
Dear Adoptees, this holiday season, remember that you are not alone. There is a community of us who understand the complexities of this time of year, and we’re holding space for you—even from afar. Be gentle with yourself. Lean into the moments that bring you joy, and give yourself permission to step away from those that don’t.
The holiday table doesn’t have to be a place of discomfort. With boundaries, self-compassion, and a little courage, it can be a place where you honor your truth and claim the space you need to feel safe, seen, and whole.
You deserve that.
You Always Have, and You Always Will.
It’s Your Turn To Spill The Tea! Let’s Talk About the Holidays
Adoptees, after reading this, how does the holiday season feel for you? Does it bring joy, grief, or perhaps a mix of both? What’s been your experience with setting boundaries during this time? Have you found ways to navigate the well-meaning but often harmful comments at the table?
If you could share one thing with others about how the holidays impact you as an adoptee, what would it be? Are there moments where you’ve felt seen or heard—or moments where you wished someone would have listened more?
Let’s open the space for conversation. Your voice matters here. Drop your thoughts below.
Reminder: The Luna Lounge Meets Tonight!
Adoptees, mark your calendars and set that phone reminder—tonight from 8-9 PM EST, we’re going LIVE in The Luna Lounge! It’s your space to share all the holiday feels—good, bad, and everything in between. Let’s vibe, connect, and keep it real in our cozy, virtual live chat room where adoptees get each other like no one else can. Grab your favorite drink and your comfiest blanket, and join us for an hour of truth, laughter, and connection. You don’t want to miss it! Click the link below to join the chat!
What is The Luna Lounge? Read: Meet Me at The Luna Lounge: A Nostalgic Glow to Chat Rooms with an Adoptee Flair.
I see you; I feel your pain for all the adoptees who feel forgotten, lost, and alone. Please don’t give up, and know you aren’t alone in feeling like you do.
If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, please take immediate steps to ensure your safety. Contact a licensed mental health professional or text #988 for immediate assistance.
I have compiled a list of recommended resources for adoptees and advocates. It can be found here: Recommended Resources for Adult Adoptees and Adoption Advocates.
Thank you for reading and for supporting me and my work.
Understanding is Love,
Pamela A. Karanova
Here are a few articles that highlight the intersection of adoption, grief and loss I recommend reading:
The Essential Role of The Grief Recovery Method in The Adoption Constellation.
Still, Grieving Adoptee Losses, What My Adoptive Parents Could Have Done Differently.
Acknowledging Immeasurable Adoptee Grief, The Real Mother.
When Adoptees Know Loss Before We Know Love.
Bewildering Adoptee Grief on Infinite Repeat.
30 Things To Consider Before Adopting From An Adult Adoptee Perspective.
Adoptee Holiday Grief, The Gift That Keeps On Giving.
Adoption Hasn’t Touched Me. It’s Ruthlessly Kicked My Ass.
Adoption: Mislabeled, Medicated, & Diagnosed Adoptees Could Be Grieving Profoundly.
Adoption: Deconstructing Harmful Myths We've Learned About Adoptee Grief.
Grief From Adoption? Most People Think Of Death and Dying When They Think of Grief.
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