Through the Lens of Lies and Loss: How Adoption Shapes Self-Hate and the Struggle for Self-Love

Everyone around me wondered why I was so destructive, so violent, so out of control. But they didn't understand that I was at war within myself and with that, I was at war with the world.

Photo by Johannes Spallek on Unsplash

This article was not easy to write, but after recent interactions and conversations with non-adoptees, I feel it's essential to shed light on this vital topic. Self-hate runs deep for so many adoptees, yet it's rarely talked about. So, I'm going to talk about it. I will say things that many of us are too scared to tell.

This battle for self-love has been exhausting.

It's taken every ounce of strength I have to get to a place where I can even like what I see in the mirror. I have fought tooth and nail to reclaim something that should have been mine from the beginning—something that was stolen from me when I was handed over to strangers. MY TRUTH!

When your own flesh and blood, the woman who is supposed to carry you, nurture you, and love you from the moment of conception, gives you away to strangers, it doesn't just mark the beginning of a different life—it sets the stage for a war that wages within the soul for an adoptees lifetime.

For many adoptees, including myself, this is more than just a traumatic event; it is a deep-rooted wound that festers, manifesting in ways that even we can't fully understand until it's too late. Some adoptees can't endure the pain, so they leave. Some of us find a glimmer of light, and we follow the light.

This perspective goes against everything you've likely been taught about adoption—it challenges the rosy, mainstream narrative that adoption is always a wonderful and selfless act. We've been conditioned to believe that adoptees should feel grateful and embrace their "better" life, but the reality for many of us is far more complicated. My article seeks to share a more authentic view that comes directly from the adoptee's heart, a voice that is too often silenced or dismissed in conversations about adoption.

People often talk about adoption as if it's a beautiful solution, a way for a child to be given a "better life." But what if the very act of being given away is the beginning of a profound psychological and emotional trauma unraveling? What if, like me, you grow up knowing that the woman who carried you for nine months couldn't bear to keep you, to even look you in the eyes, create a name for you, and hold you in her arms after you were born?

The woman who was supposed to care for me gave me away. And in that severance, something monumental was lost—something that no amount of "love" or reassurance from anyone else has ever been able to restore.

My struggle with self-love didn't begin in my teenage years or my twenties—it started long before I even knew what it was. From the moment I became aware that I was adopted, a battle began within me. As a pre-teen, I looked in the mirror and didn't know the person looking back.

This might sound extreme, but I remember feeling such an overwhelming hatred—not just towards myself, but towards the world and everyone in it. I was in so much pain that I would intentionally push people’s buttons to provoke them, hoping they’d snap and do what I couldn’t do—end it all. That’s how deep the self-hate ran.

Self-hate as an adoptee was like staring into a broken mirror, seeing only pieces of myself that I didn't recognize or want to claim. When I looked in the mirror, I hated what stared back at me—a reflection of someone who felt like a throwaway, discarded before I even had a chance to be known.

At the core of my being, I knew I wasn't wanted, and that truth tore through me like a violent storm. The deceptive "chosen" narrative couldn't fix this pain. A cloud of badness followed me everywhere, a constant shadow I could never escape. Being sent to juvenile detention, group homes, and the school for the "bad kids" only solidified my internal feelings of self-hate and badness. It felt as though the war within had raging claws, ripping apart the fabric of who I was supposed to be.

Photo by Yaopey Yong on Unsplash

What does adoption have to do with this?

Our conception stories matter. The time we spend in the womb is monumental to who we are, how we come to be, and how we live in this world. My conception was wrapped in secrecy, shame, abandonment, and rejection. Scientific studies have shown that babies can feel what their mothers feel even in utero, and I am living proof of this reality. And much of that self-hate, I believe, was passed down to me in the womb, like an unwanted heirloom I had no choice but to carry.

My birth mother was shamed, emotionally disconnected from the pregnancy, and engulfed by alcoholism. As I developed in her womb, I absorbed her pain, her anxiety, her resentment, and the weight of her daily battle with alcohol. The emotional trauma she carried with her life and the unwanted pregnancy transferred to me, leaving me to wage a war within myself from the very beginning. Some think keeping these truths a secret saves us from this pain; however, I beg to differ. Our bodies already know, and our subconscious mind is very in tune with these realities. Secrecy only stalls our healing because the pain will come out in many destructive ways.

