Ghosts in the Machine
Someone once said “giving birth does not make a mother. Placing a child for adoption does not make her less of one”. That statement resonates so much with me.
It’s no secret to those that know me that I was adopted as a baby at 6 weeks old. It was never kept a secret from me as I grew up. Both myself and my brother (who is also adopted) were always told we were “special gifts who were so very wanted & loved” by 2 parents who tried and failed for many years to have children of their own before we came along.
However, despite this, I have worked out that a lot of my insecurity & attachment style now stems from being adopted. I am working on this. It’s hard but it’s working slowly.
I have many conflicting thoughts about my birth mother. They range from anger and a lot of tears at being given up in the first place. Then they flip to empathy for a young girl who found herself terrified, alone and pregnant at the age of 18. What would I have done back in the late ’60s when unmarried mothers were not accepted? Many women were pressurised into giving up their babies. Or did she make a conscious well thought out decision? Then my thoughts flip back to the trauma for both of us. Trauma is a strong word, I know that, but I also realise that this scared young girl grew me in her womb for 9 months. Then she had to go through with giving birth to me. Then oh so quickly had to say goodbye to me and give me up. That for me has caused me some trauma. We had a bond, a connection that was ripped away from both of us.
Now you could sit there and argue what would I know about those 9 months? And you would be right to think that. On a conscious level, I don’t remember it at all. However there has been a ton of research carried out on the effect of fetal trauma and having spent some time sifting through it, the evidence is compelling. You ARE affected by it.
I have different thoughts towards my biological father. I was told he wasn’t interested in supporting my mother and “ran away”. Whatever the caliber of the man, it breaks my heart a little that he wasn’t brave enough to stand up for her. It also strikes me how often we assume the father is of less importance than the mother. I don’t know what he went through, he was young. But nevertheless, it leaves me feeling a little sad.
I have often felt throughout my life that I was “not good enough”. If you aren’t adopted I don’t expect you to fully understand where I am coming from. But if you have been you will get it. Adoption is a wonderful thing, you are giving unwanted children a second chance at life. But there lies the ugly word “unwanted”. Why was I unwanted? Or was I wanted but the situation made that impossible? If they didn’t want me how could anybody else want me? There must have been something wrong with me?
This kind of question has caused me a lot of negative self-doubt throughout my life. I’m addressing that now. I wasn’t fully aware of it until I was plunged into Peri-Menopause (another story for another time!), which threw a whole hotbed of feelings and emotions at me like a truck.
I am challenging the self-doubt now and realising slowly that whether I was unwanted or wanted, I have to wipe those feelings away and move forward. Knowing I did not do anything wrong, I was just an innocent baby, I was and I am good enough.
When someone asks me what being adopted is like I can only explain it in one way. It’s like walking into the start of a film or a play or missing the first chapter of a book. You have a little piece of your identity missing and that’s something you have to come to terms with because you will never get it back.
When I was born my mother gave me a teddy bear. What sticks with me now is nobody does that if they don’t care about someone surely? Another conflicting thought. But I still have the bear. It gives me a tiny emotional connection to the ghost of her. But it also serves as a reminder to me that sometimes people have to make incredibly difficult, selfless, and heartbreaking decisions for the good of their children. And for that, I will always be grateful. They may be ghosts but they are my ghosts. I inherited that from them and they will always walk with me. But all I have is now and the future and I have to close some doors because they no longer lead me anywhere. It’s time to write a new story.
