A blog is supposed to be focused on a particular topic; something related to the author’s cause or the body of work they produce. For me that is adoption, but to tell you the truth, we adoptees don’t just think of one subject and one subject only over the course of our day or weeks, so for today, all you readers out there get to see another side of this adoptee’s life: What it’s like to be a fitness instructor!

6:00 PM,  Driving to Zumba, ™ class:

“Got my speaker. Yes. Got phone. Yes. Which playlist am I doing tonight? Um, I did Zumba ™ playlist five last time so I guess it’s six this week. They’re gonna think that one song on there is dumb, but oh well, I’m the instructor….It’s a good tune because it’s different and kinda like hearing two songs…I like that kind of music…It’s like a bargain…two songs in one…Keeps things interesting…Can’t forget to buy gas on the way home…I know I have a bunch of Kroger points so gas should be cheaper and I will have a whole tank to fill…Wonder if Sara is going to be at Zumba ™ …I think Sara is my favorite student…I am proud of her for overcoming obstacles and getting hired to gather carts and bag groceries, but her time in Zumba ™ class depends on how she is scheduled with the access bus…She loves my manicure and wants to see my nails every time…She also loves it if I play that Bruno Mars song…OK, if Sara is there I will play the playlist that has Uptown Funk on it. That settles that…

6:30 PM, Setting up for class:

Plug speaker into wall outlet, push the button…check…queue up my iTunes…check…play a snippet of a song to test the sound…Good…It’s annoying how the technology is different in every club I work at. I feel stupid when I have to ask the front desk workers for help. It’s so much nicer toting around my own system. Some ladies complain the music isn’t loud enough…Some think it’s plenty loud and could I turn it down just a touch…Hard to please everyone but I do my best…That one lady who knows a friend of mine and told my friend I need to “rev up my class more”? Sorry, but if she would quit taking breaks to look at her phone during the workout, then maybe she would feel more challenged and notice the results…Can’t tell adults what to do like you can with young kids at school…

…There’s Bruno all set to go…

One time Sara was the only person who came to class, and she was crying the whole time about a guy she liked who didn’t like her back, so we spent the exercise session sitting on the gym floor talking about how it’s hard to find a nice boy to date but I told her she should be particular and hold out for the best because the good ones do call you back and tell you the truth…Sara is intellectually-challenged and innocent. I sure hope a dude never takes advantage of her. Her mom can get Sara pampered in salons and spas and have her looking like a movie star with manis, makeup, and highlights, but at age 30, she is still a naive, sweet girl, like how my own daughters were around the age of ten…Sara thinks pretty nail polish is all it takes to get a guy…

The door to the exercise room squeaks a little and I hear keys jingling and look up from setting my phone. OK…we have people…It’s showtime…Some are familiar faces…a couple of new ladies…They take their places on the floor…The regulars have their spots…I’ve never seen anyone get nasty over someone standing in someone else’s place, but I hear that can happen…I have my preferred “perch” too when I go to my own workout place. (Yep, just like how many therapists see a therapist, I’m a fitness instructor who gets instructed by others. I can learn from taking other’s classes.) My special place in the exercise room is by the window where I can look out and use a tree as my focal point when we have to hold the eagle position or do power leg stances at the barre. Next time I go to my own exercise class,  maybe I should try a new spot so as to not be too set in my ways…

“Hi, my name is Paige. Has everyone here been to Zumba ™ before?” They all nod yes, even the two new ladies. Never ask ‘has anyone NOT done Zumba ™ before’ because members might lie anyway, and it could shame someone new who doesn’t know a soul here. “Welcome if I’ve not seen you before; let’s get started”. I see Sara is all ready to go in the front row, marching before I even start the music. I hit the play button.

I always choose a warm-up song that’s easy, especially for me. It means I start with an assured feeling. I can’t mess up. In these high-end swanky clubs the pressure to be excellent is really on. I don’t have a dance background like many of my instructor colleagues. (I’d quit ballet at the end of 2nd grade when a mean girl punched my ballet box and broke it.)

As a substitute instructor with experience, I have learned you can make a few errors and just keep moving. If the attendees in class don’t know your routines, they will probably not know you goofed if you just keep going. Still, I want the opening song to be just right. It sets the tone for the next 50 or so minutes.

