Searching for Hope

I was born in Feidong, Hefei, Anhui Province of China.

My exact age is unknown, but I was a newborn when I entered the orphanage. I was in an orphanage/foster care until I was adopted at 14 months old.

My orphanage was called the Hefei Social Welfare Institute. I don't remember what it was like, as I was an infant at the time.

I was lucky enough to be placed with a foster family until I was adopted. The couple who fostered me was very nice; I met them again two years ago when I went back to China on a heritage tour.  

It was an amazing tour as I was able to meet other adoptees with similar questions. For once, I felt normal. It was awesome. Meeting my foster parents was interesting. They knew me and I had no connection to them. I felt like an animal in a cage being looked at. But, at the same time, it was reassuring to know I was loved. 

I was adopted on July 27th, 1999.

I’ve lived in Kenosha, Wisconsin majority of my life.

I am an only child. It always bothered me because I wanted siblings, but I made it work.

I grew up in a household where my mom was the "bread winner" and my dad was unemployed. My mom and I have always been best friends, but my dad and I haven't had a good relationship since middle school. We’re just very different people.

I have no information regarding my birth parents at the moment. However, I am trying to look for them. Searching for my birth parents gives me hope. 

Growing up, I struggled with feeling as if my birth parents didn't want me, that they didn't love me. I felt different compared to everyone else around me.

As I got older, I started to read more about adoption, which helped me better understand that my birth parents abandoned me due to government related issues.

Now, I know that my birth parents loved me and most likely think about me still.

Sharing my story is important because I believe people need to know more about adoption. It's not as negative as some people think it is.

A Wounded Soul Soars

In my 32 years of existence, I thought I was the only one experiencing these feelings of alienation and loss.

The grief can be unbearable, and I want other adoptees to know that they are not alone.

I was born in Sungnam City, South Korea, and given up the day after my birth in the winter of 1985. I was placed in a foster home, arranged by Holt Adoption Agency in Sungnam City and was cared for by a woman named Mrs. Han, Jeom Soon. I stayed with her for exactly three months until my adoption was finalized.

In May of 1985, I was placed with my adoptive family in Beaverton, Oregon, a suburb just outside of Portland. My adoptive parents are Caucasians who had three biological sons before adopting me. They wanted another child—specifically, a girl—as my adoptive mom was unable to have more children of her own.

I grew up with a great deal of love and kindness, and had a very happy childhood. However, when I reached my teenage years, the effects of being adopted started to take a toll on me.

Being adopted had never meant that I looked different.

It all started at our school. Kids would comment on my ethnicity and point out the differences. I hated being known as the "adopted Asian kid" at school.

I just wanted to blend in, be "normal," unnoticed. Issues of rejection, abandonment, and loss started to surface. I was angry, depressed, and lonely.

Since then, I’ve spent the majority of my life feeling that I had to prove myself to others.

I had a constant feeling that I was always second best. I've struggled with depression, feelings of insecurity, and the loss of connection and relationship with my Korean family.

I've worked on myself with the help of an amazing counselor who had experience with other adoptees. It has been a long journey of self-acceptance, forgiveness, and challenges.

Now, I’ve shed the broken shell of myself, and accept the love and support from those around me.

It has taken me a long time to get to this point of healing and contentment. It is not easy for a wounded soul, such as an adoptee.

I recognize that I would have never been allowed the opportunities I've been given if I had grown up in poverty. My adoptive parents built a sustainable life for me, and I’ve been able to rise above the hand I was dealt. I've been able to pursue higher education, relationships of my choice, and travel around the world.

Recently, I got in touch with my birth parents and family in Korea. On December 8th, 2016 I found out that my Korean family had received my letter searching for them. Since then, we have exchanged several e-mails and letters via mail weekly. I will be traveling to Korea in a few weeks to go meet with them.

My goals for this year include:

• Successfully start at a new university

• Find a new job related to my major

• Continue working on staying fit

• Continue building and growing my new relationship with my Korean family

Don’t let anything hold you back from pursuing your dreams.

No Man Is An Island

I met my birth mother in January 2017.

It was hard.

Based on what I was told, she was raped at 15 and never wanted to give me away.

She was worried that what had happened to her, would also happen to me.

Before knowing this, rejection was my biggest challenge. I always thought that my mother could have kept me. I always questioned, “Was it truly that hard to keep me?”

This is what I thought as I grew up in a Christian household in Charlotte, North Carolina.

I was adopted through foster care one month after my birth.

Every Wednesday and Sunday, we would attend Christian church and school. In fact, all of my friends went to one of two places: Christian school or church.

Dad woke me up every morning singing, "Rise and shine and give God the glory, glory."

We prayed before every meal—even at restaurants.

My mom had an odd strict side. I wasn't allowed to wear a two-piece swimsuit until my freshman year of high school. PG-13 movies came way after my 17th birthday. She was always the one that put down the law.

I was surprised when I found out that my adoptive mom and birth mom wrote letters back and forth to each other. Supposedly, they couldn’t mail them directly to each other, so The Children's Home Society would pass them along.

Sharing my story is important, as it’s a constant reminder that we are not alone. I never realized how many of us there are. There is a community that is being developed.

No man is an island.

No Better Family

I was born in Guangdong, province of China.

I don't know any of the circumstances regarding my birth, only that I was found and brought to an orphanage at a young age.

