Would You Like To Compare Our Genomes?

February 11th, 2015

Adoptee Laureen Pittman shares her notes and advice on corresponding with DNA relatives. 

I know I got lucky.

I hit the adoptee jackpot when I submitted my saliva sample to 23andMe and found my birth father a few weeks later. It was a total surprise. A little bit of a miracle, really. He wasn’t looking for me. He didn’t even know I existed. He got the surprise of his life when I wrote to him and told him he had a daughter.

Imagine writing that letter. What do you write to a man you’ve never met, but whose chromosomes you share? (The long story answer, including letters, is included in Genetic Testing: Miracles and Science). The short story is, it took some convincing that our match was not a mistake. My biological father, Jackson, never imagined he had a 50-year old daughter. When we initially exchanged information, he explained that he joined 23andMe hoping to learn more about his own biological father’s family. He’d been told that his father died when he was young, and so his mother raised him alone. As Jackson got older and asked more questions about his origins, she never gave him any meaningful details. So there he was, like me, trying to fill in holes in his family tree. So I helped him, and hope to help you too by sharing some advice on what I learned in the process.

Once your sample is processed with 23andMe, you’ll be notified that your results are available. First, you’ll want to check out your Ancestry Composition, which estimates what percentage of your DNA comes from populations around the world, broken down by geographic regions to show the origins of your ancestors going back many generations.

Then, if you’re interested in making connections with potential relatives, you’ll want to opt in to 23andMe’s DNA Relatives feature. This is where the correspondence begins.

Once you opt in, you will most likely receive requests from cousins and other distant relatives building their family trees (although, in some cases, like mine, you might find a father or mother immediately). Often times, cousins may have no idea there was an adoption in the family. They might ask you for surnames so that they can determine where you fit in their family tree. Your adoptive surname, however, will have no relevance to their tree, so you’ll need to be prepared to tell your story.

For example, I received this request from a 2nd to 3rd cousin match. He asked the typical questions, using a template provided by 23andMe:

Hi—Through our shared DNA, 23andMe has identified us as relatives. Our predicted relationship is a 2nd cousin. Would you like to compare our genomes? By sharing genomes we can compare our DNA using ancestry features and discover clues about how we are related. Surnames in my family: Mann, Bailey, Schmidt. I live in Northern California now, and I’m in my late 50’s. This is my first experience with 23andMe—interesting!  —Andy M.

As expected, none of those names meant anything to me. The only way to find out how we were related—and perhaps help my biological father solve his own mystery—was to share my story with this virtual stranger, so I wrote:

Hi Andy—23andMe is most definitely “interesting!” Here is the information I have about my biological family–maybe you can help me put some of the puzzle pieces together and see how we may be related.

Unfortunately, the surnames you provided don’t mean anything to me, but there is a reason for that. Perhaps they will mean something to me after we exchange information (I am hopeful!).

I was adopted as an infant. Hubachek is my adopted name, so it won’t help you with your relative search. But I do have some information that may be able to help you.

I was able to locate my biological mother 25 years ago. Her name is Margaret Michaels, born in Chicago in 1945. Her mother’s name is Eve (maiden name Beryl). I do not know her father’s first name, but I assume his last name was Michaels (I was born “Baby Girl Michaels”). Margaret never told me whom my biological father was (she has refused contact with me–it’s a complicated story), but I was able to find him through 23andMe. His name is Jackson Summer and he currently lives in Washington State. He was born in 1943–I’m not sure where, but he grew up in Santa Barbara, CA (as did Margaret).

Perhaps you are a match with Jackson?  If there is any other information I can give to you, I’d be happy to. Perhaps the surnames I’ve listed here mean something to you. Looking forward to hearing from you again. –Laureen

My advice to anyone pursuing a search for relatives through DNA testing is to respond to all types of contact requests. Someone out there knows your truth. They may not know they know, and you may not think that these distant relatives can provide useful information, but you never know when a scrap of information will help make random clues come together.

I didn’t hear from Andy for about six months. Then this:

Hi Laureen—Have you been in touch with Jackson Summer? My 88-year-old mom recently wrote to me. Can you forward this to him? Hope you’re doing well. – Andy M.

* * * * * *

From my mom to me [Andy]:

Jackson is the son of my Uncle Richard, your grandfather’s older brother who had come to this country before your grandfather.

Richard Schmidt was married to Katherine and had 2 children: Franz and Marybeth. Living in those days many miles apart, I believe I only saw him once when the family drove to Southern California when I was very young.

After WWII, I lost track of what Uncle Richard was doing. It wasn’t until I was married that I learned that Uncle Richard had had an affair while married to his first wife, Katherine. Of course, everything was very hush-hush. He and Katherine were divorced and the “other woman,” whose name was Mollie Summer, had a child. – Heide

Wow, Andy shared my information with his mother, who recognized the name “Summer.” Mystery solved! I had not only found my biological father, but I was able to help him find his biological father (my grandfather) and complete my family tree.

Sometimes adoptees searching for relatives through DNA testing spend months or even years waiting for a life-changing match, and sometimes it happens quickly, so send out those contact requests. Respond to requests sent to you. Share your story. Share it over and over again if you have to.

Soon I’ll be meeting Jackson for the first time, and his 88 year old cousin, Heide, too. The woman who shared her knowledge of the past and opened up the future for Jackson and me.

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

“It takes a thousand voices to tell a single story.”

November 27th, 2014

~ Native American Proverb .

