Eventually

Photograph: Alamy

"People don't tend to have the same respect for emotional brokenness as they do physical brokenness. Because they can't see the broken heart like they could a broken leg, it's easy to doubt that anything significant is really wrong."

A dear friend, who I feel a great connection to although we've never met, said this in one of her blog posts. Really, you should read her story from the beginning. She is an adoptee going through a tremendous amount of emotional turmoil, stress and upheaval at the moment. Actually those words really don't convey what she's been dealing with but how do you get across the ridiculous amount of trauma that a person goes through. How do we explain to people who really have no experience with this kind of thing, what it is we go through. You really can't. Unless you've walked in those same shoes you really can't know the depth of the emotion. They hear the words and try to understand but since there's no physical evidence it's too easy to move beyond the brokenness without considering that the break is still there on the inside. It's too easy to forget that the pain is still there. A cast on a broken bone is a reminder. There is no reminder with emotional trauma.

When I lost my daughter to adoption no one could see the broken me. No one had any idea because I was expected to hide it. She was a big secret so of course no one knew what had just happened. Imagine this scenario - your child dies and no one knows. In just a few days you go to work and you're expected to smile and act as if nothing has happened. You can't talk about it. You can't cry about it. You can't even seem sad let alone be able to really grieve. Your friends don't know so when you go to a party or out to dinner, you have to pretend not to think about it and just make small talk until you can get through the evening without crying. Your coworkers don't have a clue of course so you have to put on the professional face and maintain your composure throughout the workday. You run into people at the grocery store that you know from school or church or work and you have to pretend to be happy that you've run into them and have to now act like nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

Then you have the family members who DO know what happened - the very few who were privy to the actual events- the ones who knew where you were when you were gone out of town for 5 or 6  months during the pregnancy. I'm starting to realize that when dealing with this type of trauma, it's really not much different when people know what happened as opposed to the folks who really didn't have a clue. If you're not part of the adoption community in one form or another it's difficult to understand the trauma that is involved for that person. For the people who knew what was happening, it became about not only keeping the secret but keeping the peace. I think on one level they just didn't want to upset me. The thinking at the time was... just don't mention it. Just like the idea of keeping a baby away from the mother after the birth was supposed to make it easier to deal with the separation, the idea of not talking about the loss was supposed to make the transition back to "normal" life easier. Did that work? Of course not. On another level, this kind of denial just made it easier for them. Just get back to the status quo and everything will be okay. If we make it look good on the outside, it will be good on the inside. Keep the surface squeaky clean and all will be good.

But.... what happens then? Sure, you manage to maintain on the outside but what's happening on the inside? You're still broken. You swallow the pain. You go home and try to figure out how to cope. You cry when you're alone. You have nightmares. You deal with fear. You deal with anxiety. Why do we struggle to deal with this alone? Because like my friend said.... the emotional brokenness is not as obvious so it doesn't get the same amount of respect. We hear.... just move on, don't be bitter or angry, put the past behind you, why can't you just leave it behind? It's been so many years... why are still crying about it? Why are you still writing about it? Oh, you're writing about that again... that's why you're banging on the keys so hard. Well, pardon me, don't mean to be so noisy while I do my best to work through this and try to do something to help others. Sorry, hard not to get snarky when dealing with this issue.

With a broken bone you can see the result of healing - the cast comes off. The wound is healed. With adoption, whether adoptee or mother, the wound is never really healed, it's just scabbed over. Sometimes events pick at the scab. Sometimes people pick at it with the comments they make and they don't even realize they're doing it. Sometimes the comments are intentional because others don't want to deal with the truth - it makes them too uncomfortable. Maybe that's because they had a hand in making the adoption happen or maybe it's because they participated in the adoption of another child because like so many millions of people - they got sucked in to the adoption industry propaganda. 

However it happens.... the wound is there and the respect isn't. We have to hold each other up. We have to be there for each other - mothers for mothers, mothers for adoptees, adoptees for adoptees. Eventually we'll get there. Eventually people will understand more. Thanks to my dear friend for putting herself out there and letting people see the turmoil and raw emotion of what being an adoptee is like from her experience. It's only through the telling of these experiences that we can gain the understanding and eventually the respect of others.

Is there enough rubble yet?

This picture reminds me of adoption. So many thousands of us suffered damage and so many more continue to suffer from past separations or current adoptions. A mother and child are separated at the baby's birth. The damage is done. Like a crash to the floor, this one act happens and the history of both mother and child is drastically and forever altered. And this act is no accident, it's well orchestrated by the powers that be, by society's attitudes, by churches, by agencies and by social workers.

For 40 weeks mother and baby were one being, connected physically and emotionally. The baby learned the voice of her mother, the heartbeat of her mother, the laugh of her mother, the rhythm of her mother. For 40 weeks the mother felt her baby inside her, felt her kick, felt her move, felt her bounce when she had the hiccups, felt her turn around, felt the love she has for her baby. Then, the manipulated mother goes through the motions and the system, believing what she's told and doing what she's told is best.

Some people believe that mothers are interchangeable and that an adoption happening at or soon after the baby's birth means that the child won't know the difference. Some believe that the mother can just go on with her career, new life and have more children. The adopted baby - as if born to the adopters. The mother - as if never given birth. Some think this is a win/win/win situation - what's to complain about? The damage done is what there is to complain about. Infant adoption is really a win/win/lose/lose situation. The two winners are the brokers and the adopters. The brokers make the money and the adopters get the coveted baby. The baby and the mother are the losers in the scenario. 