I stayed there for ten months with the rest of my Chinese “sisters” until I was adopted on April 15th, 2001. My family and I celebrate it every year as my "Gotcha Day."

At the time of my adoption, I knew nothing about my adoptive family. But, I could not have asked for a better family. My adoptive family has helped me reach my full potential and I can't thank them enough for that.

I am fortunate for being able to create a strong bond with them. They always were and always will be my parents. Not my “adoptive parents”, just my parents. Over the years, we’ve had some challenging moments, but they have always met me with unrelenting love and support—even when I was an unruly young teenager.

I don’t identify myself as an American nor Chinese. Though my parents helped me grow and embrace my Chinese roots by taking me to events that were for Chinese adoptees.

However, some of those events made me feel out of place.

It didn’t help that I had to deal with racism over the years, whether it was from someone who meant it as a vicious attack or a joke.

To this day, I still feel traces of not belonging, but I am getting better about feeling more at home in my mixed Chinese American identity.

I know nothing about my birth parents.

I am constantly asked the question, "Do you want to meet your birth parents?"

It frustrates me when I hear it, even though I have been asked numerous times, but my answer will always be the same.

I have no bad feelings toward them for giving me up, as I know that it was due to the one-child policy under which I was born.

I don't believe I will be actively searching for them.

After looking at the circumstances surrounding my birth, I realize how fortunate I have been to be adopted. Had I not been adopted, I would have lived a life of poverty, farming, and little education with limited room for horizontal or vertical mobility.

I want to let other adoptees know that they are not alone. There are others who share similar stories or struggles.

Know that you always have someone out there to talk to.

My Tribe

My name is Exie Marie Melendez.

My message about adoption is a mixed one: adoption broke my family, but it also saved me.

Both of my biological parents were born and raised in abusive households in Puerto Rico. They met at a drug rehab center, fell in love and moved to the Bronx to escape their lives. I was born in April 1976, in the Bronx, NY—addicted to cocaine and methadone.

I’ll start with my birth mother’s story, as it leads directly to mine.

My birth mother and her siblings were abandoned when they were babies. She was the oldest of all. At four years old, her mother left all of them with their abusive father.

He constantly beat my mother and her siblings.

He, along with some of his friends also raped her.

By the time she was 17, she had two children from an older man she had met. It was then she had met my father, with whom she had three more children.

During my adoption, she met another man and had two more children.

During all of this, my mother's siblings were searching for her. In 1982, my mother passed away at 28 years old. It is believed that she died from pneumonia, caught after my younger sister’s father beat her and left her out in the cold, naked.

My adoptive parents renamed me to Marie. Exie was a very uncommon name, which is why my adoptive parents were terrified that my biological father would act on his threat to find and kidnap me.

From what I was told by my adoptive mother, I was taken away from my parents, but they were given a chance to get their act together. During that time, I was my adoptive parents’ foster child.

My biological parents saw me up until I was eight months old, then my mother stopped coming to see me. She said, “How can I take care of a baby if I can't even help myself?” I continued to live with my foster parents.

At the age of three, there was a custody battle between my foster parents and my biological father. I remember being brought into the courtroom and asked whom I wanted to live with. I was scared as I answered, “My mommy and daddy” (my adoptive parents). I didn't know anyone else. My adoption was finalized on December 30th, 1981.

It was May 2015, when I decided I needed to find my biological family. I called the agency where my adoption took place and, by the grace of God, my guardian angel (in the form of a social worker) helped me. She gave me all of my information, including the names of my birth parents, three older siblings, and the dates of when they were all born.

I now knew that my older half-sister was also given up for adoption and that my two older full siblings (brother and sister) started out in an orphanage. It was a place that my biological father often visited.

When he noticed that my siblings were being abused, he took matters into his own hands. He regained custody of both of them and brought them to Puerto Rico where they were raised by my grandparents.

My adoptive parents had refused to tell me anything regarding my father, except that he was a “monster” as he kidnapped his other children and threatened to kidnap me. I think they tried to instill fear into me, so I wouldn't ask about him anymore. It did just the opposite. I didn't see him as a monster. I saw him as my father who loved his children and wanted them.

On Friday, May 29, 2015, I found my older half-sister and numerous family members, as well as other siblings I had no idea existed. My sister’s Facebook page was inactive for over a year, but my search angel (social worker) found my sister’s son on Facebook. I messaged him and asked if his mother was adopted. He immediately knew who I was and told me that my mother was Iris Melendez. He kept saying, “OMG, you found us. We've been looking for you.”

I asked him to call me. When he did, he explained that I had a younger half sister who I had no idea about, that she had found the family five years earlier. The family had no idea I existed until they found my older brother and sister, who remembered me. They said that growing up; I was always mentioned in my grandparents’ home in Puerto Rico. They even had a picture of me as a baby.

In August, I met my older full sister. She came from Puerto Rico to meet me. It was the most overwhelming/exciting experience of my life.

While driving to the airport, my anxiety was the highest it has ever been. I was shaking. We ran toward each other, hugged, and cried for what seemed like an eternity.

She spent two weeks with me at my home. We had plenty of time to talk, and further develop our bond. I finally found my tribe.

She told me everything she knew about our father and mother. She didn't remember much about our mother since she left after I was born. But, she was able to share stories about our father who she loved very much. She remembered him as being such a loving man who truly did love all of his children.