Adopted Children Learn What They Live

November 21st, 2014

Years ago my adoptive mother proudly hung a famous poem in our home titled “Children Learn What They Live,” by Dorothy Law Nolte, Ph.D., a person who was keenly aware of the benefits of positive youth development. It remained there for years. Now that I’m post 50 and discovered at age 48 that I’d been adopted, I’ve wondered about that poem, wondered “positive youth development for who?” We need to remember that it means positive for the adoptee and from their perspective since they are the ones who are going to be living their lives.

This is my twist on that poem, my hope and dream for what a truly positive message for adoptees might look like –

ADOPTED CHILDREN LEARN WHAT THEY LIVE

If adopted children live with parents who are called their “real” parents, they learn that they came from “unreal” parents and that they’re rooted in something unreal, untrue, and unworthy of acknowledgement.

If adopted children live with labels like “chosen” or “lucky,” they learn that they were first unchosen and unlucky.

If adopted children live love defined by “your first mother loved you so much that they gave you up for adoption,” they learn that real love means being given away and to fear being given away every time they are told how much they are loved.

If adopted children live as “the answer to their parent’s prayers,” they learn that their sole purpose in life is to make others happy or risk a second abandonment if they don’t.

If adopted children live “Forever Family,” they learn that they’re like an adopted puppy or kitten, something to be acquired.

If adopted children live that finding first family is wrong, they learn that their deep need to know about their origins is wrong as well, and despair, sometimes waiting until it’s too late to find their truths.

If adopted children live with secret adoptions and no access to their original birth certificates, health histories, and heritages, they learn that they are not valued for who they were and question if they’re as worthless as the paper their amended birth certificates are printed on.

If adopted children live that adoption is only a blessing, they learn that their feelings of loss are invalid, and there must be something wrong with them for feeling that way.

If adopted children live that their trauma is real and their sadness over it is normal, they learn that their feelings are important and appropriate too.

If adopted children live with the opportunity to grieve, they learn they can survive and even thrive after loss.

If adopted children live with validated feelings, they learn that others genuinely care and value them.

If adopted children live with knowledge of their original identities, they can live authentically as themselves and not have to pretend to be someone else to be loved.

If adopted children live within an honest familial and societal system, they learn that they are more than a baby to be acquired and trust that they are valued just as they are.

By Joanne C. Currao born Tracey Elisabeth McCullough

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

“For Just a Day”—An Adoptee’s Wish for a Deeper Awareness of Adoption Pain

October 19th, 2014

Adoptee, Daryn Watson was compelled to pen this poem after learning the news that a fellow adoptee had recently ended her own life. He movingly reveals some of the realities of many adoption reunions after the initial tears of joy have been swept away.

 

For Just A Day

 

For just a day

I wish my pain would go away

 

For just a day

I wish I could say

I knew what it felt like

To fit into a family

Without feeling like I had to earn my approval

 

For just a day

I wish I didn’t fear second rejections

From the woman who gave me away

And who gives me her rationalizations

 

For just a day

I wish I could say

The words “birth” or “bio” mother

Without them being such a bother

 

For just a day

My hopes of my siblings to say

“How are you doing?”

Let’s plan a visit in May

 

For just a day

I want to convey

The angst I feel in my life

That causes me much strife

Without being judged or condemned

Day after day, all over again

 

For just a day

I hope for the news

That we won’t hear of a blindside

Of another adoptee committing suicide

 

For just a day

I want to segway

Into our own truth

That was formed in our early youth

 

For just a day

I wish the adoption industry

Would stop trying to betray

Adoptees from finding their history

 

For just a day

We hope lawmakers would join the fray

By stop making us feel ignored

And give us our identity records

 

For just a day

I wish couples wouldn’t pay

Tons of money to fulfill their heart

While ripping other families forever apart

 

For just a day

I wish I truly fit in

With the people around me

Without losing connections again

 

For just a day

I desire inner peace to stay

Without the rumblings of emotional famine

Or feeling overwhelming grief at random

 

For just a day

I wish I wasn’t cast away

To live my life in a twister

Without my natural brother or sister

 

For just a day

We wouldn’t have to pray

That our feelings aren’t swept under the rug

Or that we don’t abuse alcohol or an antidepressant drug

 

For just a day

I want my birth mother to acknowledge and say

“I’m sorry I abandoned you” with her voice

“And I didn’t give YOU a choice.”

 

For just a day

I wish my pain would go away

 

October 8, 2014

 

I wrote this poem soon after I heard the troubling news of a fellow adoptee taking her own life.  Although I did not know this person, I knew that she had been reunited with her birth family. Upon learning about her tragic decision to end her pain, the phrase— for just a day—kept running through my mind. I finally succumbed to that inner mantra and put my feelings and words to paper.

In the 19 years since I reunited with my own birth family, my emotions have run the entire gamut from feeling elated, to feeling completely rejected and abandoned again. Reunions and the adoption pain that follows them can be hard, complex, and confusing to say the least.

Society usually sees the happy reunion story during its initial honeymoon stage. Those moments are almost always filled with tears of joy, leaving the impression that the reunion and new relationship will lead to a “happily ever after” fairytale scenario. However, throughout the reunion process, the emotional undercurrents of grief, rage, shame, guilt, rejection and abandonment often lurk beneath the surface for both the birth family and the adoptee.