…Oh my gosh! I love that lady’s shoes. I wonder where she bought them? From here they look like Asics…Nice! Turquoise and purple! Now I want new shoes. When I get home, I’ll look on Amazon or Zappos…

I wonder if any of these people here are adopted like me. I know of two local Zumba ™ instructors who are adoptees: Marie and Lydia and my online instructor friend from New York, Anne. (OK adoptee readers, you got your adoption tie-in! : )

Hey, Look at Ruth out there! Ruth is 90 and lives for Zumba ™ night. She wouldn’t miss this class for the world. She just stands on the side out of people’s way and shuffles along, but she’s happy, waving her hands in the air and swaying. She’s like a real-life video meme of those peppy, sassy, little old grannies who break out into salsa and mambo moves on their front porch. Last week she told me she was going home after class to move furniture so she could repaint her dining room!

I want to be Ruth some day.

The manager at the club will be happy since six people have come to my class, and attendance is usually low at this time slot. For this small club, six is a good number. It’s not like the video clips of Zumba classes you see on YouTube with 50 people packed in the room and everyone glistening and glowing with perspiration, precision-toned, ripped arms and abs, while wearing brand-name, neon-colored fitness attire. Most of us are just a bunch of moms and grandmas from Ohio trying to get a little work out in before we have to go home and figure out dinner….

Anyone who says, “I can’t do Zumba ™ ” has never tried MY Zumba ™ class. I’m a good instructor. I’m not a showboat getting my own work out on in front of people. I’ve seen instructors make this mistake. Zumba ™ class is not my show. It’s their show; the attendees’ show. Yes, I get my cardio in too. How can you not if you teach a good class? Still, my job is to create a “safe space”, literally and figuratively, for class members to try new moves and feel at ease. I want people to come back again because they feel like, “Hey! I can do this!”

Before I taught fitness I was one of them, and due to time constraints would end up going to the McDonald’s drive-thru on my way back home to get my kids fed at a decent hour. Seems kinda counter-productive to being fit to have to live that way in the outside world, but for the 50 or so minutes we are together I give my class members a break from children, their jobs, house chores, friends, elder-care, and spouses. They just want to move freely and not feel stressed or obligated. Zumba ™ is their fun and maybe the only self-care or social connecting these folks get.

I don’t think of myself as teaching Zumba ™ . I see myself as leading it. Sometimes pulling away in my car from my cozy house especially on a bad weather evening, feels like a bummer, but once I arrive at a gym or a studio, I never regret being there or choosing to maintain my Zumba ™  credentials. I’ll stay a fitness instructor for as long as I possibly can. I want and like being there for the Ruths and Saras and hope there are places and instructors out there for me for many years to come. No matter who you are, never stop moving. Never stop trying. Find a happy spot on the floor in the front, by a window or along the side, wave your hands in the air, and just keep going!

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My Adoptee Take on Fathers’ Day

Fathers’ Day is a funny day…Not funny ha-ha, (but I can’t say I’ve not shared laughs on this day.) It’s funny different, and it’s very difficult to describe why.

I miss all the men I regarded as “father” in my life:  My dad who raised me, my father-in-law and my birth father. They all taught me lessons, spent time with me and shaped who I am today.

First, my dad who raised me…my adoptive dad. His name was Teddy. He loved the beach and sun, music, (not my style of music but he loved HIS music), nice cars, respected his elders and worked hard to provide for us as a family. He taught me to appreciate family history, how to build a house with Legos, and how to cook pancakes and French toast. He believed that organized sports and religion were filled with hypocrites and money-grubbers. He preferred musicians and theatrical events. (Not that show folk don’t have their own issues, but…)

No one grilled a better hot dog. No one. Teddy had a super-secret fudge recipe that came originally from a can of Hershey’s powdered cocoa, and he added something to it. I will call it “Dad-Magic”. The stuff sold in tourist shops is crap by comparison. If you buy boxes of Kilwin’s or Murdick’s fudge on vacation, well, OK, it’s your money. I know better. That is all.

Teddy was troubled, often impatient, complicated and conveyed a lot of mixed messages so in many ways, was unpredictable, but he was the dad who taught me about hard work, loyalty and “stick-to-it-iveness” (his word), compassion and empathy for people who walk unique paths in life. Like me as an adopted kid, he knew all about having a non-conventional life path and how hard it was to fit in.

