 By Taya Reed When Cher sings, “If I Could Turn Back Time,” the lyrics stir something deep in me. As an adoptee, those words often carry layers of longing, grief, and regret. I’ve felt this in conversations with my birth parents—moments where we circled around what could have been and entered what I call the “what-iffing” phase of reunion. Adoption is not only about the life we live; it’s also about the life we imagine we might have lived. Betty Jean Lifton describes this as the Ghost Kingdom—a psychological space where adoptees grapple with missing pieces of their history, lost relationships, and the haunting question of what if. Even when reunion brings some knowledge of our birth family, the Ghost Kingdom doesn’t simply disappear. I know my birth parents, and they are the only ones I really have a relationship with, because the absence still persists with my siblings, with whom I have yet to fully form a connection. I’ve often thought it has to be because we weren’t raised together—because the shared experiences that create family bonds never existed for us. Knowing someone’s face, voice, or history doesn’t automatically fill the void of what was lost. Even with reunion, the reminders of absence linger, shaping the way we experience family and loss.
I have returned to this kingdom more than once. When my maternal birth grandmother passed away, I found myself grieving not just her death, but the absence of a childhood memory I could share alongside my siblings and cousins at her funeral. When I met my paternal birth grandfather, Alzheimer’s meant he would never truly know me, erasing our first meeting before it even began. In both moments, I felt the ache of rejection and the fear of never fully belonging—ghosts that followed me long after. But the ghost kingdom is not only about sorrow. Sometimes, it offers healing in unexpected ways. Last year, when my maternal birth grandfather died, I learned I had been included in his will. My first response was disbelief: “Are you sure?” I asked my birth mother. Her reassurance, paired with her repeated apology for relinquishing me, softened something inside me. At that moment, I wasn’t invisible. I was seen. This is the paradox of the ghost kingdom. It can haunt us with what was lost, but it can also heal us with moments of recognition and belonging. For adoptees, ghosts live in both the absence of memories and the presence of unexpected affirmations. I can’t turn back time. None of us can. But I can honor these ghosts—the ones that wound and the ones that mend—as part of my story. They remind me that adoption is not a single narrative of loss or gain, but a layered journey where grief and healing often walk hand in hand. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Taya Reed is a US Armed Forces veteran who served in the Gulf War. She’s now a Licensed Professional Counselor and Supervisor with over 15 years of therapeutic experience, currently in private practice at Sound House Therapy, PLLC. Taya's personal experience as a Baby-Scoop Era same-race domestic adoptee has profoundly shaped her professional journey. Reuniting with both of her birth parents provided first-hand experience of adoption's complexities, shaping her into a compassionate and effective advocate and therapist for fellow adoptees. Taya co-hosted the podcast "I Found Her" alongside her birth mother. (Link: I Found Her Podcast) Taya was inspired by this experience to create an adoptee-guided journal, which she plans to publish in 2025. Taya has presented at the Adoption Knowledge Affiliates conference and served as a panelist for Adoption Mosaic. She has participated in multiple writing groups, such as Migrating Towards Wholeness: Rewriting Adoption Narratives in the Constellation with Dr. Liz DeBetta and Adoptee Voices with Sara Easterly. In 2025, she was elected to the board at Adoption Knowledge Affiliates. 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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