Thankfully today, adoptee rights organizations and social media outlets are creating a deeper awareness of the adoption pain the adult adoptee may face throughout the course of his or her life. Still, in light of the recent string of adoption-related suicides, adoptees are in need of far more resources, guidance and emotional supportive measures as they navigate the search and reunion roller coaster ride.

It is my hope that by sharing this poem, others will see another realistic side of adoption reunion and how that experience may really feel for many grown-up adoptees across the world.

Editor’s Notes:  Enjoy another of Daryn Watson’s poems here on Secret Sons & Daughters: Thanksgiving Reunion ’95

Pictured above is author, Daryn Watson and his paternal natural brother.

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

Native Awakenings

October 9th, 2014

An Indiana Adoptee Finds Her Alaskan tribe—

I have lived my whole life with skin that doesn’t burn in the sun, dark eyes and jet black hair. I’ve dreamt vivid, lucid, colorful dreams shaded with images of animals and earth’s elements. My night quests were often filled with salmon and streams, and I was carried away in a current. The water above and below me flowed in one direction, but my body was pulled along an opposite middle path.

For as long as I can remember, I felt as if I’d been severed from something. The forbidden questions I dared to ask about my adoption as a child were met with unsympathetic responses and nervous tapping fingers. The answers given: “We were told your birth father was one-quarter Aleutian Indian. You don’t want to open doors you cannot close. Your adoption records are sealed and that is the law.”

I was never introduced to Native American culture. My adoptee journey started in 1965, when I was born and adopted in the state of Indiana, one of more than thirty states that still have sealed adoption records. Non-identifying information is available in Indiana, but identifying information is only available if the first mother registers and signs a waiver of consent.

Those avenues were closed to me. Thankfully, today’s internet offered an alternate path to zip past prehistoric laws and unravel my ethnic mystery.

In the fall of 2013, I searched for DNA tests that determine ethnicity and found three companies: 23andMe, FTDNA and AncestryDNA. I had waited 47 years too long, dreamt too many dreams of being tugged away from something. I wanted real answers—to know if I was just a tan looking white-chick, or if I really had Native American ancestry.

While there were DNA tests that look solely for ancestral heritage, I began my search with 23andMe because at the time they provided genetic health information, such as whether I carried certain DNA mutations that lead to specific cancers or other diseases.

For an adoptee who has never had access to accurate family medical history, this was crucial information. (Unfortunately, the FDA has since stopped the company from offering this service.) I submitted my saliva sample and waited six weeks for the results.

When they arrived, I was shocked to find out I was in fact half Native American, my father full blooded. I mourned all the years I was denied my Native culture and never given the opportunity to know or celebrate my ethnicity with pride. My dreams, the strong spiritual connection I’d always felt to animals and the earth, the disinterest in the material world, all finally made sense to me in a way that made me feel rooted.

Thankfully, my medical history came out clean. Next thing I knew, I was accepting waivers stating that I’d read all they had to say about finding close relatives. I clicked away until I landed on a page that said there was a man with whom I shared 25% DNA. 23andMe suggested he was a nephew, but I knew in my heart he was my half brother.

We share the same birth date, one year apart. I messaged him right away and he responded promptly. He (Kevin) is 99.9% European. Since Kevin is nearly all European and I am half, it was clear we have the same mother. Kevin was born in Illinois, where adoption laws allowed him to access to our mother’s name. He agreed to share it. After that, I searched for her for months on end.

The excitement of finding him prompted me to submit samples to two more DNA testing companies. My ethnicity results returned the same. All three connected me to Native American distant cousins located along Alaska’s Yukon River.

I messaged everyone. Some replied, including Gail, a cousin who took me under her wing and offered to help me search for my Native birthfather.

In the meantime, I searched the internet daily for my mother. I drew family trees working them backward to forward. I searched every woman with the same name until “ruling out” was the only task left. Finally, in February 2014, I found her. She was on a public family tree. Also on that tree was a cousin from my European side, a photo of my mother, and her married last name.

I went on to find her on Facebook too and sent two messages that explained who I was (a nurse and mother) and what I longed to know, simple things like where I was born and the name of my father. I also told her that I was doing well and didn’t need to know the whys.

After those messages were met with silence, I sent a message to one of her siblings and received a note saying my birthmother would be willing to look at a letter again. The letter ended by wishing me peace and God’s love.

In my third letter to her, I confessed that I was petrified of hurting her and being rejected without answers. I promised to honor her private life, shared that Kevin and I were getting to know one another, and explained my DNA test result conundrum. And I asked again for my birth father’s name. I closed the letter by saying “I hope that you know you are loved.”

She responded a day later, asked for my address, and promised a letter. Six weeks later, it arrived. She confirmed that Kevin was my half brother, and gave me my father’s name.

Days earlier, my cousin Gail had posted my photo on her Facebook page, along with a brief note about my search for my father. I added his name in the comments and it flew like wildfire in the wind on a hot day. Within 90 minutes I had a gazillion relatives.

I was accepted without question, honored with phone calls, and welcomed with tears of joy. These new cousins shared stories about my father, how he’d been offered training with Chicago’s Job Corps in 1965 and spent 12 years in the lower 48 picking cotton in Georgia and oranges in Florida before returning home. They say I am much like him: tall, dark, and thin with a gentle and goofy nature. I wish I could have met him.

