An American Adoption Congress conference is not like a common, professional conference. One of the speakers described the tone. "At an AAC conference, you can grab someone in the hall and ask for a hug if you need one." (I'd had the experience earlier that day.)
This year's AAC conference, held in Sacramento, March 18 - 21, was my first. It couldn't have been of higher caliber in any way! (Ironically, it couldn't have been any more painful, either, but facing demons is like that...) Adoptees, birthmothers, clinicians, and even a few adoptive parents (wow, thank you!), attended. For a detailed outline of programming, I'll direct you to the conference program- http://americanadoptioncongress.org/pdf/AAC_2010_Conference_Program.pdf. Consider joining this invaluable organization and attending upcoming events.
I'll spend several entries reflecting on this 4 day experience.
DAY 1- My first impression, as I looked around the room during the welcome keynote, was the sudden thought, "These are all really strong people!" I felt humbled.
A few minutes passed and I heard myself saying, to me, "Joy, you're here too, you know." It were as if I heard it with my head tilted in curiosity, wondering what it could mean.
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Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
"Being"
“Being”
Adoptee and author Joe Soll speaks of people as having “different ways of ‘being’ in the world.” He points to the fact that these differences have the potential of being quite pronounced in an adoptive household, given that there are no shared genetics. I was once told by a therapist that my adoptive parents and I were “cut from an entirely different cloth.”
Dad’s a business professor, Mom’s a nurse. I’m an artist. I visualize my experience this way:
The world is a huge ocean, and Mom and Dad are in a boat. They deal in pragmatics, there on the surface. Steering, refilling the tank, looking at a constant horizon. They aren’t shallow people, but their lives are task-oriented, what-you-see-is-what-you-get.
I live undersea in metaphor and psychology. Everything I experience gets thought, and rethought, and thought about again. And I really need to talk about the thoughts. That’s where the catch came in. My talking was always met with silence. I took the silence to mean that I was being denied the right to be myself and denied their engagement in my life. It made for a very, very lonely youth. A youth of loneliness and rage.
My mom once told me, “You see things that aren’t there.” I finally understand that, for her, those things really aren’t there. She can’t see the squid and seaweed and coral and shipwrecks that I am “being” amongst, down here deep under the ocean’s surface. It’s nice to finally understand that and to be past the rage. It’s hard to stop grieving the loneliness.
Adoptee and author Joe Soll speaks of people as having “different ways of ‘being’ in the world.” He points to the fact that these differences have the potential of being quite pronounced in an adoptive household, given that there are no shared genetics. I was once told by a therapist that my adoptive parents and I were “cut from an entirely different cloth.”
Dad’s a business professor, Mom’s a nurse. I’m an artist. I visualize my experience this way:
The world is a huge ocean, and Mom and Dad are in a boat. They deal in pragmatics, there on the surface. Steering, refilling the tank, looking at a constant horizon. They aren’t shallow people, but their lives are task-oriented, what-you-see-is-what-you-get.
I live undersea in metaphor and psychology. Everything I experience gets thought, and rethought, and thought about again. And I really need to talk about the thoughts. That’s where the catch came in. My talking was always met with silence. I took the silence to mean that I was being denied the right to be myself and denied their engagement in my life. It made for a very, very lonely youth. A youth of loneliness and rage.
My mom once told me, “You see things that aren’t there.” I finally understand that, for her, those things really aren’t there. She can’t see the squid and seaweed and coral and shipwrecks that I am “being” amongst, down here deep under the ocean’s surface. It’s nice to finally understand that and to be past the rage. It’s hard to stop grieving the loneliness.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Orphaned
Orphaned
The recent movie “Orphan” has generated discussion in the adoption circle. In a nutshell, the “orphan” adopted by a young couple turns out to be a Damian of sorts, leaving the couple desperate as to what to do with their adopted, spawn of Satan, child.
It’s very reasonable that the adoption advocacy community would give attention to the unfortunate framing of adoption presented in “Orphan”. Meanwhile, I also can’t help but think, “Yes, but also remember, a bad movie is a bad movie.” Whatever the case, the movie does point to a sentiment that is probably a part of many adoptive parents’ experience- anxiety surrounding their new child’s largely unknown background. Inevitably, parents must wonder, whether consciously or not, “What did we get?” The child simply can’t be thought of as “a chip off the old block”.
No adoptive parents come to find they’ve adopted “the bad seed”. They discover they’ve found a little person who they’re crazy in love with. But anxiety can remain. The child’s traits or talents could be ongoing reminders that the adopted child isn’t fully and completely “theirs”. This could be disappointing or even threatening to adoptive parents.
Ever feel like there may be things in yourself that you’ve forgotten about- things that you wanted to do, or to “be”- that you put aside in the interest of “fitting in”?
The recent movie “Orphan” has generated discussion in the adoption circle. In a nutshell, the “orphan” adopted by a young couple turns out to be a Damian of sorts, leaving the couple desperate as to what to do with their adopted, spawn of Satan, child.