As a teenager, the effects of that prenatal bond—or lack thereof—came crashing down on me, manifesting in unhealthy habits, destructive behaviors, and deep self-hate and self-loathing. They labeled me the typical "troubled teen."

I could not recognize who I was in the mirror, feeling hollow and consumed by this internal war. I believe that love and hate cannot coexist, and for so long, self-hate dominated my existence, erasing any chance of self-love. It wasn't until much later in life when my self-sabotage had worn me down, that I realized I had to confront the root of my pain—the inherited shame, rejection, trauma, and abandonment—or lose myself completely to ending my life.

Photo by Savannah B. on Unsplash

The war and self-hate within were real, and until I chose to fight for self-love, I remained disconnected from myself, drowning in the aftermath of my mother's torment of separation trauma and adoption trauma. I found toxic and unhealthy coping mechanisms that were temporary relievers, with 27 years of alcohol dependence, just to be able to stay alive. Once I put the alcohol and substances down, shit got real! But I wanted so badly to heal, and I knew this was the only way I could manage it and be authentic in my healing journey.

Every part of my soul was hijacked by this relentless internal adoptee battle, leaving me hollow and disconnected from the person I could have been. The wounds many adoptees carry run deeper than anyone could ever imagine, more profound than any words could ever capture. It's a hurt that lives inside as an adoptee, an ever-present reminder of the abandonment and rejection that shaped me and so many of us who are adopted.

I was conceived from an affair—a secret liaison between my birth mother and a married man who was a close friend of the family. He didn't even know I existed. My birth mother was not a teenager; I was not stolen from her arms; she was not a frightened young girl who wanted to keep her baby but lacked support. All these scenarios are equally traumatic and painful, but just knowing these truths changes how we see ourselves and how we frame our stories. She was a 27-year-old woman who made deliberate choices that led to my existence and, ultimately, my relinquishment.

Consider Reading: The Vital Contrast Between Relinquishment Trauma, Separation Trauma, and Adoption Trauma and Why We Should Consider the Difference.

My birth father was ten years her senior, around 37 years old, and oblivious to the fact that I was even in the world or conceived. He was robbed of his decision to parent me. She drank throughout her pregnancy, drowning whatever feelings she had in alcohol, using it to numb the reality of carrying a child she wanted nothing to do with. I was abandoned in the womb before I was ever born.

And when the time came for me to enter the world, she worked up to the day she had me. She checked into the hospital under an alias, gave birth, and left the next day, returning to work as if I and the horrific day I came into the world never existed.

She didn't hold me. She didn't name me. She didn't even want to see me.

The day I came into this world was, without a doubt, one of the worst days of her life. My birth mother willingly handed me over to strangers. That's a hard pill to swallow as an adoptee. To know that the woman who brought you into the world wanted nothing more than to erase your existence. I wasn't wanted. I wasn't celebrated. I was abandoned before I even had a chance to be born. All of these scenarios come with weight to our existence, every last one of them.

And this is one of the parts of adoption no one wants to talk about.

The shame, the rejection, the deep, primal wounds that are left behind when the person who is supposed to love you the most in this world decides you are better off somewhere else. I don't believe my birth mother loved me. I don't think she ever wanted me, and if she could have chosen, she would have erased the entire situation—my existence included. Would I have instead rather been aborted?

Without a shadow of a doubt, HELL YES!

That is a controversial statement, but it’s not up for debate. That’s just how I feel. I could never bring a child into the world and expect them to live with these wounds forever. Even before I had any concrete information about my birth story, my body knew. My soul knew. I was unwanted, unloved, unclaimed, and abandoned long before I ever took my first breath. All the way back to the moment of conception, my existence was shrouded in shame, secrecy, and rejection.

This is the reality many adoptees face, but it's a reality we are rarely allowed to discuss. As a teenager, I wasn't just acting out—fighting a battle no one else could see. I hated myself with an intensity that I didn't even understand. I hated my reflection, hated everything about who I was, how I looked. My face was ugly because I didn't know who I was, but it's always been BAD.

To the core of my being, I was bad, discarded waste.

I was trapped in a body that felt foreign to me, carrying the weight of a mother's rejection like a curse that followed me everywhere. Everyone around me wondered why I was so destructive, so violent, so out of control as a teenager. But they didn't understand that I was at war within myself; with that, I was at war with the world, too.

Imagine living your entire existence being at war with the world. I didn't even know how to begin loving myself because I had never felt love in the first place. I was born with a void—a gaping hole where love should have been. It's never come, and I've never found it.