Artist (and Mary's cousin) Rose Albert's "Vision" reflects Alaska's various cultures

Artist (and Mary’s cousin) Rose Albert’s “Vision” reflects Alaska’s various cultures

My father, a full-blood Athabascan, walked on in 1992. My family assures me he would have loved me and done anything for me, had he known about my birth. I gaze at his photos and I see me, see white light reflected within dark brown eyes. I know his thoughts through these eyes. A history of memories carried through genetic markers that can never be washed away. My longing for connection to that history is so strong.

As for my mother’s family, Kevin and I are still secrets. However, I appreciate that she honored my request and signed the waiver to release my original birth certificate—the certificate that confirmed my father’s name, my Native American ethnicity, and had a checkbox marking me as “illegitimate.” My half brother and I grow closer as time progresses. We talk on the phone and email photos. I hope to meet him soon.

Mary and her cousin LaVem

Mary and her cousin LaVem

I recently met my first cousin LaVem. Our fathers are brothers. She flew to Las Vegas from Fairbanks, Alaska to celebrate her 50th birthday and I met her there. LaVern is the first biological relative I have ever met.

Meeting her was a special love at first sight. We laughed and joked and got along like we’ve known each other forever. We shared photos of ourselves on Facebook for our friends and Alaskan family to see.

Next summer my tribe will hold a memorial potlatch in Alaska. “Potlatch” is a native term for a tribal gathering that is celebrated with gift giving, traditional song and dance, and ceremonial practices for blessing. I hope to attend.

I’m immensely thankful to settle in to my heritage and share it with my children. And I’m thankful for programs now open to us that include healthcare benefits and college scholarship opportunities. If I had never known of my lineage, my children and I would have no access to these opportunities or our familial heritage.

It’s extremely healing for me as an Alaskan Native American to know where I came from. Knowing one’s history not only has the power to root someone in their past, it also opens doorways to the future, and our children’s future, too.

Image credit: “Iditarod” and “Vision” by artist Rose Albert.

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

The Perpetual Child, An Adoptee’s Thoughts on Voice

September 26th, 2014

The Voice We’re Given

Adoptees sit at the bottom of the adoption power rankings. Maybe initially it’s economics, the adoptee purchased by the adoptive parents; or the players’ ages at the time of that transaction; or the historical context, that, at least transnationally, adoption is young and most adoptees are young. But the lingering truth is that adoptees remain subject to that power structure far into adulthood. The structure persists in how their (our) voice is valued. The adoptee voice seems always to be positioned either in contrast to or in agreement with the adoptive parent’s (or agency’s) voice—that is, perpetually in reference to those in power. It is an oft-overlooked danger of the Perpetual Child problem: the pretense of valuing the adoptee perspective while determining that value according to a disempowering context.

Let’s think of this in another way: a rhetoric scholar I know said recently that she didn’t like her African American literature course because it used different terms for things she knew by other names in other courses. She wanted everyone to use the same terms, to make it easier on her (as, it must be said, a white student) She mentioned that this was the only time she was ever going to take an African American literature course, because it didn’t intersect with her studies (of course), implying that the theories would be more relevant if they were part of the majority discussion. To his credit, the professor of record was quick to point out that African American literary scholars needed to create their own terms, at least at first, in order to break free from being seen only in relation to the majority, and from using terms that already belonged to someone else.

Or let’s get away from academia, and think about how this applies to real life.

The Voice We Give Ourselves

I would argue that the adoptee, or at least the transracial adoptee, is often bullied by other children as much for his similarities, or for daring to think there might be similarities, as for his differences. Probably he doesn’t even realize this. The adopted child is often feared, often becomes a sort of reflection of insecurities. The adoptee often becomes Jung’s Beast, the Other who needs to be accepted by the (accepted) Beauty in order for his own beauty to exist. 

When I was growing up­ in my white town in Connecticut, I was so focused on my own fears that I barely recognized the fears other people had of me. Maybe this was why I bought into one of the great lies of bullying, that it was I who caused the teasing and insults and fights—that something wrong with me, not something wrong with how people saw me, was the reason I was singled out. If someone fought with me, the other person might change but I remained the common variable.

I was just as ready as anyone to hate the side of me that wasn’t the white kid I wished so badly to project (and be)—so badly I even denied to myself that I was not him. And this isn’t to say I was an entirely unpopular kid; I was somewhere in the middle. I had my friends, but with those friends I didn’t always feel entirely comfortable. One of the differences was that I seemed to have enemies no one else in my friend group had. I was in the middle, but to some, because I was adopted, or because I wasn’t white, I would always be at the bottom.

I remember I had a friend who would constantly pick fights with me—I didn’t know why. We would end up trying to get each other in a headlock at someone’s birthday party, and then would laugh it off as having fun. I wasn’t having fun. I don’t think he was, either, but whenever I tried to avoid him I found him pushing at my wounds even more. When he fought with me, he got attention. He knew enough about me, as my supposed friend, to know exactly how to hurt me. I don’t think I knew as much about myself in many ways. Sometimes it is the people who most want to hurt you who dig the fastest and deepest to your buried truths.

This friend had a shrink for a father and the daddy issues that perhaps went along with that. He was often shooting things with his BB gun or otherwise going through a prolonged stage of torturing animals. These were things about him we thought were cool: his interesting father, his violent urges. I can see now how insecure he was, but at the time the mask with which he covered that insecurity seemed enviable. Masks often do. Or they do for me. Maybe some part of me was impressed by the way he could be someone else on the outside.