Then there was my father-in-law, Steve. I found it awkward to call him “Dad” because I already had a dad, and, well that loyalty thing, but man! He was a great guy! My father-in-law was gentlemanly, scholarly and had more integrity in his pinkie finger than most people have in their entire body. He had wit, loved boating, also revered his elders and heritage. He was patient organized and methodical, (at least on the outside), and also worked hard to provide for not only his immediate family but his mother and sister as well. Steve always had a plan.

Steve always had solutions and compromises which were realistic and well-thought out. I admired his stability and desire for tradition. If you compared Steve to a TV dad, he would be Ward Cleaver hands down, (burr haircut and all). He was one of the most steadfast people on this planet. Making you feel secure was his way of performing “Dad-Magic”. I miss the essence of soundness and “okayness” he evoked.

Then there was Gove, my birth father. I wish I knew him better, but time did not allow for that. We didn’t meet soon enough. He was fiercely patriotic and an avid news watcher on multiple channels, and it would have been interesting to learn what he thought about the current political situation in the US. I know he would have a solid opinion. There was no in between or namby-pamby area for him for many topics. When he took a side, he had his reasons and he held his ground. One meaningful lesson I learned from him was that even if you disagreed with a President’s decision, (especially about sending soldiers to a foreign land), you should ALWAYS support our troops. No exceptions. As a quintessential proud ‘Murican, he was once a part of the troops by choice, (US Navy) so he knew what he was talking about.

Gove also loved basketball, football, and baseball. He cheered for local pro and college teams. Another thing I learned from the guy I hardly knew was an appreciation for games as a whole, (even though I am not very athletic or knowledgeable on the ins and outs of most sporting events and rules). In Gove’s mind, sports games are intended to provide entertainment, unification of community and be a way for young people to use their talents and enrich their lives.  He saw sports as a way to provide opportunities for kids with few options. If someone overcame odds and had success at a game, for Gove this was “magic”.

He was all about having a well-deserved good time after hard-working day too. Watching and attending games was his reward. He believed that socializing and finding ways to share fun and happiness with other people were important parts of life. When it was time to get the job done, you worked your butt off, but when it was time to celebrate and partake, you should go all out for that as well.

Now, all of my fathers are in “Heaven”, and if these three fellows have any say about what happens in the Great beyond, the Afterlife has melodies ranging from the jazz of the Harlem Renaissance to modern country plus show tunes and Frank Sinatra singing “My Way”. There must be athleticism, sports cars, patriotism and everyone carrying on in a civil, organized way. If you get hungry in Heaven, you eat grilled hot dogs and chocolate fudge. You glide along waterways in sailboats or travel in classic cars, (because all three of these guys would say that Heaven is full of glistening, restored, immaculate automobiles.) My three “dads” would say that in Heaven everyone finds ways to agree even when they disagree and that you should celebrate happy events every chance you get and not put it off or exclude anyone. They would agree that time goes by fast and living life now is important.

Fathers’ Day is different now as an adult without earthly, older father figures. It’s a neutral day, neither joyous nor sad. My husband is a father, and we can always celebrate that fact. What I have instead are memories of past Fathers’ Days filled with hot dog and hamburger cookouts, kids throwing balls in the backyard, gift boxes containing short-sleeved shirts, tools or ties, hand-drawn cards with stick figures and the letter “p” in “Happy” written backwards, perhaps a day at the local swim club and a drive to the Dairy Whip stand, or Teddy’s favorite dessert: Boston Cream Pie or Steve’s preferred, Key Lime pie. (I never found out what Gove’s favorite dessert was.  : (  )

I miss my three dads every day, not just on one particular Sunday in June. I wish they could have seen my children graduate, marry and could have lived to become great-grandfathers, but all I can do is pass on their stories, wisdom, and lessons and let their spirits live on through our children and future grandchildren, (and anyone else with whom I share this article on the Internet.) I am proud to have known all three of my dads. Together their diverse messages remind me to work hard, play fair but have fun, eat well, appreciate the fringe benefits of life such as good music, shows, and games, drive safely, share stories, create more memories and always believe in Dad-Magic.

