It's strange to think that the most hopeful moment of my history also happens to be the most painful. Gratitude, optimism, and resilience have always come second nature to me and I attribute the bulk of these three qualities to my adoption. I learned optimism the day I boldly asked my mother's boyfriend is he would be my new daddy and he shyly replied, "Maybe." I learned resilience a year later when she didn't come home after a day of work, and I prepared for the fallout of her absence. Gratitude I learned when the fallout didn't happen, when I knew that this man I had known for such a short period of time would, in fact, be my new daddy. My dad has shown me throughout my life that family isn't about blood; it's about love. Adoption has enriched my life in ways I am still only beginning to understand. It has made me hopeful to a fault, and bestowed in me a loving kindness for all people - regardless of their relation to me.
But if adoption is responsible for my positivity and resilience, it is also the source of the longing, loneliness, and hollowness that have gnawed at my insides for as long as I can remember. My biological parents weren't the people they needed to be to raise a daughter, and I understand that. My mother was battling a crippling addiction and I hadn't really known my biological father since I was a toddler. They were essentially strangers to me, and I was infinitely better off with my adoptive dad. I knew that then, and I know that now.
But the rejection still hurt in ways I couldn't understand at the age of seven. It wasn't until my teen years that I began to grasp the weight of adoption on my heart and soul. I had an awesome life, great friends, and a dad who pushed me toward pursuing my dreams. But still, something felt off. My parents' rejection - no matter how great a life I had apart from them - scarred me. It hurt. It still hurts. This is just a fact of life. Like an arthritic knee that aches with approaching rain, the pain in my heart ebbs and flows. There are days I am crushed under waves of grief, but there are others when I feel nothing but a sting.
I once seethed with a self-righteous anger against by parents; full of indignation that they could ever give their daughter away to a stranger. Why couldn't they be what I needed them to be? It all seemed so unfair that my friends had complete families with both mom and dad present. It all seemed so easy for them and I began to resent that easiness. It simply wasn't fair. But life isn't fair. It's not an easy truth to swallow, but it is the truth nonetheless.
I don't know what makes some people better suited for parenthood than others, but both types of people have children all the same. It happens. There is nothing to do but accept it. The funny thing, though, is that once I accepted life's unfairness things began to make more sense. I finally found some peace. Where I once saw a curse, I now see a beacon of hope. I might have lost two parents when I was still too young to comprehend the depth of their influence in my life, but I gained a father who taught me what unconditional love looks like in action. And for that alone, I would do it all over again.
I have been in reunion with my biological family for nearly six years, and most days I am still as confused and uncertain about it as I was when I first made contact. But in my search to find where they fit in my life, I found exactly where my dad belongs. For reasons I couldn't control as a child, he became my dad. And now, for reasons I fully control, he remains my dad - the man who shaped my identity most. There is no comparison; no competition. And there shouldn't be.
There is still plenty of room in my future for my biological family, and I eagerly welcome the new experiences. But for now, it's hard, and I won't lie about that.
This post is the first in a series about the messiness of adoption and what it's like to be a young adult adoptee. I don't speak for anyone, but myself, and these experiences are my own.
