Dear Anonymous,

Growing up, I had periods where I had a hard time accepting my adoption and thought about my birth mother. I thought about how excited I would be to “finally” have a mom. How happy I would feel to “finally” have someone who understood me. And someone who would hug me with more love — I expected myself to have all the reactions an adopted child is expected to feel when meeting their birth parent(s) for the first time.

Some Background Info: Adoption Experience

I had a rough upbringing in the foster system. And even a rough life as an adopted child. There were many things that my adoptive mother did that has caused me trauma. All of which made me feel resentment towards myself, preventing me from accepting my adoption because I wished to be somewhere else. I wanted to be with my dad; but he wasn’t alive. So I tried finding my birth mother.

I got in contact with my birth mother in 2017. I experienced all that I have expected of myself. My birth mother even went to one of my basketball games.

We Didn’t Talk For 3+ Years

Through time, I experienced anger and sadness through a sunken self-worth caused by people who told me that they were right. I sat and reasoned with myself for over 3 years by my own intuition to understand that the words of others meant nothing if I intuitively felt.

This year I put together a family collage of pictures for my ancestral alter. My adoptive mother and birth parents/family were included. The following week, I went on a man-hunt to see if my birth mother was still alive. I searched online, databases, voting information, social media, etc. I called more than 15 numbers that I found online. And went to a few addresses. I slightly gave up; then reflected.

A few days after reflection: My birth mother reached out to me. I expected myself to cry, to be excited, happy, fulfilled, etc. And not a thing came out, besides asking myself why I wasn’t reacting how I expected.

Why I’m Writing ‘Accepting my Adoption’

All this time I was looking to replace the mother I already had. I turned to realize that I accepted my adoptive mother to be my mom. In a way, I surrendered to the universe. I accepted that everyone was flawed in their responses and actions. And what mattered most, was how someone bettered themselves through their mistakes. All this time I resented my adoptive mother for all the things she has done to me without accepting how she bettered herself.

Now that we’re here, I accept my reaction and lack of excitement. I accept my adoptive mother as my mom. I no longer resent my mom nor myself for the decisions that has led me to being adopted. Lastly, I accept my intuition because it has led me here.

Through this all, I learned to understand that a relationship must be built.

Yours Truly,

Damian

Guest post written by Cara Lang, Age 25

My name is Cara Lang and I was adopted from Bolivia. It is something I never really talk about. Not because I want to hide it, but it’s just sort of something that I’ve never really come to terms with. It feels like a huge part of my identity even though sometimes I feel like I don’t really know who I am.

I spend a majority of my time trying to fit in, more than I’d care to admit. Not even quite fit in, just not stick out. Being average is the perfect exposure. Growing up, I did things quite clinically. I did enjoy doing random sports and other little hobbies. I liked meeting new people. I was (and still am) kind of an awkward person and for sure was mainly observant with others.  

One thing I do regret growing up is how I was as a kid. I had been really envious of others. I’ll never really know how bad of a kid or sibling I was, or am now honestly. I don’t know what it’s like being a parent, but add having adopted kids on top of that, it must be a lot. I often wonder how my mom raised my siblings, and me. I also wonder how she did it especially considering a divorce can add a lot of stress to that too. Sometimes I wonder what an average upbringing is like, or if it even exists. I hope my mom knows how much she does for our family and that it’s appreciated. Same for my dad as well.  

I love my family more than anyone will ever know. It’s the same family style as anyone else though: part of the divorced parents crew, hardworking and competitive siblings, you know, the usual. Both of my parents are white and I have two siblings who are also adopted. My brother is also from Bolivia and my sister is from Guatemala. A unique family for sure. My brother is one year older than me and my sister is four years younger than me. We all look sort of alike, just when we are out with my parents, sometimes I feel like there is a spotlight on us, walking around with white adults and all that.  

My upbringing actually helped me to meet and even learn to understand new people. Even though 90% of my hometown was white, I still got to see different backgrounds, cliques, and personalities. I could kind of relate to them. I would kind of compare and contrast how I was compared to friends, this made me want to better myself growing up. But then again, who knows if that’s an adoption thing or just a normal kid thing.  

Something I love about being adopted is finally being able to understand how much time and effort goes into everything, from the familial side to just the average day-to-day. It really showed how much my parents care about me and my siblings, how they just want the best for us. It was definitely a unique upbringing, but it definitely gives me a different perspective on other people with reserving judgment and being empathetic. I’m still trying to better myself. I’m not trying as hard to fit in. Instead, I’m just trying to find myself. One day I’ll be more accepting of myself. I’m learning and optimistic of that.