by Hannah Andrews
The truth is I never thought much about adoption. Oh wait, that’s a lie. It is, in fact, the biggest lie I told others. It wasn’t really intentional. It’s just that it was the lie I told myself, a lie I lived and breathed for almost fifty years.
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by Hannah Andrews This month’s theme is “Luck and Adoption,” and it’s sure to spark conversation across our Peer Support Groups. We offer free ZOOM peer support for adopted persons, first parents, adoptive and foster parents, and DNA discoveries. Just send an email to aka@adoption knowledge.org specifying the group you identify with and you’ll receive the ZOOM invites. We have monthly themes, but you’re always welcome to speak on other topics in addition to, or instead of. As for me, here’s my two cents on “Luck and Adoption.” My first thought was UGH. Like many (most?) adoptees I’ve been told ad nauseam how very lucky I was to be adopted. By relatives, friends, total strangers, society, the media, and the entire world. Yet, even though I knew I was “lucky” to have ended up with the good, supportive, loving parents I landed in. Many adoptees do NOT land in safe homes, this should be the least of what we are guaranteed as adoptees–safety and love–I am aware of the privilege fate granted me. By Ereka Howard According to Dictionary.com, identity is defined as the state or fact of remaining the same one or ones, under varying aspects or conditions. I spent two years in foster care and then was adopted as a toddler. As a child growing up in a predominantly African American family, one reason I struggled with identity was due to not looking like the family that adopted me. When I was younger, I remember looking at my parents and thinking maybe they really were my biological parents and just didn't want to tell me. Maybe a swan brought me in and dropped me off at their door. by Hannah Andrews It took me a while to warm up to this month’s theme, “Loving Ourselves.” I didn’t feel qualified to write about “self-love.” My cup has never runneth over with self-confidence. I think the adopted kid in me built an inner narrative. After all, if my own mother, the one who was supposed to love me the most, gave me away, what real value could I have? I’m sure some schoolyard bullies reinforced this belief in me, but I definitely had my own inner bully. I learned to live with the highs and lows throughout my life, though that’s an understatement. My highs never seemed that high and my lows were excruciating. |
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April 2024
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