 

#adoption #adopted #adoptee #dad #father #fathersday #relationships #family #birthfamily #birthfather #biofather #holidays

Review of the Indiana Adoptee Network Conference, 2018:

The weekend was a whirlwind of many sights, people, and feelings in a very short time span. I’d never been to Indianapolis before. I’ve driven through it but never stopped…even for gas. So the first big mind-blow was the fact that I live only two hours east, but was totally new to the city and had a room at the Union Station Crowne Plaza in a converted train car!  They tell you when you check in that you will hear engines and feel rumbles on occasion throughout the facility, and do not fear an earthquake; it’s just the trains. Those front desk people were not kidding!  Sleeping was fine though.  No noise to speak of.

I had to work a full day on Friday, so I missed seeing the keynote speaker and the workshops, which was a bummer. However, I arrived in time for dinner and was immediately immersed in the meeting new people and learning names thing, which was fine. I was totally prepared for that. Lynn, Amy, Shannon, Lisa, Becky, Mike and I ordered pizza and got drinks at the bar. Then in the hall, we ran into Wendy and Pam plus one other guy I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ve seen him online in a FB adoptee group.

It’s a unique experience seeing the faces of all these people who stroll down our Facebook sidewalks all the time, (AKA your news feed), and actually getting to hug them or shake their real-life hand.

We’re all real!  Feeling “real” is a biggie for adopted people anyway, and being able to acknowledge other adopted people’s realness was a bonus. All of a sudden, here we were, exchanging stories about how we arrived in Indiana and how the first day went, eating pizza and walking around together. Wow!

Adoptee and playwright, Suzanne Bachner brought her one-woman show, “ The Good Adoptee” to stage for our evening entertainment. It was funny, articulate, engaging and very honest about her adoptee experience. The actress portraying Suzanne was excellent. How she basically monologued for 90+ minutes non-stop and did the voices for Suzanne, the parents and a social worker was incredible. The energy was impressive. The whole production was such a beautiful, thoughtful work of art.

Adoption or not, a ton of effort went into that show.

All the social connecting too was something I miss and need more of. It felt like being back at college going through the battery of where-are-you-from, do-you-have-siblings/kids/pets, What-do-you-study/work at type questions again. I don’t mind. It keeps my people skills honed.  I need more honing opportunities.

Even if you’re more of an introvert, times like these at conventions and conferences are as valuable as the workshops themselves. Adoptees crave feeling connected. Connecting with people just like ourselves is as big a deal as connecting with family members. Fellow adoptees are sort of like extended family members.

Saturday morning started with a  “continental breakfast” of sweet rolls and bagels. There was a small amount of fruit. Lots of white carbs. Low in protein. Many people commented that they would have liked some eggs or other warm offerings instead of all the bread products.  Nevertheless, everything I tasted was good.

The morning showing of the documentary film by Steve Lickteig, Open Secret, was fabulous. The cinematography, writing, and research were stellar. The film evoked a lot of emotion for the viewers. I’m 30 years out from search and reunion. It’s all less raw for me, but had I been newer to learning my truths and secrets I would have been much more impacted. I don’t know how filmmaker, Steve does/did it, reliving his family drama, his birth mother’s trauma, the gradual aging of the mom and dad who raised him…Again, Wow!  Open Secret is filled with emotion, artful cinematography and explains the plight of many birth mothers and the lasting effects that some secrets can cause to individuals and whole communities.

During lunch, we were randomly grouped by table number so it forced people to meet new folks. It also scrambled the adoptees, birth parents and social workers around, which, IMO was a good thing. The name game “getting-to-know-you” activity was the EXACT same one we did at my school’s in-service last week!  We had to discuss our names and any cool stories or feelings we had regarding the name we have.

Names play a tremendous part in an adopted person’s identity. Some of us may have two names. So while this name game icebreaker might seem simple, it is more complex for adoptees and causes us to reflect on a deeper level about the way we identify as human beings.

(I could write a super-huge, separate post about my name another time.)

During all these amazing, exciting and informative meetings and presentations, attendees get tired and sated. The material is that intense. Sometimes too it’s just the effect of being away from our norm and off routine that causes the fatigue. The anticipation of the weekend is an adrenaline rush, especially for those boarding planes or driving long distances. Like many adventures, we’re pumped up and ready to go initially. By the closing session our energy is dropping and refocusing on returning to our other lives as workers, parents, volunteers, caregivers and anything else we do besides acknowledging our adoptedness. We are flooded with feelings and beliefs we’ve often kept silent about our whole lives, but in our spacious safe place of a hotel and conference center, where other hard-working people make our beds, feed us lunch, take away our old drink cups and provide water and coffee all day, we find freedom to share our stories and opinions. As adoptees in the outside world, we must work to find a way to keep our awakened thoughts validated and existent while continuing on with regular life of the home, work, school, chores, errands and scrolling down the social media sidewalks, reminding ourselves that adoption support, kinship, and connectedness are out there.

