This shot was taken during a visit with some of my adoptive relatives. With some, it was the last time I ever saw them, and this image is nearly four decades old.
When I wrote my memoir on the U.S. adoption experience and my family story, I knew that I would have few fans among my adoptive and biological family members.
In fact, I wrote this in the introduction to my memoir, You Don’t Know How Lucky You Are: “Some families may feel aggrieved by an adoptee sharing family tales. Some may feel deep anger. Adoptees risk harming those relations by helping others know about this experience that touches nearly all Americans through their personal, work, and community relations. Adoptees know they could disrupt their family ties forever.”
A year after I self-published my book, I learned that more people in my family network had read my book than I had thought. Some did not tell me they had until I learned by accident in unrelated communications. Of those who read it, none have genuinely reached out to me to discuss it, except two cousins, on either side of my adoptive families. I am happy for these conversations.
One likely barrier is my history with my extended adopted family. Some of us never really communicated for decades. In my book I explain how not being biologically related as distal kin is a major factor why there is this undeniable communications gap. My book makes this point, and none have reached out to explore this with me.
My adoptive father’s many failures, as a father and more, is another complicating factor. He was an alcoholic, and I only briefly touch on how that addiction forever shaped my family’s history and my life in ways I still think about on those dark, cloudy days. His very existence represents a shameful family secret, not to mention what he did as a husband and father.
From those who read my book, I did not receive any words of support about issues I addressed, such as the immorality of state laws and adoption systems that hide people’s identity. It is as if the issues I made clear at the individual and societal level did not matter, even when they had this true-life story connected to them personally. I never heard one communication that showed empathy.
By contrast, I have received many thoughtful comments from readers, who are strangers and who I have known throughout my life. Their words have been reassuring that the story I wrote touched on themes that are universal to the human experience.
In the end, the mostly cold shrug I received from my adoptive and even my biological family networks has made me all the more happy I wrote my book. And maybe my story will really only will connect with adoptees and just those who see them as equal persons in the eyes of the law.
(Author note: My memoir does not mention any family member by first or last name, nor do I provide any clues that might reveal their identities.)
I let a bio family member read my blog. It did not go well. There was no support or understanding at all. I know exactly what you are writing about.
I had just found my son of 53 years following a search on Ancestry.com. Your blog was very helpful for both me and my son. It spoke to the darkness of Crittenden maternity home and the shame that came with “illegitimate childbirth”. After my son learned more about your history, which was similar to his, we have gone on to develop our own relationship and I helped him contact his biological father. I was only 14 years old when he was born, and I did not want to give him up for adoption. It has been a long heartbreaking road. Both of my other children have always known about him and promised to help find him. His adoptive parents are elderly and live out of the country, which it has led to our continued growth as a family. He was raised differently, but ultimately I see a lot of both me and his birth father in him. Rudy, feel free to edit any of this if you want to use it.
Stephanie, I’m glad you found my writing and that it meant something to you. It was great to read how stories can connect us all. Thanks so much for sharing your story with me.