 by Kathleen Shea Kirstein It's a warm summer day in August. I'm sitting on my deck, my morning coffee in hand. I am hoping the deer come to visit. It will be a nice distraction from the anxiety that makes my knee go up and down. The sight of the deer will quiet, at least for the moment, the hypervigilance I feel even alone in my home. The house has never felt like mine. When I met my husband, the land had been cleared, the driveway was in process, and the blueprints for the house were already in place. It's always been his house. When we divorced, it automatically became the kids' house—the place where we raised our two sons, now adults and managing their own lives. Honestly, I have never felt like I belonged anywhere. Well, maybe that's not totally correct. I will come back to this thought. I noticed in my teen years that my problem-solving skills and body type were so different from those of my parents and my sister, who was 5 years my junior. My hair was so much thicker than theirs. We always joked that was my best feature. We said I carried the great hair gene. The two of them carried great metabolism and love for shopping. In my twenties, my differences seemed to become more apparent, so I found myself asking each of the adults in my family if I was adopted. Each time the family member looked deeply into my eyes and said, “No, why would you even think these crazy thoughts?”. My son shared the same birth defect as his grandfather, and I looked enough like my mother that I adapted and internalized that thought of my being crazy and never spoke of it again. Also, I never again trusted my own intuition. At age 49, after winning a free trip to Cancun, Mexico, I applied for a passport. It was denied because I didn't include documentation with the application of why my birth certificate had been filed fourteen months after my actual birth. Searching for the answer to this question, I spent a lunch break combing through my medical records, which were housed two floors under my desk chair, for the many years I had worked in that building as a registered nurse. My employer was also my healthcare provider. My adoption was outed. A copy of the office note was made, and once back at my desk, probate court called, and the plan was put in place to acquire the appropriate documentation needed by the government to secure the passport. That I now carry with me daily.
That was twenty years ago. It feels like yesterday. The road to discovering my biological family and regaining my identity has been a roller coaster ride. The lowest of lows. The highest of highs. Acceptance. Rejection. One of the things I have learned is that “either /or “ has no place in my life. It's “now/and” I carry my grief and my joy equally. For a visual, think scales of justice. I balance as best I can with the understanding that today might be more in grief and tomorrow more in joy, sometimes both in the same day. To take a moment to circle back to “Honestly, I have never felt like I belonged anywhere” Well, maybe that's not totally correct. I feel a sense of belonging when I'm in the building where I worked for 36 years. Even now, when I walk through the front doors, I feel my body relax, surrounded by the walls that provided me safety and ultimately my truth. In my retirement letter, I drew a parallel between the building's physical growth and my professional development as a nurse. The 20th anniversary of my adoption discovery is just days away. Over the past twenty years, I have been collecting initials. I added "LDA- late discovery adoptee" to the end of my name, joining the RN. Five years ago, I added NPE- not parent expected after the LDA when a DNA test done for fun showed that the biological father, whose name I learned at reunion, was not related to me at all—a devastating blow for many reasons. A search for my real biological father began. I have since met with his daughter and son. Wendy Kathleen Janet WKJ was added around COVID to make it easier on Zooms. There were lots of other Kathys and Kates in the room. I learned Wendy was my original name for 43 days, Kathleen is my legal name, and Janet was the name a colleague called me for years; my attempts at correcting him fell on deaf ears. So I accepted to him I was Janet. Along this journey, I have educated myself on the terminology and language of adoption and joined the community of adopted persons and those with a surprise DNA discovery. A year of writing with 20 adoptees was instrumental in my learning more about myself. I learned I have trauma, not personality quirks. That's been a hard one to swallow, especially when additional trauma responses I didn't know I possessed presented themself all on the same afternoon while doing end-of-life planning at my son's request. I was advised that his job after my death was “to grieve, not to make decisions”. Telling my story is healing, Podcasts have been a suitable vehicle for me to tell my story and learn from the stories of others. Each of the various groups I have found in the community has offered something different, meeting a need I was previously unaware of. Writing and adoptee writing classes have been excellent in educating me on how I heal best. I have even published some essays in Severance Magazine. Something that before 2019 would never have entered my mind. There are movies to watch, books to read, retreats and conferences to attend. I am a big supporter of in-person meetings. We have Adoptees Connect in my state, which meets monthly. I will always promote meet-ups ranging from 30 people to one-on-one. If there is nothing nearby, consider joining a peer support Zoom. Many of the online Adoption/NPE groups have them. Adoption Knowledge Affiliates has several. and hosts educational meetings, book clubs, and the online November conference. All have been instrumental in expanding my knowledge base and helping me find my voice to educate others about the realities of life as an adopted person. While sitting here, the deer have not appeared. Several airplanes have flown overhead, providing a good distraction as I check my app to see where they have been and where they are going. In the past 20 years, I've discovered that my body knows an anniversary is approaching even when my brain still hasn't realized the significance of the approaching date. I can see the growth that has happened over this time frame. I continue to discover my authenticity and identity. I now wear brightly colored hair: purple, blue, and pink. It’s become my favorite self-care routine 4 times a year. It brings me joy and a level of fun I have never experienced. It’s so comfortable that it's just part of me. Before age 49, I didn't even recognize the value of self-care to my health and well-being. My core values remain the same. I learned I have my first mother's personality and problem-solving skills and my body type is definitely that of my first father's and my paternal siblings. I’ve found so many answers, uncovered many new questions. And this anniversary I’m wondering—How can it be twenty years and still feel like yesterday? ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Kathleen Shea Kirstein is a Baby Scoop Era, Domestic, Same race, Late Discovery Adoptee and NPE(Non-Expected Parent Event). Mother of Two Sons, Retired Registered Nurse. Illustrator of 3 children's books with author D Ann Hollon. She can be found on Facebook as Wendy KathleenJanet. Instagram@kathleenkirstein She has three essays published in Severance Magazine. Dear Mother https://severancemag.com/dear-mother/ Blown off Course: https://severancemag.com/blown-off-course/ There Was a Secret. https://severancemag.com/there-was-a-secret/ Kathleen serves on the board of Adoption Knowledge Affiliates and volunteers as a peer supporter facilitator for AKA support groups. In addition she recommends: Fireside Adoptees:https://www.facebook.com/groups/firesideadoptees/ Hiraeth Hope and Healing https://www.hiraethhopeandhealing.com/ AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. 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