The IAN conference was a fun, enlightening and celebratory event that went way too quickly. It was good to be immersed for a brief time in just myself as an adoptee; not as a wife, daughter, mom, employee, teacher or anything else. I was able to put Adoptee Me first. During the presentation that Lynn and I did together, I blended Adoptee and Teacher Me. It’s what I wanted to do and needed. I enjoyed being Adoptee Me.  Adoptee Me is the first version of me that ever existed. Adoptee Me deserved this time, and Adoptee Me can’t wait to go back next year!

Powerpoint of You Have Your OBC, Now What?

Thanks to Lynn Grubb for all the hard work making this such a fine presentation!

IAN Powerpoint Version 3 4.7.18

My Birthday as an Adoptee

I’m the weirdo of the adoptee world, but I’m going to say it anyway. I like my birthday. I liked it as a kid, and I still like it as an adult. So far, aging doesn’t bother me. (Ask again in five years, and I may tell you something different!)

As a little kid, I got toys, clothes, and dinner out. I was allowed to choose the venue, within reason. My favorite type of cake was, (and still is), spice cake with caramel icing. Sometimes Mom bought some Duncan Hines mix and a box of Jiffy icing and whipped one up. Sometimes she ordered from a local bakeshop called Barton’s. It was a little mom-and-pop shop, and everything they sold was heavenly. The ladies who worked in there wore white uniforms, hairnets and gave kids free cookies.

My adoptive family did such a great job of celebrating the day I was born, that the only people I felt bad for were people whose birthday hit super-close to Christmas. Now that was a rip-off, as we used to say.

As an adult, I know more. I am mature and educated. It’s not all about parties, cake and gimme! gimme! gimme! (Spice cake is nice though. Not gonna lie.)

In 1987, I searched for my birth family. When I found my biological mother’s birth date in the documents sent to me, I realized that her birth date was only two weeks after mine. This information made me realize that she should have still been pregnant on her birthday, however, since I came six or seven weeks early, by the time her birthday happened, she was two weeks post-partum. Turning 20 must have been awful for her.

While searching, I had time to reflect on how March 23rd could have been one of the worst days of her life, knowing she had to literally part with me many weeks sooner than she was prepared for.

The newspaper from my birth year said heavy rain was expected on March 23rd, and the temperature was about 56 degrees. I picture a now vintage vehicle sloshing down busy streets, carrying my birth mother off to the emergency room at the hospital.

I can only imagine that she possibly left work feeling not right only to realize that the baby was coming. If it was that bad, maybe someone called an ambulance. Perhaps a friend took her to the hospital. Maybe her father or one of her aunties drove. Maybe no one was around who could help, (which was the issue in the first place), and she had to catch a bus downtown all alone while having contractions too soon.

I envision the ER doctor as a young resident working in what today is known as University Hospital, tending to whatever crisis came through the doors, not necessarily a labor and delivery specialist. (I’ve since Googled his name being that it was on my OBC. He’s still living, 87 years old and was a general surgeon; looks like a nice man.) I should write him a letter some day. He did a good job on the 23rd of March.

So while my birthday has always been a positive day for me, (I’m alive and OK in spite of being born early, underweight and in an era when there were fewer resources for even the best medical professionals), it had to be quite rough for my birth mother, who was deceased by the time I found her.

If I had extra money lying around, I would be curious to try hypnosis to see if I could be taken back to that day. I would do it, although it might be painful. I know many things, but I do not have a recorded birth length or time of day. I have no idea if my birth mother was awake or knocked out for delivery. Those details would be nice as well as be normalizing.

One golden piece of information I did find out when I searched for my birth mother is this: She once worked for Barton’s Bakery; that same bakery where my adoptive mom frequented. She probably gave me free cookies. She probably made a birthday cake or two for me, (but wouldn’t have known it). My sister has a photo of her working in that store.

