I'm Adopted, HELP ME.

The worst part about the whole thing is that everyone who says they love me the most and want the best for me has signed on the dotted line. They signed me up for this and then left me for dead.

Photo by Iluha Zavaley on Unsplash

Carrying unprocessed pain as an adoptee is something I and many of my fellow adoptees navigate throughout our entire lifetimes. I was in my Adoptees Connect group for our monthly meeting this past week. I was doing my best to describe how it felt being adopted, trying to heal, and finding the right tools to help me heal after being left at dead ends every step of the way.

I stood up out of my chair and asked everyone to pretend I was blindfolded, and I pretended I was blindfolded. This represents having zero tools to navigate the adoptee’s experience of separation trauma and adoption trauma.

I am not done. 

Now, I pretended I had duct tape on my mouth, which represents being silenced and dismissed by the world that hasn’t been kind enough to allow my heartbreak, pain, grief, and loss.

Then, I threw my body up against the wall. This represented the torment it has been to be adopted and not know who I was or where I came from. I also asked them to imagine I had a straight jacket on and was alone in a dark room. This represents the agony, torture, and living hell that adoption has ignited.  

Imagine hours and hours and weeks, months and years (49!) pass by, which is precisely how being adopted, trying to figure it all out and find nonexistent healing tools, has felt like. I'm trapped in a straight jacket, in the dark, in a small room, all alone, with duct tape on my mouth and blindfolded. 

As if that hasn't been enough, the worst part about the whole thing is that everyone who says they love me the most and want the best for me has signed on the dotted line. They signed me up for this and left me for dead.

Society has left adoptees for dead.

Because of the decision they made for me, I have been left to have to figure life out with a straight jacket on, a blindfold covering my eyes, and duct tape on my mouth, all alone in a dark room to suffer in extreme agony, pain, and inconsolable grief left to die. 

Sounds so freaking extreme, right? 

Well, that's how being adopted in a closed adoption has felt to me. 

EVERY. DAY. OF. MY. LIFE. 

LEFT TO DIE.

So what now?