 by Dani Joy I didn’t go looking for the truth about adoption. I wasn’t bitter, angry or regretful. I had spent the last decade clinging determinedly to the belief that it was ‘God’s will’ that my son should be adopted. And that I had done what was best for him. I became a regular visitor in the adoptive family’s home. I had the unicorn of open adoptions and told myself that this was good. This had been right. This was how adoption should be done. I spent the intervening years distracting myself in a deeply unhealthy marriage and feeding my need to mother by taking care of a 6' 2" angry and demanding baby who never seemed to remain consoled for long.
All my life, I had been fed one encompassing worldview. I was taught what to think — never how to think — about God, salvation, sex, purity, family, adoption, abortion, missions, other religions, and on and on. After my marriage ended, I had a lot of deconstructing to do, and I started with race and the institution of white supremacy. So when I joined a Facebook group focused on transracial adoption, it wasn’t because I thought I had something to learn about adoption. Members of my white family had adopted transracially, and I longed to learn ways I could possibly become a corrective experience in those family members’ lives. I was prepared to hear hard things. I had already been in anti-racism spaces for a few years and had been mentored by a Black woman (RIP dear Lace) who taught me so many tools for staying in uncomfortable conversations and difficult relationships. I thought I was ready. But then I started hearing adoptees say words like abandoned, unwanted, and unloved. And I started feeling defensive. And the ground under my feet felt unsteady. I had come here to learn tools to de-weaponize my whiteness, not to hear that the very hardest thing I ever did, the thing that was supposed to be best for my son and ‘God’s will’, the thing that supposedly redeemed me, might actually have felt like abandonment and been traumatic in his tiny infant brain and body. I was suddenly grateful for the tools I had learned. I did a lot of stepping away from my computer and taking deep breaths, but I also kept listening. I defended myself but only in my head. Online, I stayed quiet and kept listening. And slowly my fists began to unclench and in tiny increments, I opened my mind to the idea that, here too, intentions mattered far less than impact. The more I listened, the more I learned. I learned that it is common for children who were adopted as infants to think that something was wrong with them or some reason their mothers had abandoned them — regardless of being told over and over: She loved you so much, she gave you to us because she wanted you to have a better life. I learned that, in fact, that very narrative is not the reassurance that many adoptive parents may think it will be. That narrative teaches that loving means leaving and can contribute to abandonment fears and attachment struggles. I learned, piece by piece, that pretty much everything I had ever thought or been told about adoption was not true but rather, a carefully crafted narrative that upholds a wildly lucrative industry. I learned about falsified records and sealed states and what “open adoption” actually means, and what it does not. I learned that adoptees are not a monolith and we cannot, nor should we try, to fit all experiences into one mold. Stages of Awareness I spent a few years learning how much of a hold the “rainbows and unicorns” narrative around adoption has on our society, and how much more nuanced and complicated the truth is. I unpacked the financial pieces and finally understood why I had felt so uncomfortable when family members shared on social media their fundraiser to adopt one of their kids. That money they were raising would have more than enabled me to parent my son. I learned that for many mothers, as little as $1,000 would have made the difference. I learned terms like family preservation and how to talk to people who, for some bizarre reason, think those words mean I want to leave abused/unwanted babies in dumpsters. But I balked when anyone tried to imply I had been coerced. Yes, the system was coercive, manipulative, and predatory. But my situation was different and I had not been coerced. No one tells me what to do! I wrote in my journal about how I told my family this needed to be MY decision. This was after a family meeting had been called to talk about “what we should do now that Dani is pregnant.” I remember reiterating that statement when my mom and dad let me know that they had spoken again with a sibling and their spouse and were concerned about what my decision would be. This particular sibling and their spouse had told me at the family meeting that in order to be forgiven, we must repent. Repent means to turn fully away from the sin. And in order to turn fully away from MY sin, I must relinquish my son to adoption, they said. There are reasons (that tell too much of other people’s stories) why a relationship with my child’s father wasn’t an option, and my sibling and their spouse believed that if I parented my son, I would be remaining linked to the sin I had chosen. They said that if I chose to remain in sin, they would have no choice but to excommunicate me. So when my parents mentioned the conversation and asked me for my decision, I wrote in my journal, “I am feeling the weight of my whole family to be on my shoulders. I feel like it is totally on me to make a decision that will hold my family together. This is way too much pressure and stress for me.” And yet, I remained steadfast. This was to be MY decision. It is notable to me now that not only did one sibling threaten me with permanent loss of relationship, every other person in the room that day (parents and siblings) stayed completely silent in the face of that threat. Another sibling had offered me the huge gift of childcare if I decided to parent. It was less than a week later that they called me to say they needed to rescind the offer. “I believe adoption is God’s will for your baby”, they said “and I think I will be encouraging you to go against God’s will if I offer this help.” And so I made MY decision but it took me YEARS to be able to look at — to truly see and acknowledge — the ways my family absolutely contributed to that choice. Who is to blame? This story is not about finding blame although if you want to look, I’m guessing there is plenty to go around and I will own my fair share. This story is simply the story of my unpacking the truth. It has been hard. I have cried many tears and continue to do so. It has been painful and challenged many relationships. And it probably is not complete. Dani Joy is a mother and homesteader who lives off-grid in North Carolina. She is the mother of one son, relinquished at birth. To read more of her writing, follow her on: Medium - https://medium.com/@danijoy Substack - https://substack.com/@danijoy Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/joyfuldj/ This essay was first published on Adoptere, A Medium Publication (https://medium.com/adoptere). Published with the author’s permission. AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know:
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