The winners don't want to hear the complaints from the losing side. How can they preserve the winning strategy for future brokers and adopters if they actually listen to what the losers have to say? If they listened and listened sincerely, they might be expected to do something about it. Adoptees aren't supposed to complain. Gratitude is expected of them. Damage? What damage? You would have ended up in foster care anyway. Did you want to end up in a dumpster? Look at the great life you got. Aren't you concerned about your adoptive parents feelings? Why would you want to search for your family, you have a family. Mothers aren't supposed to complain either. We weren't even allowed to grieve the loss of our babies. Just move along. Get a life. Get a job. Get a new family. Forget all about it. Now, even if the mother can see her child occasionally, she'd better tow the line. Don't be intrusive, don't nag for pictures, don't have any say in what happens to your child, just suck it up if the adopters change their minds about visits. He's not your child anymore, remember? Don't be a pest and the adoption won't close. No recourse for you.

This is what damage means. It means trauma, loss and heartbreak. It means hiding how you feel. It means pretending and lying. It means living a facade. It means doing whatever it takes to have contact with your child. It means secrets. It means doing whatever it takes to have contact with your natural parents and not hurting your adopters in the process. It means searching. It means grieving for decades. It means not knowing who you really are. It means years of birthdays and wondering. It means no medical history. It means loss of self and civil rights. For me, there was my life before the pregnancy and my life afterwards. The experience of losing my child was not just a matter of suffering damage, it was nearly a fatal blow. I'm not the same person I was before I lost my daughter and never will be again. That girl is gone.

The damage done is permanent. In order to survive I had to fill the cracks. Some were filled with the wall I built between me and my family. Although some healing has happened in the last 3 decades, I don't think the wall can ever come down completely. It's still needed in places to hold me together. Other breaks were filled with the family I created. My love for my husband and the 2 children I had with him cemented in me a will to keep going. Painting and love of art was the soft filler that let me expand and contract with whatever emotional state I was in at the time. The memory of my daughter's cry in the delivery room - the only sensory connection I was allowed with her - filled me with determination to find her.

It's hard for me to find beauty in this kind of history but I did find gold when I found my daughter and my 3 children were finally together. I know I'm stronger now. I have my voice and my power back but after being this broken, the repair work is an ongoing project. The pieces are everywhere, the fallout extreme. Selfishness and greed keep the aftermath of adoption invisible. How high will the rubble have to be before it's seen?

One Life, Two Minds

Just recently my friend Robin at Motherhood Deleted mentioned dissociative disorder on her blog. I was thinking about that same thing.

From the National Alliance on Mental Illness

"Dissociative disorders are so-called because they are marked by a dissociation from or interruption of a person's fundamental aspects of waking consciousness (such as one's personal identity, one's personal history, etc.). Dissociative disorders come in many forms, the most famous of which is dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as multiple personality disorder). All of the dissociative disorders are thought to stem from trauma experienced by the individual with this disorder. The dissociative aspect is thought to be a coping mechanism -- the person literally dissociates himself from a situation or experience too traumatic to integrate with his conscious self. Symptoms of these disorders, or even one or more of the disorders themselves, are also seen in a number of other mental illnesses, including post-traumatic stress disorder, panic disorder, and obsessive compulsive disorder."

When I was in the maternity home I wrote letters home to my folks. I have those letters now. My mother saved them and gave them back to me just last year. What an odd feeling. When I read them it was like I was reading the letters of a stranger. I didn't recognize the handwriting, I didn't recognize the words on the page, I didn't know the person who wrote them. It was like I was another person altogether. It was also interesting to me to note that on papers that I had written on previous to going to the home and after the adoption, my handwriting was completely different. In those letters I was telling my family what they wanted to hear. They wanted to hear that I was okay. They wanted to know that I was handling things. They were the only people in my life who actually knew where I was and why I was there. I didn't have anywhere else to go afterwards but back to them so they were my safety net. I had to keep them in my world and on my side, where else would I go if not back to them?

Over the course of the years when I looked back to the girl I was at that time and the situation I was in, I know intellectually that I did the only thing I could do but there still remained the thought that I beat myself up with - the thought that I was 19 when I got pregnant and 20 when she was born and why couldn't I stand up to everyone around me and say - stuff it.... I'm keeping my baby! Why wasn't I strong enough? Do other mothers have this residue of guilt hanging around like some guest who's overstayed their welcome by about 20 or 30 years? Now as a middle aged adult (ok, slightly passed middle age) I know that going down the road of shoulda/woulda/coulda does nothing but hurt me.

Looking back now is like looking back on two people - the girl I was inside who was scared, sad and out of options and the girl who was working to make it to the other side. It was like I had divided myself in two in order to protect myself. It was a defense mechanism for my psyche. I was in survival mode. Understanding this and knowing that I did what I had to to survive helped me realize that I could let go of any last feeling of guilt that was hanging around. I could allow that I was young, naive and believed what I was told. Under those circumstances I did the best that I could with the experience that I had. It's easy for so many of us to look to the past and say... well, I would've done this or that. It's really easy for other people to tell us what we should have done. I've learned so much over the years about not only myself and how to heal from the damage done, but also about the adoption industry and the damage it does. The me of now needs to let the me of then off the hook. Does that make any sense?

The mind is a fascinating thing.