Then, she told me something that broke me. She said that my father had tried to stay clean, but losing me destroyed him. He began to use drugs again, and in 1989 he died from AIDS. He had three children with my mother, including a son from another woman and myself.

I am truly happy to be reunited with my family of origin. I now live in New Jersey surrounded by my biological family.

Voiceless Minority

I was born in Russia.

A week or two after my birth I was placed in an orphanage.

I don’t remember much of my time at the orphanage, but I know that if I hadn’t been adopted, I would have been there all my life.

In 1999, an Irish couple adopted me.

I’ve had many challenges that I had to overcome since being adopted. I had a difficult time blending in and realizing that I was different.

Being adopted made me respect all adoptees and birth parents. Adoptees and birth parents go through a lot, but still, manage to live their lives.

To date, I have successfully found my birth family and am waiting to reconnect with them.

I am proud that I was able to find my mom and big sister. It made me realize how much I miss them and how proud I am to be adopted.

In September, I will be starting college in Limerick. Hopefully, in the future, I can work as a counselor and speak with my birth family on a regular basis.

I am sharing my story because I want other adoptees to be proud of who they have become.

I want them to not feel sad or hold grudges against their parents for giving them up.

They did what was best for you and that’s all that matters.

They love you so much.

We are a voiceless minority, but our voices do matter. We must speak up for those who are not able to.

The Power of Storytelling

Everyone has a story that includes deep pain, longings, and losses. 

Our stories can bring us together and allow us to connect emotionally, as well as culturally, across boundaries that we might otherwise be unable to bridge. 
 
Due to other people's' lack of sensitivity or interest in truly learning about and listening to who I am, how I think, what I have lost, and what I am searching for, I am all the more sensitive to others' stories, feelings, and perspectives. 
 
I truly believe that learning from other people's' stories and experiences is one of the best ways to combat ignorance, prejudice, and misunderstanding.
 
I was born in Yichun, Jiangxi, China.
 
Two days after my birth, I was found outside of an orphanage. 
 
In July 1994, when I was only a month old, a couple from Boston adopted me. 
 
To date, they have been the most amazing parents that I could have ever imagined. They decided to adopt me, as they weren't able to have children of their own (they had lived in China in the 80s, and knew about the situation for baby girls). 
 
Girls, up until recently, were often selectively aborted or placed for adoption because of the restrictions surrounding the One-Child Policy and the higher value placed on boys who could keep the family name and provide for their elderly parents.
 
To this day, I know that my parents love me unconditionally and would do anything for me. 
 
When I was three, I returned with them to another city in Jiangxi Province, China, to adopt my younger sister, Beth, who I’ve spent the past 19 years with. We're very close as sisters and as a family.
 
Unfortunately, I was too young to remember anything prior to being adopted, but if I had the chance, I would have liked to know more about my Chinese culture, birthplace, and birth family. 
 
I feel a deep sense of loss and disconnect because I am so separate from China’s culture, upbringing, lifestyle, distance, etc.  
 
I’m proud that I have always been curious and courageous about my past. 
 
I’ve always challenged myself to learn the language, culture, and about people, so that I could connect with them when I had the chance to revisit my roots. 
 
At times, it is deeply painful, but I have always had a deep desire to learn, grow, reflect, and fully discover who I am and how my Chinese heritage plays a role in my identity.
 
The most difficult experience that I have faced as an adoptee is the cultural and ethnic disconnect. 
 
Race often identifies and categorizes us in the eyes of others when it is all that they see or know about us. Based on my experience of traveling to China or other parts of Asia, I was often treated with disdain or disrespect because I didn't measure up to "appropriate" or "beautiful" Chinese cultural standards. I was often asked why I couldn't speak Mandarin clearly, why my skin was so dark, or if I could translate for my Caucasian friends.
 
When I am in the U.S., I am often self-conscious about my race upon meeting new people. I always wonder if they see me for who I am. 
 
During some instances where my Chinese features have been my only identifier, I have struggled immensely to overcome deep feelings of resentment and anger toward those who do not know any better, but who abrasively ask questions or make statements out of ignorance or cultural upbringing. 
 
I am ashamed, fearful and embarrassed about a lot of things. 
I am shy and afraid of failure. 
I am afraid to be noticed by others. 
I have always sought to please others and be accepted into whatever communities I find myself in. So, when I find myself misunderstood or rejected by those that I am trying to connect with, it is heartbreaking. 
 
Still, I’d like to be part of a solution. Throughout my life, I have seen both extremely destructive and broken systems, as well as generative and creative ones. 
 
I am still discovering my passion and what I want to do with my life.
 
I want to be a part of something that is advocating for justice, and identifying and reversing broken systems that are in place. 
 
It is through stories that we are able to connect with one another. Stories allow us to learn more about others and ourselves. 
 
Often, while reflecting on my personal experiences, I am challenged to think about my own life and choices in new ways, as well as bring to light questions or issues for others in their own context. 
 
By sharing my story, I am able to continue the process of healing, discovery, and rejuvenation for myself, as well as hopefully inspire, motivate, and connect with others.

Curious

I was born in Kolkata, India.

Presumably, I was "abandoned" by my "birth mother" during the first week of life, but that still remains inconclusive.

I was adopted at three months old. I am the oldest of my three adoptive siblings.

My adoptive mother adopted me, as she could not have children of her own. At the time, her first husband was abusive and had two children. She loved being a stepmother, but their marriage didn’t last long.