Once, we got into a wrestling match at another friend’s house—I was in high school by then, I think, and still having these fights—and I felt my anger come on more strongly than it ever had in previous encounters and with a determination I only had when I felt most wronged and justified, when I finally realized something was not my fault. Usually, I was happy to slip away as soon as possible, but this time, I tried harder and harder to hurt him. I wanted to do some lasting physical damage, to do something that would put an end to what I must have understood eventually, or on some level, as torment. In fact, I would dream of this friend doing crueler and crueler things to me—the scenarios we played out in real life were also stuck in my subconscious.

This time, this fight, I threw elbows and tried to lock his arms and legs and get my arm around his throat. I got angry on the level of desperation, as if this was some last chance I had. I had to show him that he couldn’t do this to me. And though I wasn’t able to do any real damage (he was always stronger than me, or more aggressive with his strength, or more efficient with it, which he knew, of course), I think that for the first time, I scared him a little. I could feel that he was struggling, and that I might have eventually gotten the upper hand, when he broke away.

What he said then, though, is what I remember most well, and my answer to him is what really continues to torment me. He complimented me, as if this was all a game to him and he was happy to see me rise to the challenge, or as if he was some Mr. Miyagi and I was his pupil finally earning his respect. And in one of my worst moments, I felt proud of myself for that compliment. I felt respected by him. I felt my utter inferiority and a ridiculous pride that I had even come close to him.

It’s difficult to write about how much I looked down on myself.

This wasn’t even the friend who hurt me the worst for my seeming inferiority, not the one who turned his back on our friendship and pretended it had never existed as he climbed the popularity ranks, or the friend with whom I thought I was extremely close but who I have realized over many years never believed the same. This friend, the BB gun friend, was a friend who seemed the entire time to believe that we were friends and that this was our (natural) dynamic.

Now, maybe obviously, we are not friends anymore. I’m sure he has realized that we were never friends. We were afraid of each other. It wasn’t just me, I see now. Or we had recognized in each other something about ourselves that we were afraid of. If I look at the parts of myself I’d rather not see, even now, I think I must have located in him a boy whose father could have understood him if he had only let him. I think he recognized in me a boy who had his same violent urges, that same deep-seeded rage, under the mask I was trying so hard to wear. Maybe he was trying to draw me out as a way of drawing himself out.

Or maybe I really was the only one with the issues. How can one ever be sure?

This friend eventually made a point of not inviting me to his wedding, though we were still supposedly on good terms then. I didn’t invite him to mine, though I didn’t invite most of my friends from childhood. I was still not over the way I saw myself in my relationships with them. I’m still not over that.

I don’t know what I would do if I saw this friend now. I hate being reminded of that time. I hate that I will still regress to who they thought I was, to the dynamics we had then. I hate that they can define me in their ways, without my having any input, from something they must see as inherent. I will probably never go to a high school reunion. I have only one good friend remaining from high school, and whenever she suggests we try to have a little get-together with other classmates, she seems to know ahead of time that I will turn her down. I know that to be around those classmates, I will feel as if I never grew up.

The Voice We Take

The power structure with that friend, where I only felt on even ground, and where I congratulated myself for reaching that even ground, when he finally acknowledged me—I see this same power structure (this same beasting) played out in many adoption essays I read online.

Even in the current adoption climate, the adoptee is caught between, spoken for, treated as a purpose, or a context, as a way to improve the adoptive parent or agency, as something to be learned from or ignored, as less an individual with her own agency and more a contribution to the agency of someone else. Of course children may start out being (and providing) a purpose, in some ways. Adults decide to have children (sometimes). Adults decide to give children up (sometimes). Adults decide to adopt. But valuing adoptees means actually valuing adoptees’ voices, letting them talk for themselves and not interpreting what they say for one’s own purpose.

It’s like this: sometimes I read these articles by adoptive parents talking about their kids as blessings, as gifts, and saying what they have done for their kids, taking them back to their homeland and how good that’s been for them, for the kids and for themselves. So often, this is all second hand, all the parent’s account. Sometimes the parent talks about what she has learned about her child’s original culture, how having an adopted child has opened her eyes to Asia or so forth. It’s unbearably parent-centric—all aimed at what the parent can (or rather, has) learned. And when an article is actually about the adoptee and yet written as if the adoptive parent  knows what is going on in the adoptee’s head, how do I believe that? How does that parent believe that?

I can write an entire book about denial, and even if I knew exactly how I felt, I would not have wanted to make my parents pity me, or feel confused about me, or, worse, try to explain or to fix me. I suspect it’s like that for others, though of course I am loathe to do what I am arguing against: to put words in other adoptees’ mouths, no matter how I think I understand. My point is that the adoptive parent is not the one who should be judging whether the adoptee really understands or does not, is happy or is not, is adjusting or is not, is Beauty or is Beast.

It is a problem of its own that adoptees ourselves have trouble telling how we really feel. But how complicated that becomes when held up to the standard and scrutiny of the adoption power structure.

I was at a talk recently on education, where the speaker was discussing how people had been wrong to think an early education program had failed—at the time they hadn’t been able to study the long long-term results. They were measuring the results via testing. In the short-term, the tests seemed promising, and in the medium-term, the tests seemed to show nothing, or only temporary improvements, so researchers had thought the program was a failure. Yet years later, studying those children, it seems that early education had extremely deep-seeded effects, resulting in children being less likely to do something that ended them up in jail, less likely to become pregnant at a young age, and so on. Even when the test scores seemed to show that the effect of early schooling went away by the time they were teens. The education system wasn’t an effective way of measuring the education system.