So back to my birthday and how I feel about it. I am aware of many truths, but I am not sad. I have respect for what my birth mother endured, but I do not dread the day. I wish I could have heard her side of the story regarding my birth, but I cannot.

Still, my birthday is my day. I don’t cook. If it’s a workday, my co-workers whoop it up for me. I get sung to, which is embarrassing, but I just wait till it’s the next person’s birthday. I pick which movie we see or be Queen of the TV if we stay home. I sip wine.

Had I not been premature, I should have been born around May 15th, (however I do not have an official would-be due date.) Maybe I would have come on Mothers’ Day. That’s ironic, and I’m kinda glad that did not happen because my birth date would have been a bazillion times worse for my birth mother had that occurred. I’ve never wished her wrong or been mad at her.

Many adoptees associate their birth date with a loss. For me, my birthday is an OK day. Maybe it’s because the day when I joined the world was not the day people assumed I’d be born on. I’m good at catching people off-guard. My day is my own. I came on my own terms. Then, hard working and vigilant professionals kept watch over me in an incubator for a month. I came soon after the first day of spring, and when I was released from the hospital, summer was just around the corner.

I cannot be sad about that.

 

 

 

 

 

The “She loved you so much…” Line

Within a few minutes this morning, I came across two posts about the same thing. I take this as a sign. Both posts were about the old adoption cliche’ which goes as follows: “She, (your birth mother), loved you so much she gave you to another mom and dad…”.  Probably most of us as adoptees were told variations of this sentence back in the day with the intention of reassuring and comforting us.  It might have even worked when we were very small.

Then we grew up and began to process what was told to us in more mature and educated ways.

How can this be? Who loves a baby enough to relinquish it? Why was I really adopted? What happened?

What most of us as adoptees think now is that the “She loved you so much…” line is no longer an appropriate thing to say to an adopted person, especially an older adoptee who is trying to make sense of what happened years ago. Being relinquished and placed with another family is a big deal, and it is normal to wonder what in the world occurred. Good or bad, it was a part of our lives. It IS our business.

Here’s why it’s not appropriate any longer to use the “She loved you so much…” line:

1- It sounds like and is a fantasy story. If we were not consciously aware at the time, we honestly don’t know what would cause a birth mother to make a certain choice. It could have been in part out of love, but there was probably a multitude of reasons for why she did what she did.

Saying anything like the “She loved you so much…” line is putting words into the biological mother’s mouth. It takes away respect for someone who is unable to speak for herself. Adoptees, as well, do not like people speaking out for us, especially if they are not a fellow adoptee. Why would a birth parent want someone to speak and make assumptions about them?

2- The “She loved you so much…” line is often invalidating to the adopted person’s feelings. It’s a sentence intended to shut them down and convince adoptees to not question the past. When adoptees hear this, in particular from non-adoptees who are friends, adoptive family members or any authority figure, we feel as though we do not have the right to wonder or speak our minds, and if we do, we run the risk of destroying the relationships we do have.

Believe me, not destroying relationships is the last thing we want to do since we adoptees understand that one (or two) very critical relationship(s) was severed from the get-go, and we do not want to experience this again just for being ourselves.

Instead of the antiquated response, how about saying :

1- “I don’t know why it happened.” if you really don’t know why because you did not speak to a direct source, (the biological mother), you honestly do not know, and it’s OK, to be honest about not knowing.

No birth mother would really give up a baby without a super-damn good reason. Since we do not know that reason, we should not judge or speak for someone else.

2- “It’s fine if you want to share  what you do know or remember.” This is reassuring and opens a door for fair and honest communication.

3- Depending on the era in history when the adoption took place, this is a good response: “Lots of things were probably out of her control, especially if she was underage.” It shows compassion for the birth mother’s situation and does not take away from the adopted person’s feelings and ideas.

How can we as adopted people respond if a listener chooses to use the old-school response?

1- If they are much older than we are, understand that they come from a different era, and that is the only response they know. It will be difficult to change someone else’s mindset if they are unwilling to change and see another point of view.

2- You could say, “I believe there is more than that to my story and since it is my life I would like to know more.” This does not tell the other person that they are wrong. It adds to the conversation and steers it in a more favorable way for you.