She couldn’t let the abuse continue, so she ended it. We do not always get along, but I have a lot of respect for her because she made a difficult decision to leave and start a new life with me.

She remarried when I was about five years old. During their first year of marriage, they adopted my brother and sister. My stepfather - whom I call my dad - also had a lot of problems and grew very distant from me during my adolescent years.

I have a good, but often strained relationship with my adoptive family, as their ideas of adoption and American exceptionalism are very different from the worldview that I have. My parents and I are now on better terms, as my dad is a cancer survivor and his health struggles have led us to reconcile. I know that my mom and dad love my husband and me.

I believe my mom and dad do not have access to a lot of information regarding the challenges of adoption, which is not their fault; however, it has led to problems in our relationship.

They never exposed me to Indian culture, believing it to be inferior to Western culture.

They did not foresee the challenges that came after their children were adopted.

Growing up I only heard negative things about India and didn't meet any other Indian person until I was in middle school. It was almost as if my biological family or cultural origin never existed.

I had my first Indian meal when I was in college. I still try to learn about my native culture as much as I can.

There is a belief in many transracial or international adoptive parents' minds that they are saving their adoptive children as an act of ministry, which may be true, but sometimes it creates an unhealthy mentality of them as a savior or that the child owes them for their wonderful act.

My brother and I are quite different. He is a United States military veteran who is very nationalist. Our views differ quite a bit; my husband and I are political independents who do not think that constant interventionism by the US military abroad is a good thing.

My husband and I have never discussed our political position with my brother, but have written about it. My brother and his wife do not speak to us; they’ve told his in-laws strange things about us. I hope that one day we can all reconcile with my brother because he has close friends who he respects that hold the same views as my husband and me.

Both my brother and sister have the option to get to know their biological families but have no desire to meet them or interact with them. Often adoptive parents are not aware that they depict their children’s biological families in a negative light.

Only recently I began to feel proud of whom I am. Lots of times I feel like I stick out because I am different, but it has taught me to feel empathy for others.

I’m sharing my story because I want adoptees to know that it’s normal to be curious about your biological family or your past.

Be A Voice, Not An Echo

I was adopted from China ten months after my birth.

When I was younger, I thought being adopted was the coolest thing ever.

But, as I got older, I realized how much people didn't really understand what being adopted meant.

People automatically assumed that:

- My adoptive mother isn't my "real" mom

- I didn't know when my "real" birthday was

- I wanted to meet my birth parents

People were trying to make my life seem fake.

I was so young when I was adopted that I had no idea why I was adopted. The fact that I'll never know why is a part of my past that will always be missing.

As much as I want answers, I also don’t. I'm afraid of them.

Being Asian in the United States also comes with the typical Asian stereotypes, but it also comes with those specific to Asian Americans such as being called a “banana” or a “Twinkie” because I'm "yellow on the outside, but white on the inside". These extra names didn't help my self-esteem, nor did it make me feel proud of my background.

I also got criticized for trying to embrace my Chinese culture because I was "doing it wrong" by living in America.

My challenges aren't over.

These are things I have to live with every day.

I can't wake up one day and not be adopted, but I've learned to accept the fact that people’s ignorance can get the better of them and cause them to try to bring you down.

No matter what people say, they can't take away the fact that I’m adopted and that's something that I should be proud of, not ashamed of.

I’m sharing my story to let others know they're not alone.

Throughout my life, I've experienced some things that I feel no one else has experienced, but once I find people who know exactly how I feel or who have gone through the same thing, I always feel better.

I want people to know that they're not the only ones that have insecurities about being adopted.

Be a voice, not an echo, for those who may be scared to share their story.

Who I Should Have Been

Growing up, I had an image of a face of a young woman looking down at me, sometimes smiling and sometimes crying. When I found my natural mother when I was 18, I realized that it was her face I had remembered for all those years. The time she spent time with me in the hospital and at the infant home, up until the final papers were signed when I was two or three weeks old—it left an imprint on my soul.

Just in the last few years, I remembered my natural father from when I was less than 24 hours old. I recalled him looking down at me, holding me close to him, telling me that he would always love me and would always be my father. There was so much pain in his eyes. He didn’t want to give me up and would not sign the adoption paperwork.

I was born in Washington D.C. A few days after my birth, I was taken to St. Ann's Infant Home, where I spent two months. It was this infant home used by Catholic Charities who arranged my adoption. My adoptive mother was a teacher and dad an engineer. I was adopted in 1977 when I was two months three days old. My new parents also adopted my two younger brothers, twins who were born two years after me.

I was six years old when I was told what adoption was and that I was adopted. Even at this age, I felt a bit out of place; now I knew why. My entire life after learning this, I was a square peg trying to fit into the round hole of my adoptive family. I love them, but I still have that feeling of not fitting in. I came to the conclusion, many years ago, that it would always be that way.

Currently, I do not have a relationship with my natural mother. I’m very close to other maternal family members, but not my mother. There has been too much rejection on her part. 

As for my father, he passed away in 1979—two years after I was born. He never got over my adoption. I’m very close with his family, who I just reunited with in 2011. In getting to know my natural father’s family, I got to know more about who I really am.