It’s very reasonable that the adoption advocacy community would give attention to the unfortunate framing of adoption presented in “Orphan”. Meanwhile, I also can’t help but think, “Yes, but also remember, a bad movie is a bad movie.” Whatever the case, the movie does point to a sentiment that is probably a part of many adoptive parents’ experience- anxiety surrounding their new child’s largely unknown background. Inevitably, parents must wonder, whether consciously or not, “What did we get?” The child simply can’t be thought of as “a chip off the old block”.
No adoptive parents come to find they’ve adopted “the bad seed”. They discover they’ve found a little person who they’re crazy in love with. But anxiety can remain. The child’s traits or talents could be ongoing reminders that the adopted child isn’t fully and completely “theirs”. This could be disappointing or even threatening to adoptive parents.
Ever feel like there may be things in yourself that you’ve forgotten about- things that you wanted to do, or to “be”- that you put aside in the interest of “fitting in”?
Thursday, March 4, 2010
The Break
Small kids love talking with their parents about anything and everything. Life’s an open book. One day, perhaps in early in adolescence, kids start holding some things back. Individuating from one’s parents involves a certain sense of privacy. New boundaries go up as kids break away into their own adulthood.
I wonder what it means for adoptees when the first “break” in shared (talked about) experiences happens much earlier...
As a small child, at bedtime, I’d often ask about my birthmother. There in the dark, I’d ask my adoptive mother why my first mother gave me up. The answer was always, “I don’t know,” but I kept asking anyway. I’m guessing I may have been about 6 years old when I asked for the last time. The reason? The “last time” was the very first time that I was consciously, fully aware that my adoptive mother was uncomfortable talking about the subject. It was making her feel bad. I didn’t ask again and didn’t mention the topic of adoption for another 15 years.
Does anyone think that this kind of experience makes adolescence & individuation harder for adoptees than for non-adoptees?
I wonder what it means for adoptees when the first “break” in shared (talked about) experiences happens much earlier...
As a small child, at bedtime, I’d often ask about my birthmother. There in the dark, I’d ask my adoptive mother why my first mother gave me up. The answer was always, “I don’t know,” but I kept asking anyway. I’m guessing I may have been about 6 years old when I asked for the last time. The reason? The “last time” was the very first time that I was consciously, fully aware that my adoptive mother was uncomfortable talking about the subject. It was making her feel bad. I didn’t ask again and didn’t mention the topic of adoption for another 15 years.
Does anyone think that this kind of experience makes adolescence & individuation harder for adoptees than for non-adoptees?
Monday, March 1, 2010
Year 40
40 was a hard year for me. It was a year of reflection on aging, loss, missed opportunities. Yes, there was reflection on accomplishments, too. Perhaps most significantly, the number 40 represented- with heavy force- the reality that I will not in my lifetime be having a child. I have varying degrees of sadness- and not- about this. Working through it, I’ve discovered a curious notion of consolation.
“If there were ever a time in the scope of history for a woman to be childless, now is it,” I realized. Today, when a woman is childless, perhaps our society thinks about her “self-centeredness,” or of her “not-knowing-what-she’s-missing,” or of infertility, but I doubt that the term “barren” comes to anyone’s mind. A woman is free to elect not to parent, live as a single person, pursue almost any career, and own a complete identity that doesn’t involve procreation.
Just one generation ago, my [adoptive] mom didn’t enjoy such luxury. When she was young, she was told that her career opportunities were Teacher, Secretary, or Nurse. (She chose nursing. I would have died choosing any of those options.) And at that time, in the 50s, it was still understood that raising a family was still woman’s job #1.
My mom raised an adoptive family while living with the knowledge of her infertility. Had adoption not been available to her, she would have felt even further removed from being “normal” or “like everyone else” or “worthwhile”. I have no children but will never have to know whether I may in fact be infertile. I can always imagine that I could have / would have had a baby if I’d wanted. I live in an era where woman have broad choices. Regarding the point of my having no children, I’m really relieved to be here-and-now.
“If there were ever a time in the scope of history for a woman to be childless, now is it,” I realized. Today, when a woman is childless, perhaps our society thinks about her “self-centeredness,” or of her “not-knowing-what-she’s-missing,” or of infertility, but I doubt that the term “barren” comes to anyone’s mind. A woman is free to elect not to parent, live as a single person, pursue almost any career, and own a complete identity that doesn’t involve procreation.
Just one generation ago, my [adoptive] mom didn’t enjoy such luxury. When she was young, she was told that her career opportunities were Teacher, Secretary, or Nurse. (She chose nursing. I would have died choosing any of those options.) And at that time, in the 50s, it was still understood that raising a family was still woman’s job #1.
My mom raised an adoptive family while living with the knowledge of her infertility. Had adoption not been available to her, she would have felt even further removed from being “normal” or “like everyone else” or “worthwhile”. I have no children but will never have to know whether I may in fact be infertile. I can always imagine that I could have / would have had a baby if I’d wanted. I live in an era where woman have broad choices. Regarding the point of my having no children, I’m really relieved to be here-and-now.
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