There's No Place Like Home for the Holidays...

By Liz DeBetta, Ph.D.

As an adoptee, one of the things I obsess about is the concept of home. I have spent many years trying to find “home.” I moved across the country, almost married the wrong person, moved back to my parents’ home with my two cats, moved into my own apartment, got engaged (again), married the wrong person, moved one state over, got divorced, moved back to my “hometown,” moved twice more in that same hometown, met the right person, moved across the country together, moved three times in the new state we lived in, moved across the country again, finally bought our own home. And now we are spending our second holiday season in the home we found together, after many years, and many miles of searching.

But what is home? And why does it feel so much more complicated this time of year? In my book, Adult Adoptees and Writing to Heal I wrote, “The concept of “home” is fraught for adoptees. What, and where, is home when you have been separated from the only home you ever knew — your mother’s womb? When you have been taken from your country of origin? When you have been placed in temporary foster care or an orphanage before being placed in an adoptive family’s home? Each of these disruptions creates a sense of insecurity and impermanency.
Nothing is safe. Nothing is stable. Nowhere is home.”

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If nowhere is home, it makes sense that the holidays feel especially hard for adoptees, like me, who have spent a lifetime trying to feel at home by moving to new places and seeking (the wrong) relationships. Our sense of self is disrupted and our sense of comfort is attached to the wrong things - often places and people that we try to use as replacements for the thing that is missing. Nothing can replace what we have been separated from and the holidays are an intense reminder of people, places, and things that we long to feel connected to. And the thing we need most as adopted people is connection. Connection to ourselves and connection to others. Connection to traditions, ancestors, and home.

Most of my connection to traditions and a sense of home is through food. Growing up in an Italian-American family, food was our love language and every holiday was built around the food traditions that my parents learned from their parents and had been passed down through multiple generations. When I still lived near my family I took on the responsibility of hosting Thanksgiving to give my parents a break from always having to do the work of cooking, hosting, and stressing the rest of us out. I used to love Thanksgiving and all the trimmings, so getting up in the morning and setting to work on roasting, chopping, baking, and simmering gave me a sense of peace and purpose. It also gave me a sense of control over my circumstances.

Hosting in my apartment instead of in my parents’ home meant that I was in charge of the menu and the wine list. It meant feeling comfortable in my own space instead of the space I had started to outgrow. It meant taking steps to define my own traditions that were connected, but different because I was different. I have spent the past seven years since leaving my family and the place I grew up to start my own life and family grappling with my difference; learning to differentiate what is mine and what is theirs in terms of tradition and a feeling of home. Some years have been better than others.

This year Thanksgiving was hard. I felt a desperate need to “make a holiday” like the ones I had grown up with. A desperate need to connect to something, anything, that felt and smelled familiar. Something that I could categorize as “traditional” or “normal” because, truth be told, this whole year has been hard. By the time Thanksgiving rolled around, I was coming off of some panic attacks and trying to process the huge message my body was sending me. So I became trauma-response Liz and retreated to the kitchen to attempt to gain some control (while also dissociating) by cooking a whole bunch of shit that, frankly, was unnecessary and eventually ended up in the trash — and in the case of the “Celebration Roast” (we are vegetarians), was disgusting (hence the trash). It was a beige binge of Thanksgiving food that provided no comfort, only a deeper sense of disconnection and sadness. I spent the whole day trying to recreate a sense of comfort and familiarity that doesn’t exist anymore instead of being present with the comfort and familiarity of my loving partner in the home that is ours. A home that is full of things we love, uncluttered by remnants of our pasts, and a place where new traditions can begin.
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Two weekends ago we bought a table-top size Christmas tree and decorated it with the small collection of ornaments that are special to us. I tied a bow on top and hung the stockings I made, one for each of us and one for our cat Mau Mau. I am finishing sewing a tree skirt to match. We have decided to make a gingerbread house from scratch (I’ll make the dough, he’ll do the math). We attended the “Mistletoe Market” in our town last week to browse and saw a holiday cabaret at the Detroit Public Theatre to get into the holiday spirit. Maybe we’ll watch “A Muppet Christmas Carol” again like we did last year (I had never seen it). We’ll probably make more eggnog (the batch we made at Thanksgiving is almost finished). We’ll definitely start a puzzle, play board games (Ticket to Ride!), and take naps. On Christmas Eve we’ll eat delicious cheese, lots of snacks, and I’ll make our favorite cocktail (a Perfect Manhattan). On Christmas, we’ll make coffee, open presents, eat cookies for breakfast, and video chat with our families who are spread across the country. But most of all we will be present. Staying in the moment and remembering the best connection is the one we have built together. At home with each other (and, of course, Mau Mau).



Dr. Liz DeBetta is a US domestic adoptee and independent scholar-artist-activist committed to changing systems and helping people navigate trauma through creative processes. She believes that stories are powerful change agents and when we write them and share them we connect and heal. She has presented nationally and internationally on topics ranging from adoption and reproductive justice, using writing to heal trauma, gender-based violence, and resisting colonial paradigms in higher-ed. She is a former facilitator of Adoptees Connect in Salt Lake City, a Rudd Adoption Research Institute Scholar, and spent six years teaching writing at Utah Valley University. She has published articles on adoptee narratives, has an award-winning one-woman show called Un-M-Othered and is the co-founder of Operation Fog Lift with Rebecca Autumn Sansom. Her book Adult Adoptees and Writing to Heal: Migrating Toward Wholeness is available from Brill Publishers. (Use discount code 72325 to save 25% until 12/31/23) Find her on the web at www.LizDeBetta.com

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