Let me back up …

I was adopted in 1977, in the day of typewriters. The paperwork we were given by the caseworker is, I have been told, more than most adoptees receive. There was a letter, written by my natural mother on her personal letterhead that had her initials on it. I knew her first and middle name (along with her mother’s name), courtesy of the paperwork. In that paperwork, there was also information that gave clues as to where she lived. My adoptive father had only to look in our phone book to find someone who had my grandmother’s initials and lived across the street from a place she had mentioned in the paperwork. After that, for years, my dad tracked them in the phone book. When I was 18, it was as simple as a phone call.

Initially, there was a pretty welcoming relationship.

We got together.

She met my son when he was a week old.

I met her mother.

There were holiday and birthday cards.

When Facebook became a thing, we befriended each other early on. 

Eventually, I pressured her to give me my father’s last name and about being open with her kids regarding me. She gave in about my father, but then I didn’t hear from her as often. I believe this was because she knew that truths were coming out and it would be proven that she’d been lying about some things.

The final rejection came when I got tired of waiting for her to tell her kids, my half-brother, and half-sister, about me. I’d kept quiet for 18 years (they were now 24 years old); I told her that they deserved to know about me and that I would tell them if she didn’t. Her sister even read what I was going to send to them and felt what I was saying was very well-written and that I deserved what I was asking.

Since then, I have not heard from her. I am, however, familiar with my two aunts (on her side) and am getting to know my cousins. When I got married, the children of one of my cousins were even in my wedding.

My mother was 15 years old when she made the choice to sign the paperwork giving me up for adoption. I have no idea how the adoption was legal without his signature. Even the paperwork that I have indicates he never signed the form. More than two years after my adoption was finalized and my natural father had passed away, his mother was still receiving the form for him to sign.

When my natural mother gave me my father’s last name, I learned that he’d passed away, but I was able to look up his family. I sent them a letter, connected, and now have a very close relationship.

I’ve had a lifetime of issues as a result of my adoption. I have a hard time forming solid, healthy relationships, as trust is an issue for me. Yet, when I connect with people, I crave a relationship. It has only been in the past few years that I have been self-evaluating and I am proud of the woman I am becoming, now that I am embracing who I should have been.

Larger Family of Life

I am one year shy of thirty years as an adoptee. When I was three years old, I was adopted by the couple that I have called mum (Australian spelling) and dad since the day they picked me up – on my third birthday – from the orphanage in Hong Kong. I turn thirty-two in October of this year.  

My story is a happy one. I was one of the blessed ones who ended up with a happy ending. Though, of course, it isn’t an ending at all. My life is a series of journeys that I share with the people I love. The beginning of my journey I don't remember much of, only what my adoptive parents, and then my birth mother and Paw Paw have told me. 

My birth mother was seventeen when she gave birth to me. From what I've gathered, the “father” was some guy from school that she had a fling with and the pregnancy was not expected. I don't know the full story and I honestly have no interest in finding out any more about him. 

My birth mother and her parents raised me as best as they could for the first few months of my life until I fell seriously ill. They couldn’t afford the hospital fees, so they were convinced to relinquish guardianship to the state. The officials promised them that a family in Hong Kong would adopt me quickly; however, I ended up in Po Leung Kuk for almost three years. 

I have no recollection of my time in the orphanage. I do know that my time there has shaped many of my habits (protectiveness of food, introvert nature, etc.) and my personality. But, I have no true memories of my time there.  I did go back to visit Po Leung Kuk in 1998 with my adoptive parents and there were still a couple of the caregivers from when I was there. I didn't recognize them, but they remembered me, so there were obviously attachments formed at least from their end.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

In October of 1988, a couple from Australia made their way to Hong Kong to pick up a little girl who did not realize she was about to find her forever home. A story has been told that a friend of my parents back in Australia who spoke Cantonese had to explain to me that I wasn't on "holidays," that I wouldn't have to go back to Hong Kong. When mum and dad brought me home to Melbourne, it was my third birthday. We lived there happily for another seven years.

My adoptive parents brought me up in the Presbyterian tradition, taking me to Sunday school and church services. We still talk of God's providence in my life and theirs: their approval for adoption happened on the day I was born, before either party knew the other existed, for example. I'm still a part of the Church today, my larger adoptive family.

In 1994, my parents decided that they should track down my birth mother. The journey probably started prior to that year, but I only realized and understood as planning for the trip to Hong Kong was happening. I have no recollections of how I felt. I'm sure I was excited and perhaps a little nervous, but that first meeting is just an image in my mind...or more to the point, an image of a photo of me sitting with my birth mother and Paw Paw. To be honest, I have no real feelings about any time I met my birth mother in the years since, either (1998, 2005, 2009). Just vague memories...  Sometimes I wonder what I would feel today if I met my birth mother for the first time again, though that's often only a passing thought. Perhaps this is because it was also in 1994 that we adopted my younger brother (not blood-related). Or perhaps nothing would change since I’ve always considered my adoptive parents to be my real parents, as it should be.

A couple of years later we moved to North Queensland, where I completed my high school years. I probably faced racism in school, but it wasn't something that ever fazed me any; to me, it was just part of the ingrained culture of high school.  In hindsight, it really only highlights that children can be cruel and ignorant. I never let it get to me, though. I even had to have a teacher point out to me that another student was bullying me...weird, right?  I'm a reserved person, and even if something is going on that is challenging me, or that is upsetting me, I often don't ask for help. Whether that stems from my days in the orphanage or something that happened after that...I'm not sure, but who I am is informed by those early days.