3- Ask, “How would you feel if someone you thought you knew pretty well, suddenly exited your life without explanation? (This is the best comparison I could think of in the moment.) Wouldn’t you care enough to want to know why they went away and if they are alright? Wouldn’t you be just a little curious or concerned?” This question shows compassion for others and shows that your motives are not entirely selfish.

It’s a challenge and always will be to find ways to enlighten non-adopted folks about our inner lives. The other way to enlighten others is to reach out to younger generations of people exploring societal topics. We are all entitled to our own opinions ultimately, but no one should have to accept invalidation for what we feel.

 

Featured in Memoir Writer’s Journey

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What is “The Fog” Anyway?

inspired by a question I saw in an online adoption group:

 

“Coming out of The Fog” is, in part, realizing the impact that a bunch of new-found information or feelings have had and still have on you. It is understanding that adoption, your own and others’ is not a simple, single, scripted story.

Exiting from The Fog is sort of an “ah-hah!” moment in that you figure out truths you might not have considered before. It doesn’t just occur on one day. Sometimes it’s a slow reveal over time or you have a moment when you think you get it, but something new pops up, (due to what we commonly call a “trigger”), and there you go again pondering and processing once more.

While in The Fog, you might feel that regarding adoption, you have no problems with it, and neither does anyone else. Out of The Fog means you have a greater insight and awareness of your problems / concerns / feelings about adoption and the fact that other people feel in these ways as well. Also, “out of The Fog” means that you might not have all positive and endearing attitudes toward your personal adoption experience any longer nor toward the industry as a whole.

Emerging from the nebula is more intense for some people than for others. People with great childhoods can have a more heightened “unfogging” because they become critically aware of their good fortune in contrast to the suffering and level of loss experienced by others in the adoption community. It may sadden them either temporarily or forever. Hopefully with a good support system of friends or loved ones in real life, and or online, the sensations of morose or anger will be temporary.

I personally believe you can feel both grateful and joyful for the life you got with adoptive parents and still have compassion, grief, anger, etc for what you did not get to experience and for whom you did not get to meet. Once away from The Fog, you can empathize with other adoptees with diverse stories in a way you could never do prior.

When you are out of The Fog you see adoption not just through the stories and beliefs of your adoptive parents or the documentation provided by your agency, church, state or what have you. Out of The Fog is a step toward finding out who you really are as an independent, functioning human being.

The Fog is a protective barrier like glass block windows. Like those thick, strong chunks of chamfered material, The Fog can insulate you from feelings and information which might penetrate and threaten your security. The Fog has the power to alter what you perceive as reality. Having no fog may feel frightening at first and as though you’re exposed to the elements because without The Fog you have different boundaries and new freedoms to critically think and explore your beliefs on your own terms.

Freedom from an opaque point of view takes time. It might feel shocking initially, and no adoptee should ever be criticized or belittled for not fully understanding. Leaving The Fog is a process. Sensory overload will backfire. Everyone works at their own speed. Remember too that some adoptees can become unfogged and maintain similar opinions anyway. This is fine, but at least they have awareness and the educational tools to cope, accept and forage ahead in their adoptee journey.

Review of Adoptee documentary, WHO AM I?

We can never have too many first-hand accounts when reporting and sharing adoptee truths.

Filmmaker, Joey Ashbridge created a masterpiece in the adoptee world when he filmed and produced Who Am I? in 2015. It is about his experience of being an adoptee and acquiring his Original Birth Certificate and associated documents from the state of Ohio when OH opened their records in 2015.

Joey is personable, humorous and real. If you watch his film, you will journey with him as he pre-processes what being adopted has been like for him and what his biological family members might also have processed throughout the years prior to attending Ohio’s “Opening Day” ceremonies and convention in March of 2015. He addresses his situation in a caring and sensitive way.

Ashbridge also shares his experience in the moment of receiving his 23 and Me DNA test results while waiting for his OBC to arrive. For an adopted person who knows nothing about his or her actual heritage, this information is invaluable. Ashbridge muddles through bureaucratic red tape and angst while enduring the waiting process.

Viewers have the opportunity to watch an adoptee, (Ashbridge), open his OBC on camera and experience what it is like to finally have one’s actual, personal adoption facts revealed. It’s emotional, intense and completely honest. Next, we follow Ashbridge to various locations as he seeks background information and ultimately connects with some of his biological family members.

