There are plenty of things that pop up in the day to day existence of an adoptee that are triggering (not unlike PTSD responses), but personally, one of the more emotionally charged triggers is discovering the intent to adopt among friends and family.
I'm frequently asked if I'm anti-adoption. And somewhere between clenching my jaw and resisting the urge to reach over and smack the challenger's smug smile off their face, I calmly answer, "of course not." I don't believe that being strictly anti-adoption is realistic as a broad spread position. Of course there are circumstances where children are truly orphaned. There are 400,00 children in the foster care system - 100,000 of those are eligible for permanent placement through adoption - and they should be placed. That being said, what I am is anti supply and demand of babies. I am anti coercion of birth mothers and fathers. I am anti societal stigma which subtly forces women to relinquish when relinquishment would otherwise never be considered. And perhaps most passionately, I am anti-adoption ignorance.
"Thank you, and we're prepared," was the gifted advisory reply, spoken by one ignorant party to another when one lamented that upon publicly announcing her desire to adopt she was met with concerned resistance (feigned or otherwise). Listed among these comments of concern were: "adopted children have issues", "an adopted child would throw off the balance in your biological family" - and my personal favorite, "you don't know what you're getting into." You're damn right you don't know what you're getting into.
The most unfortunate part of this entire encounter is the not-yet-adopted child who is already suffering at the hand of each well meaning voice in the conversation. And that child is what triggers the most deep rooted, sickening anxiety in me. I am the adopted child/adult with "issues". I am the adopted child/adult who throws off the balance in my adoptive family. I am the full-grown result of an adoptee being raised by ignorant adoptive parents. And I am every adoptive parent's worst nightmare.
Upon my second arrival into a mother's arms, I was already five weeks old and suffering greatly as a result of the Primal Wound. I refused to take a bottle - something that my family remembers and attributes to being strong-willed - which is more widely understood now as being a PTSD-like reaction of numbness.
Following the cues of my adoptive parents, talking about my birth family and my adoption were subjects that were better left undiscussed. More than undiscussed, they were buried deep and cemented over. An unwillingness to address their own infertility issues transferred to an unwillingness to acknowledge that I came from anywhere else. As far as they were concerned (I say 'were' because reuniting with my birth family has forced them to budge somewhat on this subject) I didn't exist before the airport pass-off. Never mind the five weeks of limbo between my birth and adoption.
I've confessed before that I was eight years old the first time I tried to end my own life. Two years shy of a decade on this earth and I was already tired. I was already worn down by feeling like an intruder - an imposter - in my own family. Beyond physical differences and appearance, I thought differently, I spoke differently, I laughed differently. I felt like I had no foundation, like I was floating through life with no purpose of direction. While my eight year old self's attempt was weak at best, the desire didn't go away. That was something I struggled deeply with well into my college years. It's something I still have to fight, daily. It's something that anti-depressants can't cure - because it's not a chemical imbalance. It's an existential imbalance. Suicide rates in adopted adolescents are higher than in non adopted adolescents. There's something to that. Why aren't we paying more attention to that?
I firmly believe that all of this could have been avoided by a willingness to openly talk about adoption - and the fact that it is a traumatic experience. If nothing else, it could have saved an eight year old from feeling hopeless enough to end her life.
Regardless of the adoptee's experience growing up, whether or not their adoptive families were open and supportive and informed - the loss of one's mother is trauma. If that was more widely understood and accepted by adoptive families, the potential for healing is exponentially greater. Existing - especially as an adolescent - as a product of two worlds, with two identities and two realities - is a challenge. And it's a challenge that adoptive parents should be ready for.
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