In 1998 we visited Po Leung Kuk, where I was placed when I was a baby. As I mentioned before, there were workers there who still remembered me. This same trip, we met my birth mother and Paw Paw again and we also met my brother's birth mother, as well.

We moved to Perth, Western Australia in 2006, and the next chapter of my life began. I became stronger in my faith as a follower of Christ and I made some lasting friendships within church circles. I completed a teaching degree and, in 2010, began working in childcare/early learning, which I am still doing today.

And then, in 2015, I met Mark: my wonderful husband. And what are the odds? He was adopted too, from England. In fact, I married into a family of adopted people. His sister and brother-in-law were adopted as well. 

For me, the biggest messages I’ve received from these relationships are these: 

Adoption can be special. Adoption is the family that is chosen. Adoption is about love. 

I am blessed to have been adopted into this larger family of life. 

Being adopted has afforded me opportunities in life that I may have never had if I hadn't been; I am forever grateful for that fact.

Conflicted

My birth name was Theresa Anne Bailly.

For 22 years, I fought to meet my biological family and be included in their lives.

Finally, at age 25, I was able to reconnect with them.

Both my biological parents were from wealthy families. I was given away for adoption because my parents weren't married: My 22-year-old father was fighting the war in Vietnam, and my 20-year-old mother was a college student when they learned she was pregnant. This was before the 1972 Title IX protections were enacted to prevent discrimination against women for pregnancy in school.

My paternal side was all from California. My great grandfather was a renowned Hollywood film editor who worked for Selznick Studios, the biggest film studio in Hollywood’s early days. He won an Oscar as Chief Editor of one of the most famous movies of all time: Gone With The Wind, and was nominated for two more films: Rebecca and Since You Went Away.

Meanwhile, I was raised on a farm in central New Jersey by mentally ill hoarders who died penniless with their house in foreclosure. My parents meant well, but were neglectful. My siblings and I went unattended, did drugs in our teens, and my oldest adopted sibling became an abusive alcoholic. He was depressed and self-destructive. He eventually died at age 47, a victim of his own vices.  

My experience with adoption in the 1960s was awful. I saw adoption as child trafficking, gross control of women, forced abduction of their babies as a means of social and moral control.

Thou shalt not fornicate before marriage! And if you do? Repent by relinquishing the child to good Christians who are more deserving of it. Birth control and abortion were nonexistent. Women were held hostage by the government’s control over their reproduction. 

How to survive all that manipulation? One day at a time. Take control of it. Understand it. Fight for rights. Educate others. Stand with others who are marginalized and discriminated against. Work to stay healthy and whole, spiritually and physically. Practice gratitude. Give to others.

Adoption is complicated. It is life-long and misunderstood as always being positive.

In some cases, adoption is the cause of family separation, while in others it is a cure for it.

Whatever the adoptee's reflections and experiences with adoption may be, it stems from losses and this needs to be validated.

Proud

I was born in Zhanjiang, China.

Because I was born a girl during the one child policy, I was also abandoned in Zhanjiang, China. I was then placed in foster care.

Thankfully, I have no memories of this, as my foster mother did not feed me, bathe me, or take me out of my crib. My adoptive mom tells me that, when I was younger, I told her it was "dark in China" before she came.

In June 1997, I was adopted at 11 months and raised in Canada by the only family I’ve ever known. I had a happy childhood and parents who were very open to any questions I had about my adoption once I was old enough to want to know more.

As a child, being adopted never bothered me. When I hit my teen years, I started to question who I was:

Why was I abandoned?

Where did I come from?

Who were my parents?

Did they still think of me at all?

I felt like I didn't belong.

I was angry at my birth parents.

Then, I read a book by a Chinese woman named Xinran called Message from an Unknown Chinese Mother. The stories collected in this book moved and helped me to think of my birth mother—who I will likely never meet— in a completely different light. Because it is technically illegal to abandon children in China, parents who do this must hide anything that might identify them. The topics of abandonment and the one child policy in China is sort of taboo. While many people are aware of this history (until just recently), they don't know how it affected the lives of baby girls like me. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Adoption has had a great impact on how I want to start my own family. When I was adopted, I was shocked to find out that I was diagnosed with scoliosis, which made me even more curious about my medical history.

A fear of what I could unknowingly pass on to my children is the primary reason why I have decided to not want biological children.

Instead, I want to adopt. I want to help other children who are like me.

In the future, I see myself running a successful day home, with only my personal fears to hold me back, because today I am proud to be adopted and proud of the life I have made despite a rough beginning.

Someone Like Me

I was born in Seoul, South Korea to a family with four other children, one of whom who was my twin. Two weeks later, I was placed in an orphanage through Korean Social Service. On April 27th, 1977, at three months old, I was adopted via Danadopt in Denmark and began my new—dysfunctional—life as an only child.

I was adopted into a defective family that sexually abused me.

My dad was narcissistic or psychopathic, and my mother suffered from a personality disorder, likely borderline personality. They not only were unable to take care of an infant, they abused me. The abuse was instantly present all the time, mixed together with ordinary family-life stuff like having dinners.

In school, I was the natural underdog, the neglected child who had problems connecting with other human beings. I had not learned how to mirror others or that emotions were ok to have…that it was ok to cry if I fell and hurt my knee, for instance.  Because of this, I was an easy target and was bullied in kindergarten.

I've used most of my grown-up life recovering from the damage that was done.