So how in the actual fuck is an adoptee supposed to make sense of this? How do we recover?

That’s a loaded question, but my articles share many ways we can recover, and one of the ways is by sharing our stories! The good, the bad, and the ugly.

Sadly, on top of my biological mother's wound, my adoptive mother's wound was no better but equally traumatic for me. She had a mental illness, was severely depressed, pill addicted, and suffered from mania, manic depression, and suicidal attempts almost daily, and my entire childhood, I was her caretaker. I remember her sobbing daily, and I would rub her back, cry with her, and say, "I'm sorry, Mommy, I'm sorry." I internalized that, once again, I was bad; she was crying all the time, and this only added to my self-hate. I blamed myself for being bad, making her cry. I was not even five years old yet with endless memories of this happening. Unraveling the mess later in life, I was able to piece together that she only adopted so she wouldn't have to go to a nursing home.

The world tells us that in adoption, love is enough. That if we're just loved, everything will be okay. But I'm here to tell you that love has never been enough for me. My adoptive parents said they loved me, but their love couldn't fill the void left by the woman who gave me away. I experienced emotional, mental, and sexual abuse inside my adoptive homes, only to create a more profound sense of trauma and disconnect from myself and the world. We didn't bond, and I was always treated as the less favorite because in my adoptive family, everywhere I turned, there were favorites, and I was never one of them. (I am writing about this soon!) I felt it, and I knew it. It's taken me my entire life to find even a glimmer of self-love, and even now, after 50 years of surviving and trying hard as hell to heal from all this shit, at times, it's only a faint flicker, something that non-adoptees likely take for granted. I am not saying non-adoptees don’t have these struggles. What I am saying is many adoptees do!

Those who were kept, even if their mothers weren't perfect, at least had the chance to know where they came from. They could look in the mirror and see a reflection of their family and roots. They likely have never even contemplated what it feels like to miss that because they have been privileged enough to have it. Why would they think about it? But for adoptees like me and so many others, that reflection is fractured and oftentimes destroyed. We are forced to live in the shadows of our own identities, disconnected from the very essence of who we are.

How can I love myself when I don't even know who I am? How am I supposed to love others when I can't even begin to love the broken pieces of myself?

Adoption comes with an invisible script we adoptees are expected to follow—a script of gratitude and thankfulness toward our adopters, no matter the cost to our mental and emotional well-being. We're constantly told how lucky we are and how we should be grateful for the "better life" we were given.

But what happens when we dare to deviate from this narrative? When we begin to express even a fraction of our grief over the mothers, fathers, and families we lost, we're immediately labeled the "ungrateful adoptee." The moment we voice our pain, we're gaslit, silenced, and shut down, told that we have no right to feel anything but appreciation.

It's as though our suffering is too inconvenient for the adoption narrative. We're stuck in this mental trap—unable to mourn what was taken from us because society demands we uphold this illusion of gratitude. Talk about a bigger mental mindfuck! We carry a deep, primal wound but are expected to smile and say "thank you" through the pain.

This is adoption—an emotional labyrinth where expressing our truth is often seen as an act of betrayal. So many adoptees learn later in life that they were stolen babies from foreign countries. Have you looked at the news lately and read any of the recent articles on this? Visit my fantastic friend Lynelle Long’s page, InterCountry Adoption News! You will be mortified if you aren’t already. Endless stories! This has been going on forever, and it is finally being covered by mainstream media! How traumatic to find this out later in life, or ever for that matter. Add this to the war we are already fighting within ourselves; this is why adoptees are overrepresented in TTI, Prisons, Jails, mental health, and treatment facilities, and we are at a tremendous advantage to take our own lives over non-adoptees.

When you see me, you might see beauty. You might see someone who has it all together. But when I look at myself, some days I see a broken heart shattered into pieces by a lifetime of rejection and abandonment. Sometimes, I see someone who doesn't even know what love is—let alone self-love. Some days, I feel like I have self-love and have found glimmers of joy in the world; other days, I feel like the world is on top of me, and I'm just trying not to drown in my sorrow.

So many adoptees are disconnected from themselves, cut off from the very roots of their being because they were severed from their beginnings spoon, fed (if we're lucky) crumbs of our truth, or we have had to fight like hell to get what others take for granted, our truth. We are expected to pretend we are someone we are not, to fit into a narrative written for us, not by us. And when we don't turn out the way our adoptive parents wanted, we are tossed aside like the unwanted children we always believed ourselves to be.

