Thanks to the media, people seem to have this idea that adoption is the worst thing in the world. Shows like "Awkward" and "Faking It" make it seem like the life you’ve known it has been a lie, that you aren’t the person you think you are and that now you have to try and find yourself. Everyone has a different experience when finding out they’re adopted, and I’m not here to minimize that. I just want to point out that it isn’t always this Earth shattering experience that’s followed by a series of rebellious acts to hurt your caretakers.
I was 13 when I found out I was adopted. The way I found out wasn’t the most pleasant, I found out through a fit of anger (but my mom later apologized). I wasn’t angry at her. I guess somewhere deep down inside I knew that I was adopted because a lot of things just weren’t adding up for me. My mother’s husband (who I often refer to as my father) died long before I was born, so even if I had a strange notion that I was in fact my mother’s biological child, I would still only be a half sibling to her other kids. I was convinced that I was my mother’s biological child because a lot of medical possibilities added up. Having a child after 35 runs the risk of birth defects (my mother got me at 56) and I have a physical birth defect. The thing that didn’t make sense is that I remember picking my little brother up, but don’t remember her being pregnant with him. I never thought much about it because I was really young at the time and brushed things off as magical, because that’s what kids do.
I’m not going to sit here and act like I wasn’t hurt, because I was. I felt like I had been lied to, but not because they kept it a secret. Every time I asked if I was adopted, they would just respond with “you’re ours.” I had a feeling that I was adopted and they brushed off the question every time I asked it. It’s like knowing the answers to the test, getting everything right, but failing because the teacher didn’t want anyone to have a perfect score.
The thing about finding out that you’re adopted is knowing that there’s people out there who could have changed the way your life went. The whole “I don’t know who I am anymore” theme to me is depressing because it’s inaccurate. You are who you are, and that’s because you were shaped by the people who raised you. It’s not going to change just because you found out the people who raised you aren’t your biological parents. What’s done is done, and the later you find out, the more done it is.