Today, I'm not functioning in an ordinary job. The consequences after years of emotional and sexual abuse in my adoptive family requires a great deal of therapy, but I’m proud of my coping skills and ability to go on after decades where life stopped every time I was abused.

In 2009, I found my birth parents and subsequently lost contact again for 8 years. Culture and language barriers make it very difficult to maintain a relationship.

Just two months ago, I communicated with my sister—and am at an impasse with her as well. I made of the mistake of asking about her husband, and there has been no response back. (I have notion that she might be divorced.) I don't know how to break the silence to resume a conversation again.

Someday, I’d like to live abroad, though I don’t know where. I’d love to study something, but I don’t know what. This year, I hope to go to Korea. Or maybe next year. It doesn't feel like the right time just yet to do it, and there are no open opportunities for me to make it real.

For now, I’d settle for finding someone like me.

“Dad is Dad, and Mom is Mom”

I was adopted from China when I was ten months old.

I was two weeks old when I was found abandoned at a train station. After a quick hospital check-up, I was placed in an orphanage.

I stayed there for ten months.

Prior to being adopted, I wasn't able to form words, much less know what they meant. Being adopted didn't mean much to a baby, but being with a family that loved me - that meant a lot.

I grew up in a wonderful home with great parents, and an adopted sister from China.

I have been told that I got along quite well with my adoptive family and I’m proud of the name chosen by my adoptive parents.

I'm also proud of the life I was given despite being abandoned.

To me, maintaining relationships is important. In fact, that is my focus this year: to maintain a great relationship with my friends and family.

As for my future, I would love to see myself touring the world on book tours with my family and friends by my side, as well as have an idea of who my biological family is.

Sometimes, I do wonder, think, and ask myself why I was abandoned.

It's just a passing thought that I don't tend to dwell over because I'm reminded of the happiness I have gained by being abandoned.

Sharing my story is important because I want people to know that being adopted is not necessarily a bad thing.

Too Young To Be Adopted

Most people know the exact place, day, and minute they were born.

But my age? It’s only an estimate.

I was found in a rural town in China as an infant before being taken to an orphanage. The people who found me could only guess that I was around two weeks old. I have no memories of this, though I suppose no one can remember what their life was like when they were a brand-new soul in the universe. The difference is, adoptees don’t have the luxury of hearing their story from their parents. During those two weeks I was with my birthmother, I like to imagine that she cuddled me and sang me lullabies. I imagine her picking me up in the middle of the night and whispering, “I love you”, as she rocked me back to sleep.

To my knowledge, I was only in the orphanage for a couple of weeks, but was lucky enough to be transferred to a foster family. My adoptive parents adopted me when I was nine months old. I’ve lived in the United States ever since. The first few years I lived with my adoptive family were pretty good—at least all the home videos would say so. I vaguely remember when I started walking and being able to play with my sister, who is my parents biological daughter. My whole family was thrilled to have me.

In China, I was destined to grow up in a poor, rural city, marry a farmer, and spend the rest of my life raising a family. My life in the United States has afforded me a comfortable, middle-class lifestyle where I was able to attend a great public school and get a college education from a world-class university. I now live on my own and am so happy to be able to visit my adoptive family as often as I’d like.

But, the problem with being adopted so young is that you don’t have the autonomy yet, or the ability to understand abstract concepts such as “adoption” or “emotions”. You can’t speak for yourself. And though I don’t have any concrete memories from my days in foster care, my initial feelings about life, feeling abandoned, lonely, and fearful have stayed with me for a long time.  Questions such as, “Why did my mother abandon me?”, and, “Am I unlovable forever?” have been something I’ve had to learn to emote and speak about as a “regular person” (i.e. non-adoptee). It’s been a long learning and growing process because these feeling have been at the center of my unconsciousness for most of my life.

I’m proud to report; however, that despite my trauma, I’ve built a strong, healthy relationship with another human being. My adoption instilled a sense of self-worthlessness and distrust of others. Finding someone I could open up to and completely trust, while feeling confident about myself, has been an amazing experience. We’re even taking the next step and moving in together! It’s a huge milestone for me.

I do want to go back and find my birthparents one day. I wish I had something from my past—a note from them, a piece of quilt my mother made, just something that I could find them with. But, the odds of locating them in rural China are extremely thin: records aren’t well kept, and most parents abandoned their kids instead of surrendering them to an orphanage due to the political climate.

I will return one day, once my financials are in order. I see myself in contact with them, but I don’t get my hopes up too high.

I plan on moving forward, with my relationship, with my blog, with MY life. My blog’s purpose is to share my story. Yes, I’m adopted, and I hope my story will change the way non-adoptees respond to someone telling them they’re adopted: “Oh, I’m sorry”.

Don’t be sorry. Ask me about it.

Each adoptee has a different story, so don’t lump us together.

Let me tell you the great opportunities I’ve been given, let me speak before putting your assumptions on me. Because I’ve got an awesome story, and it’s better than you, or I, could imagine!  

Opening Up

I was born in Arad, Romania.

20 days after my birth, I was placed in an orphanage and stayed there for a year until I was adopted.

I was too young to realize whether I wanted to get adopted or not.

We are still unclear about how or why my sister and I ended up in orphanage.

Based on what I’ve been told, my birth family was poor.

Despite all of that, I am thankful for being a part of a middle class family who made sure I had access to quality education and support groups.