Ashbridge handles his new found knowledge and relationships with compassion and respect. His film is a great and realistic example of how to conduct a successful search and reunion in the digital age. He’s made his work available to all via YouTube so please take advantage of the adoptee documentary, Who Am I? when considering materials to study and prepare with during a search and reunion process.

Link to the film on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dg2K6NszSTs

My Article in Carrie Goldman’s Column, Portrait of an Adoption

http://www.chicagonow.com/portrait-of-an-adoption/2017/11/what-adoption-means-to-me-2/

Adoptism-Brain: It’s real!

I have a mental condition called “Adoptism-Brain”.

Oh, you’ve not heard of it before? Allow me to share.

It occurs when you are an adopted person, and you think about being an adoptee a lot, and you know you have two names and two sets of family out there. It’s when you are painfully aware that you are not enough like your adoptive family, even on the best of days, and even when you wish you could be more like them.

It’s when you look like your birth family members, but there’s still a ton of missing information because separation for so long causes this. It’s like looking at a censored document with key words blocked out of the paper, or at one of those pixelated pictures of someone naked. So you know some stuff, but you can’t know everything because you didn’t get to experience a past together or see all these people face-to-face. Adoptism-Brain makes you think and see the world in a different way from non-adopted people.

It’s part science and part psychology. When you are exposed to limited stimuli, (in my case: visuals, audio, touch, and scent of the biological family) you grow up missing something. Instead, (in my case again), I was provided with substitute stimuli. It met my basic needs, but…

My adoptive family was pretty darn great. I will not deny this. I had all the stuff a baby/growing kid could ever want and need, including loving grandparents, summer vacations to Florida, a red Huffy bike at Christmas and a big, loving Boxer dog with droopy jowls and a thick, furry neck I could throw my arms around to hug tightly.

It’s not that I lacked decent stimuli, (after I was placed). It was that I lacked authenticity. The message conveyed by my parents and society at large was conflicting to the lesson adults also taught me, which was to always be truthful. The Institutions in Authority back in the Baby-Scoop Days fully believed that accepting substitutes and false / hidden facts was OK. That was the thinking back then. I don’t blame my mom and dad. They were raised to not question authority.

The problem was, (and still is for so many), that it’s confusing and not that simple. It’s not OK. Fake news is not OK because it messes with your head. It makes your mind work to constantly adapt to and work around all the missing sensations and details to find a wholeness in your identity.

Adoptism-Brain makes you function differently from other people.

Adoptism-Brain made my brain do flip-flops while trying to learn in school because I had this one extra layer of personal information to process that no one else had to deal with.

Adoptism-Brain made me incapable of noticing little things like when someone in my family would say, “Oh, look at that pretty blue bird over there”, and everyone else would turn to see it and go, “Oooh-ahhh” at the birdie, except for me who would be saying, “Where, what bird?” because I had more important things to stay watchful for.

Likewise, this condition might have caused me to unintentionally miss a detail of information you’ve verbally shared because my thoughts are also constantly split between what is actually going on in the present world and what might have happened concerning some very significant people from my first past. I will never stop wondering about the real story of how I came to be.

Adoptism-Brain makes me wary. It makes me question what is true and right.  It gives me a deep distrust of symbolic talk and superficial behaviors.  I want your exact words and for you to only say what you mean. No BS-ing.

I’m not a scientist or a doctor. Still, it is true that my brain is not wired like a non-adopted person’s brain. I know this is a fact because I live it and observe it every day with all people I interact with. I also know that without a bigger reason, no one will just freely offer up CT scans MRIs or EEGs to find proof just because you’re an adoptee. Those tests cost a fortune, and folks in immediate life-threatening situations need to access that level of care first.

Our brains work funky in ways that can’t be quantified in a traditional, methodical way, ( at this time), which is why it’s such a challenge to convince the academic community that Adoptism-Brain is a thing. Believe me. It’s a real thing.

If cancer patients can experience “ Chemo-Brain”, ( which appears to be a real thing but hard to quantify), then it’s also possible for the adopted to experience Adoptism-Brain. Right?

The thing now is, what do we do about it? Can we make Adoptism-Brain go away? I can only share that finding out as much truth as I possibly could is the thing that helped me the most. Today I know what my reality is and what might have been. It’s not a matter of finding better or worse. It’s a matter of knowing.

Just knowing.