Maybe it is a matter of what we are subject to. For it is not that I think these adoption articles, these evaluations, these studies, are a problem of empathy. I’m not saying adoptive parents are wrong to think about how their kids feel, or even to imagine those feelings. I believe these parents when they say they love and cherish their children. I believe they are trying and I can believe that they are trying to see things from the adoptee perspective. I believe they talk to their kids, that their kids say what appears in the articles. I even believe that writing about their kids could be helpful to empathy, could help them understand their sons and daughters through the mere act of trying to put themselves in those shoes. The problem is, it reinforces the idea that the adoptive parent has the authority over the adoptee, and even the adoptee’s feelings and thoughts and growth. It reinforces the idea that the adoptive parent is the one who tells the adoptee’s story.

What makes me saddest, though, is when I read adoptee essays in which the writers seem to assert the same. When they have to explain themselves in comparison or contrast to the adoptive parent. I have been there. Often this stance is by necessity, is important in thinking about one’s audience. Often the adoptee writer has to write an entire essay of, “That’s not how it is,” or even, “Don’t speak for us.” I may have even done so here. It takes so much space before the essay can make its own territory, until the adoptee writer can escape the (e)valuation of the power structure and wonder for herself. That is where the adoptee has a power and a context of her own, where she can say, this is a question outside of any (granted) authority.

This is a question I am asking myself, not for you to legitimize or strike down or make real, but because I have to ask it and it is mine to ask. And if I am asking it also for you, then consider what I don’t know on my terms, not as a plea for help or acceptance. The adoptee voice matters because the adoptee says so.

Editor’s Note:  This essay was originally written for the anthology Perpetual Child: Dismantling the Stereotype and is reprinted here with the author’s permission. Image Credit: Evan Forester.


Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

Adoption Healing and What It’s Like to Be Found

September 12th, 2014

I’m excited to hit the road soon and meet fellow secret sons and daughters at two upcoming weekend retreats. The first is Inside Out: The Expressive Arts Adoption Healing Seminar, September 27-28 in Westfield, Massachusetts. Created and led by adoptee Craig Hyman, this workshop uses creative expression to foster healing and growth for birth and adoptive parents as well as adoptees.

I’ll be guest-facilitating this year’s Westfield workshop at a place very near to my heart, Genesis Spiritual Life and Conference Center. Before Genesis was founded in 1976, it was Holy Child Guild, a home for unwed mothers and the place my birthmother roamed her last trimester before I was born. Two sisters from the Sisters of Providence transformed the property from a place that was once a source of hidden identities and shame to a spiritual retreat that offers innovate programs for persons of all faiths, cultures, and lifestyles.

Genesis Spiritual Life Center

Genesis Spiritual Life Center

I visited for the first time three years ago and slept in a room that was like the one my birthmother would have slept in, ate where the girls would have eaten, saw pictures of them (none with a visible face) at a Halloween party, and met Sister Elizabeth, one of the people responsible for Holy Child’s transformation. Meeting her, and learning how that transformation came to be, was a great source of inspiration and healing.

There is a quote on Genesis’s website that embodies the spirit of the workshops held on their 19 woodsy acres: “Oh, great Father, never let me judge another man until I have walked in his moccasins for two weeks.” – A Prayer for Understanding

One good way to walk in someone’s moccasins is to listen to his or her story, which is why Heather and Mary and I love helping fellow adoptees share them. There’s value in sharing your story, but before that, and perhaps even more importantly, there’s value in knowing it for yourself.

What is the story you tell yourself about adoption, reunion, and secrets? And how has that impacted your life? In our Sunday morning workshop, we’ll explore those questions through writing prompts and exercises (sharing of stories is completely optional).

On October 17-19, I’ll be traveling to Concerned United Birthparents’ annual retreat at Safety Harbor Resort near Tampa. CUB President Patty Collings sent an email introducing the three adoptees (myself included) who will speak on the panel “Being Found-Blessings and Challenges.”

Safety Harbor Resort, Florida

Safety Harbor Resort, Florida

Michael Turcotte, the birthson of Lee Campbell (CUB founder), is one of the other panelists. Lee found Michael when he was 15. I’ve heard a lot about Lee’s story and the more I’ve read, and watched, and wrote (our story about CUB here), the more I wondered what it was like for Michael. What was it like having his reunion talked about on Phil Donahue? What was it like to be found at 15, in the 1970s when no one talked about this stuff? And what was it like for him with his adoptive parents in the years that followed?

Today’s books and articles on adoption didn’t exist then, nor was there any advice given to adoptive parents on how, when, or why to talk to their children, answer their questions, or, God forbid, have a birthparent in his or her life.

I lived that challenge, too. At 13, I learned I was adopted. My birthmother found me when I was 19. I wished I’d known someone, anyone, back then who had gone through that experience. Someone else who’d made a choice to know his birthmother or father, like Michael. I’m so curious to hear him speak to those experiences at the retreat. 

And I’m also excited to hear the second panelist, Christine Murphy, author of Taking Down the Wall, share why being found was traumatic and caused her to initially resist a relationship with her biological relatives, as well as what later changed and fostered a relationship that led to healing. After Patty’s email went out, I kept thinking, Christine Murphy, where do I know that name from? Turns out we had corresponded six years ago over an essay I’d written that appeared in Ladies’ Home Journal that they’d titled “Torn Between Two Mothers.” 