Our adoptive parents adopted us because they could not have kids of their own.

My adoption has always been a difficult topic for me to talk about. It is something I have never been able to openly discuss with anyone - partially because I didn't want people to think I was different.

Today, I am a little more open about it. I tell some of my closest friends and relatives.

To me, advocating for that is important.

Since being adopted, I have had countless opportunities that I would not have had in Romania. I have obtained a university-level education, which would have been very unlikely in Romania.

I am proud of the journey I’ve been through. I am proud of accepting myself for who I am as an adoptee.

However, I wish I had known more about my birth family and Romania as a country.

I want to find my birth family.

One day, I will.

I’m sharing my story in order to help other adoptees to overcome some of their struggles.

Girl From St. Petersburg

I was born in St. Petersburg.

As I recall, I grew up in a very open and loving family.

Shortly after my birth, I was placed in an orphanage. It was a dark, cold and lonely place. Every day, you heard babies crying. I stayed there for four years.

I have tried to reconnect with my birth family. My birth mother doesn't speak with me, but I have spoken with my father. When it comes to that relationship, it’s a bumpy road.

We have definitely had our ups and downs, but what family doesn't? I remember I used to always tell my adoptive mom that I wanted to run away and go back to see my birth mom, and that I knew she always wanted me back with her.

I still have relationship and trust issues, as well as anxiety and depression, but I have been able to deal with it.

Today, I’m proud to have a loving family and support system.

I’m sharing my story because I want people to know that adoption is a great way to start a family!

Sisters

There are people who think all adoption stories are horrible and sad. Elena and Lara Hall are grateful that theirs is one blessed with extreme happiness.

At the ages of 18 months and one year, Elena and Lara Hall left the orphan wing of a hospital in Russia behind. Their adoptive parents contacted an adoption agency through what would become the family’s church, legally adopted Elena in the United States, flew to Russia to get her, and repeated the process for Lara. Although babies when adopted, everything changed. Their new country, new language, new culture, and values became their own. Neither girl has any memory of their life prior to being adopted.

Elena and Lara’s relationship with their adoptive parents is and has always been filled with compassion and support…so much so that Lara currently lives at home again as she transitions out of college.  And, even though Elena isn’t living with her parents post-college, her home is only twenty minutes away. Their childhood was one filled with a lot of sports, dance, summer camps—and love—where their parents were highly involved and the girls were always encouraged to do their best.

Both girls graduated high school and then college. Lara excelled in sports, particularly volleyball, and Elena had the opportunity to study the Russian language. While on a mission trip to Russia, Elena was not only able to travel to the birth town of she and her adopted sister, she had the surreal experience of seeing the building where they were both born. 

Because their adoptions were international and closed, neither girl has sought out her family of origin. The sisters overcome this with the strength of their bond with each other and their faith. Faith in Jesus has been a strong value in their adoptive family and helped provide comfort to Elena and Lara. When they think of their birth parents with sadness, they find joy again when they remember their faith in Jesus and how God gave them the perfect family.

Elena and Lara can confidently say that they are not sad about their adoption experience. They’re both proud to talk about adoption and their story. Throughout their lives, strangers thought they were twins (something the girls found both cool and hilarious, as they do not look alike). Upon learning that these sisters are not blood relatives and were adopted from Russia, intrigue allowed the entire Hall family to share about the beauty of adoption. This constant “adoption talk” along with the open line of communication that their parents provided helped Elena and Lara to see that adoption is not about their birth parents potentially not wanting them but, rather, a gift.

Elena's immediate goal is to gain acceptance into graduate school for Social Work. She hopes to eventually have a family of her own while positively influencing others in her career.

Lara's current goal is to get into graduate school for Psychology. She hopes to marry her high school sweetheart, have children, and build a career as a child psychologist. 

These next steps are part of a journey for which Elena and Lara are entirely grateful. Had they not been adopted, who knows what they would be doing?

Accepting Myself

I was born in Seoul and adopted when I was about four months old.

I am very fortunate to have two amazing parents and an older sister who’s also adopted from Korea.

During my first few years in the U.S., we moved around quite a bit because my father was in the military.

I remember as a kid I would throw temper tantrums and say things like, “You’re not even my real family.” I had no idea what that meant at the time, I just used it as a way to express myself. Only now do I realize how hurtful that must have been to my parents.

At 28, I’m starting to feel as if I should search for my long lost birth parents. But, I'm not too sure where to start and am afraid of failing or being rejected.

There were many challenges I had to overcome once I got adopted. It was a constant battle to get in touch with my feelings, to fight my insecurities of rejection, to not feel like I had to validate my existence to my family or friends, and to get in touch with my Korean roots.

I’m still trying to overcome some of them.

I’ve been told that my birth family had four older brothers and sisters. I wish I knew why having one more child was too much.

But I would not be the person I am today, if I wasn’t adopted.

I am proud of being able to attend a Korean culture camp where other Korean adoptees get to spend a week learning about the culture. It was hard opening up to young girls about some of my struggles, but I knew it had to be done.

I’m sharing my story because I want people to know they are not alone.

When I was growing up I had no one to talk to about this.

Not that my parents weren't open to talking, but I had no one who could empathize.

The Internet wasn't a thing when I was a kid, and lot of adoptees weren't coming forward to talk about these hard feelings.

Things are very different now. If I can share my story to validate other adoptees’ feelings, then it was well worth the vulnerability.