We must also illuminate that when we are lied to about who we are and where we come from, we can internalize that something is wrong with us as if we are flawed. We can also experience this if any "bad" thoughts or feelings are expressed to us about our birth parents. If they are viewed as "bad," we internalize that we are "bad."

Solution? Tell the truth at age-appropriate times without throwing our birth parents under the bus.

Example: Your birth mother was a crack whore who didn't want you!

Kinder version but realistic: Your birth mother had some struggles, so that she couldn't care for you at the time. Also, always remember everyone can change! Even our birth parents.

How can we love you when we don't know how to love ourselves? How can we be expected to thrive when we are constantly at war with our own existence? Do you know how much therapy adoptees have to go through to navigate this shit? Just to stay alive? I don't have enough time left on this earth!

People say, "She loved you so much, she gave you away." But what kind of love is that? If that's love, then I want nothing to do with it. I'll pass on love in this lifetime if it means abandonment, rejection, and secrecy. Because for most of my life, self-hate has been winning the war. And while I've fought my way to a place where I can finally say I love myself, it has taken every ounce of strength, every tear, every scream into the void.

Adoptees aren't just "acting out" for no reason. We lack resources, money to pay for said resources, understanding from friends and family, etc. We are fighting for our very survival. We are at war within ourselves, a war that our adoptive parents and birth parents signed us up for the moment they signed those adoption papers. Some of us find a path to healing, while others just barely make it through the day.

I am one of the adoptees who has just barely made it, and there is no guarantee that all of us will. The adoptee suicide rates are astronomical, and no one wants to talk about it. We're expected to be grateful, to move on, to be happy. But that's not the reality for so many of us.

If I can accomplish one thing in my lifetime, it is to make the world understand the true reality of what it means to be adopted. This pain I carry—it wasn't a choice. Don't you think if it was, I would have flipped the fucking switch by now? Don't you think I've tried to move on, to wave the white flag, to tap out of this war? But it's not that simple.

The topic of self-love for adoptees is complex and I can promise you, it is more than just a choice.

How do adoptees live happy lives when we are constantly at war with our own existence? How do we find self-love when everything in us screams that we are unworthy of it? Before you judge adoptees, understand this: Being adopted is not a cakewalk. It's a struggle, every single day, to stay alive. Some days are better than others, and some tools work better than others, but every single day, we have to fight like hell to find that glimmer of self-love, self-respect, and inner healing. It's no wonder so many of us are just fucking exhausted.

For me, finding purpose in my pain has been one of the keys to survival.

But even that purpose has come at an astronomical cost that I shouldn't have had to pay. I can finally say that I found self-love, but it has taken nearly 50 years on this earth to get there. And even now, it feels fragile, like something that could slip away if I'm not careful. The process has been brutal. Reclaiming something that should have been mine from the beginning shouldn't take decades. And yet, for so many adoptees, that's the reality. We are forced to fight for love, for healing, for a sense of self that was shattered the moment we were conceived, relinquished, and adopted.

The primal bond between a mother and her child is critical. When that bond is severed and broken beyond repair, the consequences ripple through every facet of an adoptee's life. In the name of adoption, they can "swap mothers" all they want, but it's never, ever the same. We carry that pain, that rejection, like an invisible scar.

For those who aren't adopted, if you genuinely want to help, then listen. Don't dismiss our pain. Don't tell us to be grateful. Instead, acknowledge the complexity of our experience, the trauma of our beginnings. Don’t say, “Well, none of us get to choose the cards we were dealt! or “Aren’t you glad you weren’t aborted?” Because the truth is, we are warriors. We are survivors of an invisible war, fighting battles that most people will never see or understand.

This journey towards self-love has been one of the hardest things I've ever done. It's taken everything out of me, yet here I stand, still fighting. I'm still searching for that glimmer of peace. I've learned that self-love, for adoptees, isn't a destination—it's a daily battle. Some days are better than others. Some days, I feel strong. Other days, I feel like I'm back at square one. But the most important thing is that I'm still here. I'm still fighting.

Understanding that not all adoptees experience self-hate, nor do they all experience a lack of self-love, but many do. Some have intense inner feelings about this, and some are more mild—most of the time, it’s not black or white. But one thing I can guarantee is this inner conflict, no matter what shade of it we struggle with, can and does impact every area of our lives, from our relationships, jobs, raising children, intimacy, etc.