We realized we’d both grown up in New York’s Albany-Saratoga region and met for coffee this summer in Saratoga. As Christine shared her story I was so struck, and impressed, by how she owned the angry parts that come about after a reunion. I also realized that for all the stories we’ve shared on Secret Sons & Daughters, only two of them are by people who had been found, all the rest are from adoptees who had to search. If you were found, I’d love to hear what that was like, either in the comments section below, or please send me a note: ck@secretsonsanddaughters.org.

In addition to our panel on what it was like to be found, the retreat will feature a panel on the impact of open adoptions that close, a talk with Mari Steed of The Philomena Project, and more. 

Hope to see you there! – Christine

For more information visit: Inside Out: The Expressive Arts Adoption Healing Seminar, and Concerned United Birthparents Annual Retreat. Note: Safety Harbor Resort’s group rate is available through September 22, 2014, then based on availability after that date.

Genetic Testing: Miracles and Science

September 3rd, 2014

An adoptee twice rejected by her first mother turns to genetic testing for information and discovers a whole new family. 

It has been 25 years since I found my birth mother. She has rejected me two times since. My search began in California in 1986 when I was in my early twenties. I hired a private investigator and made use of the “non-identifying information” a compassionate social worker had provided. The investigator made the initial contact. It was a disaster; my birth mother did not want to be found.

Apparently my birth had been a frightening chapter in her life and one she wanted to keep closed. Imagine a pregnant eighteen-year-old girl in prison during the dawn of the free love movement, giving birth while incarcerated, not to mention in an era that stigmatized out-of-wedlock pregnancy. She had no desire to revisit her troubled youth through meeting me, and, the hardest part, no curiosity or desire to know who I was.  

I cried. I felt awful, guilty even.

It took months to work through my emotions over this second rejection, but I finally wrote to her. She responded with a letter that expressed her firm wish to draw a line that separated her from her past. Our only other communication was through two more letters over the years that followed. They met with the same result. Time seemed to have no effect on her wounds.  To this day I’ve never met her, nor spoken to her on the phone.  

I know I can’t control how she feels. I can only control my own reaction. I admit it hurts, but I’m not the type to kick something around forever.  Thankfully, my life is full of other moments. Great moments, especially those surrounding the births of my two sons and the years spent raising them. 

As the years have ticked by though, I increasingly wondered about my birth father. My birth mother was the only person who knew his identity and she was unwilling to divulge that information.

I made a rogue attempt to use social media to locate him. My Facebook page plea included the date and place of my birth, along with several photos of me throughout the years. I waited.  Several weeks went by and there was no shortage of shares. Like a cheesy 80’s shampoo commercial, I told two friends and they told two friends, and so on, and so on. 

The result: nothing. In the end, I surmised that my birth mother never told him that she was pregnant. How do you find someone who has no idea that you exist?

After that failed social media experiment, I took a break from finding him, until gnawing questions about my health history prompted me to try genetic testing. 

Thank you, science and technology. I spit in a test tube, waited a few weeks, and 23andMe (a genetic testing company named for the 23 pairs of chromosomes in a normal human cell) gave me a genetically “clean” bill of health. The report explained that they detected no mutations or gene variants that would indicate serious inherited conditions, only a couple of genes indicating an elevated risk for non-life threatening conditions such as psoriasis and restless leg syndrome. 

This was before 23andMe suspended their health-related genetic testing to comply with the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s directive. 

After I received the health results, I played around with the “Ancestry Composition” section of the site. I was fascinated to find out that I was mostly British and Irish, which was at least partially similar to my adoptive parents’ British and German ancestry. Given my propensity for arguing, raising my voice in exciting situations, and talking with my hands, I figured there would be a bit of Italian in me. Nope. I was enchanted anyway with the idea of being British and Irish, and fantasized I was related to Bono. 

Initially, I never thought to look at the “DNA Relatives” section of the site. I already knew who my biological mother was, and I knew she hadn’t had other children. As for my birth father, I figured he wouldn’t be looking for me, and given his age (early 70’s), he probably wasn’t spitting in a test tube to get in touch with his genes.

A few weeks after analyzing the health data, I received an email from 23andMe. It was a conduit email from a “potential relative.”

Hi – Through our shared DNA, 23andMe has identified us as relatives. Our predicted relationship is 4th Cousin, with a likely range of 3rd to 6th Cousin. Would you like to explore our relationship?

Fourth, maybe even a 6th cousin?  Whoop de doo. With no blood relatives that I actually knew, except for my own boys, a 4th cousin was too distant to rouse my curiosity.  Even if he were related to me on my paternal side, how would I know?  These potential matches typically request lineage information—a list of surnames to help piece together a family tree. I had no surnames to offer, so I ignored that first message. 

I received a few more requests, but they were all the same—distant cousins. The flurry of them, though, finally prompted me to check 23andMe’s “DNA Relatives” section. I could have shut off these notifications, but now I was a curious to see if there were other matches who hadn’t reached out yet.

On that page, 23andMe reported that I had 762 potential relatives. 762! What does one do with this kind of information?  Okay, maybe a lot of people care about distant cousins—it’s a way to find common ancestors and build your family tree—but I didn’t have a family tree.  I barely had a shrub. 

Then I saw it: “One Close Family.” What? Who? I clicked on it, but before 23andMe would reveal any details, a warning popped up. I had to confirm that I really wanted the information.  

