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Silence, Delete, Report, Remove

I understand.

I scare you. The truth scares you. Your pain scares you. And more importantly, perhaps most importantly of all, my pain, OUR PAIN, scares you. It's okay to be scared. It's okay to ban and block. To a degree, it's okay to talk shit about me. We're all adults.

Do you know what's not okay? Trying to shut me down. Trying to silence my voice. Trying to cut me off from my comfort, connections, and freedom. The constant neverending petty target on my back. The barrage of abuse in my inbox and the constant reporting and harrassment.

I don't report you, because, unlike you, I have actual work to do. There are too many Adoptees out there who lack a voice. They think they're alone. They think they're crazy and the only one feeling this irreparable, undefinable loss. They don't understand why they feel what they do, or that they're allowed to feel that way. They're brainwashed. They're damaged. They're wracked with guilt because they …
Recent posts

"I Wish I Was Adopted"

No. No, you really don't.

Non-adopted person, listen to me and listen good. You do NOT wish you were adopted. If you knew what it feels like to be adopted and aware, you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy.

Adoption is trauma and abuse of a voiceless infant. Whatever the circumstance, we are torn from our families and thrown to strangers. We scream and protest until we are quite literally broken. And we carry that break in us for the rest of our lives.

I'm just going to assume that those of you who wish you were adopted percieve yourselves to have been abused or mistreated in some way by your family. Funny, I was abused and mistreated by my family too, and I WAS adopted.
Beaten? Me too, and I was adopted .
Verbally abused? Me too, and I was adopted.
Molested and raped? Me too, and I was adopted.

Sounds pretty well the same to me. Until you add in the distinct disadvantage of developmental trauma. Until you add in massive loss and fear of abandonment. Until you add in the mystery…

The Right to Process

The right to feel is inherent. The right to feel how you feel and use your own terms to state it is a given. Unless you're adopted, of course. 

If you're adopted, all involved parties are aggressively eager to inform you of how you feel, when you feel it, and how you're allowed to say it, all the while diminishing the reality of your feelings by interjecting the comparative importance of their own. 

For instance. The adopter. "I love you! I'm bonded with you! You love me too! You're bonded to me too! You're grateful for the better life I'm providing for you! Look how nice your things are! Could your horrible junkie parents give you such nice things?" 

In the meantime the Adoptee is wearing her nice clothes and wetting her nice bed because of the nightmares, and by eight years old is already wondering what it's like to be dead.

I could give you examples of how relinquishers, gentle adopters, industry flunkies, and even our own fellow Adoptees, thos…

A Note To The Mothers

I've spent enough time warning about the relinquishers (and, in some surprising cases, BSE mothers) who have a hidden agenda. There's really no need to pay them further attention.

With this being such a difficult season for biofamilies and particularly adoptees, I wanted to spread a little kindness, something I do not often do, and something I intend to do more of.

To the mothers that own their shit:

I appreciate you. No, really, I do. You're like a breath of fresh air in a nasty smoky room. 

As Adoptees, taking good hard looks at ourselves isn't much of an option. Every conversation, every valid point, can be cause for deep self reflection. When your sense of self is cut in half in infancy, who I am can become an unattainable answer.

It's nice to see the same level of self reflection in you. The fact that you have the courage to own your actions in the current adoptee climate... Well, that takes some guts. I would liken it to looking at the worst, ugliest face you have…

Our "Allies"

...or at least that's what they call themselves.

They aren't really, these relinquishers. Oh yeah, they'll help you with their search angel skills or yell at the Capitol building and wave signs, but it's their daily behaviors in adoptionland that tells their real feelings and agendas.

They'll help you if you're "nice". If you're "sympathetic" and "compassionate". As long as you "show them the proper respect". If you don't, they cry, bash, silence, and smear.

And what exactly is "the proper respect" to show someone who has given away their child? How am I supposed to look at you, knowing that you did to a child exactly what my mother did to the eight of us, and respect you? Knowing intimately the pain of relinquishment and abandonment, how am I supposed to be expected to be compassionate and sympathetic toward you? When I know for a fact that because of you there is at least one child out there who carries a…

The Divisive Adoptee

I will be divisive, because we need to be divided from you, relinquishers. 

We need to be divided from your adoptee-blaming, shaming dismissal. 

We need to be divided from your selfish advocacy. Our predicament was caused by you and is not a place to hide from your pain.

We need to be divided from your browbeating. It's not our fault you gave us away, and it's not our fault we're angry about it.

We need to be divided from your constant need for sympathy and compassion. The onus of your grief does not lie at our feet.

We need to be divided from your constant need for validation and congratulations. If you're doing the good work stand up and do it. Stop broadcasting it in the hopes it will score you brownie points with adoptees. We may appreciate the work you do, but it certainly doesn't excuse anything or warrant any ass licking.

We need to be divided from your fragility.

We need to be divided from your inability to take responsibility for the pain you've caused us, bo…

Lost Faith

Lost Faith

I started going to church when I was eight. If you've kept up with me you know eight was a big year for me. It was the year I really began to understand what it meant to be adopted.  It was the year I started drawing and writing. It was also the year I tried to kill myself for the first time. 

Going to church was my idea. Both of my "parents" had been raised by (their own) religious parents. Neither of them had any desire to ever go to church, and they never went with me. We didn't pray at home. My "mother" scoffed at me when I asked if we could say grace before our meals. "I have to say grace at your Nana's at Thanksgiving and Christmas," she snapped at me, "and that's plenty."

"But mama, don't you believe in God?"

"Of course I do. But that doesn't mean I want to talk about him every day."

Don't get me wrong, she supported me going to church in that she got up to drive me and pick me up ever…