To the adoptees who don't share this experience, I want to acknowledge that your journey is valid, too. If you've found peace with your adoption, I am genuinely and deeply happy for you. But understand that just because you don't feel this way doesn't mean many of us don't. One of the reasons I'm sharing my story is to bring attention to the adoptees who have struggled deeply, like I have, and to remind us of the importance of validating their experiences.

If you've made peace with your journey, that's beautiful, but we cannot forget that not everyone has found that peace. It has cost me so much to get to where I am today, and it's critical to hold space for those adoptees still navigating their pain. We must stop saying "me, me, me" and start thinking about adoptees outside of ourselves. It's called empathy, compassion, and understanding. Even if this differs from your experience, I encourage you to listen and learn because this is the truth for many of us and deserves to be heard.

I want to be honest—speaking these truths comes with a cost. I've been attacked frequently on the internet, sometimes even by fellow adoptees, for sharing my raw experiences. It's not easy to be vulnerable about the pain, the rejection, and the battles we've faced, only to be met with criticism or dismissal.

But I continue to share because I know there are others like me who need to know they're not alone. These conversations are uncomfortable, but they're necessary. Just because someone else's adoption experience doesn't mirror mine doesn't mean my truth—or the truth of so many others—should be invalidated. We owe it to each other to approach these stories with compassion, even if they don't align with our own. This is how we create understanding, and it's how we heal as a community.

And I hope that by sharing my story, I can help other adoptees find their way, too. Because we deserve to love ourselves. We deserve to reclaim what was taken from us. And we deserve to live in a world that understands that adoption, for all its complexities, isn't about love—it's about loss. It's about healing. It's about survival. And above all, it's about finding our way back to the selves we were meant to be.

This shout-out is for all the adoptees on a struggling journey, those who aren't okay and feel like they can't speak their truth for fear of what others will think. This is for those who can't be true to themselves because the cost of authenticity is losing everything they've built around them.

I know that pain because I've been there. I've lost everything, but in return, I found MYSELF! I'm sharing it with you—because you didn't deserve this. You didn't ask for it. You didn't sign any paperwork. You were just placed into a life that carries this immense weight, and I have so much love for you, especially those of you who aren't okay.

You are not alone. So many of us feel the same way, even if we can't always say it out loud. I hope that together, we can find a path that takes us from the darkness to the light, one step at a time, one resource at a time, one article at a time. This article is for adoptees who struggle with self-hate and wrestle with the complexities of their existence.

If you're struggling, if you're hurting—know that I see you. We see you. And together, we can find our way forward.

Join Us in Creating a Collective Adoptee Playlist for Adoptee Remembrance Day - October 30th

Adoptees Connect, Inc. invites you to join us in a powerful collective collaboration to create a unique music playlist dedicated to Adoptee Remembrance Day on October 30th. This project is open to all adoptees, and we want to hear from you!

What songs speak to you as an adoptee? What melodies pull on your heartstrings and resonate with your adoption experience? The songs don’t have to be specifically about adoption but ones that have personally impacted you on your journey.

Together, we will create a Spotify playlist that holds deep meaning and is available to all on Adoptee Remembrance Day. This list will grow yearly and be accessible to all to listen to. Spotify has a FREE version. Not only will this be a chance for us to come together as a community but also for those outside the adoptee constellation to tune in, listen, and experience the depth of our stories through music.

Please share your song suggestions in the comments below! Let’s make this day even more meaningful by curating a collection of thought-provoking and heartfelt tracks that express the many layers of our adoption experiences. On October 30th, we will all listen together, honoring our collective voices and experiences.

We can’t wait to hear your suggestions and create something powerful for this important day of remembrance!

Q & A

Let's Talk About Your Experiences.

It’s Your Turn To Spill The Tea!

Adoptees, have you ever looked in the mirror and felt like your true self was hiding behind layers of secrecy and rejection? What are some of the challenges you've faced in loving yourself as an adoptee? How has your journey to self-love been shaped by your adoption story? Did this article resonate with you at all regarding your own personal journey?

And speaking of journeys, let’s switch it up and add some music! What adoptee-centric songs speak to your experience? Drop them below, and let’s build the ultimate playlist for Adoptee Remembrance Day! Comment with your thoughts, favorite songs, and any feelings that come up as we continue to shed light on the complexities of the adoptee experience. Let’s get real—and maybe even find some healing together. Drop your thoughts below. 💛

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.

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.

I’m Adopted, Help Me!

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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