23andMe asked for two layers of consent before it revealed a close family relationship. First, I was given the chance to turn off the “relative finder” function, which shows relations as close as second cousins. Once you’ve opted in, if 23andMe finds a close relative (closer than a second cousin), a pop-up warning explains how this “new” evidence of a close family relationship can be unexpected and even upsetting in some cases.  Upsetting? Been there. Of course I wanted to know! I clicked, then:

You may learn information about yourself that you do not anticipate.  Such information may provoke strong emotion.

Thanks 23andMe. Now I was scared. But I clicked “proceed” anyway. Then I saw it:  Male, Father, 50% shared, 23 segments

Father?  My biological father?!  23andMe had found my biological father! Boy, this was not some online game, yet I felt like I’d just won the lottery—50.0% shared, 23 segments.

I had to contact this guy. 23andMe required that initial contact be made through them. I could hardly think straight as I typed out a message to my father

Hi,

I am contacting you because 23andMe has identified you as a relative of mine because of our shared DNA. 23andMe has predicted, through our DNA “match,” that you are my biological father. You won’t recognize my name, because I was adopted and bear the name of my adoptive parents. However, my birth mother’s name is Margaret Michaels. I hope that the name Margaret Michaels is familiar to you, although it was 50 years ago and I understand that it was a difficult time for both of you. I hope that you will respond to my message and that you are interested in exploring our relationship. I look forward to hearing from you! Laureen Pittman 

(Original birth certificate reads: “Baby Girl Michaels”)

It hasn’t been an easy journey. At first, he thought our match was a mistake. My birth father—a self-proclaimed “old hippie”and artist who had fully immersed himself in the early 1960’s beatnik culture—had no recollection of his encounter with my birth mother. He doesn’t even remember her name, but since the geographic details and genetic facts all added up, our match could not be denied. 

He lives in another state and I have yet to make the journey to meet him.  We’re taking things slow and communicating through email. I’m grateful and amazed at his openness. He is telling me his truth, his story, and I am telling him mine. It’s really something to hear and be heard by a biological relative, and hard to explain how powerful that is to people who grew up with the ability to take that for granted. It feels like a miracle, like a whole new world opened up, with a little help from science.

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

PACER of Northern CA: Helping Those Impacted by Adoption Since 1979

July 14th, 2014

PACER (Post-Adoption Center for Education and Research) was founded by Dirck Brown in 1979, well before most of society even recognized the need for support and education for adoption-affected individuals.

Brown, an adoptee and successful college dean, knew firsthand the lifelong impact of adoption, and after searching for and reuniting with his birth parents in 1976, began an adoption support group in his own living room. His trailblazing idea blossomed from there. The organization was unique in that it provided support for all members of the adoption triad: adoptees, birth/first parents, and adoptive parents.

PACER has been a leader in Northern California’s adoption support community now for over 35 years. It is a nonprofit, grassroots group led by volunteers. PACER’s offerings include support groups, referrals, mental health services, community events, and educational resources for anyone affected by adoption. The group advocates for open records and transparent policies, as well.

April Topfer, PhD, is PACER’s current president. She is an adoptee and pre-licensed Psychological Assistant who has been in reunion with her birth father since 2012. Recently, Dr. Topfer offered to answer some of our questions about PACER’s impressive history, accomplishments, and offerings for fellow adoptees.

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Secret Sons & Daughters: When PACER was founded in 1979, openly discussing adoption issues was still a bit taboo.  Some thought babies were blank slates who should blend in seamlessly with adoptive families with no desire to search for roots. What were PACER’s first years like and which triad members first embraced the group and its’ ideas?  

Dr. Topfer: You could say openly discussing adoption was a bit taboo, or a lot taboo, at the time! Mental health education, practice, and research about adoption issues was not familiarly known, studied, or talked about. 

For instance, we consider Sorosky, Baran, and Pannor’s seminal book The Adoption Triangle and BJ Lifton’s Lost and Found as being classics in the field but they were actually written the same year that PACER was founded. 

Also, adoption expert Dr. David Brodzinsky was just beginning his research about adoption loss. Before this, the only book written by an adoptee about her experience was The Search for Anna Fisher, a 1973 memoir by ALMA founder Florence Fisher, who blazed the way for open adoption records, search, and reunion. 

This gives us insight about the social atmosphere when Dirck Brown and his colleagues launched PACER. Basically, there were still a lot of unknowns and gross misperceptions about adoption triad/constellation members’ experiences. 

Surprisingly, however, the first and largest group of members who embraced PACER was adoptive parents. They were extremely influential in obtaining large funding, grants, and sponsorships. Dr. Joe Davis, a physician from Stanford University Medical Center – and not an adoption triad/constellation member – also embraced PACER and its mission early on. Others were therapists and first/birth mothers.          

Secret Sons & Daughters: Did you get any negative feedback from certain groups? 

Dr. Topfer: No, I have not heard or read any negative comments about PACER from organizations or individuals. In fact, I’ve only heard very positive feedback. 

There may have been negative feedback toward PACER members actively involved in the CA open records movement, though. PACER had not, until recently, committed itself to legislative and lobbying efforts for open records. 

In the past, PACER was afraid they would alienate adoptive parents if they took a public stand against closed records. That has changed, however, since my time as president.  

Secret Sons & Daughters: Are PACER members and participants mostly adoptees or do you have interest from birth and adoptive parents, as well? 

Dr. Topfer:  The majority of our board members are adopted persons. One first/birth mother is a board member. However, we have a large first/birth mother member population, especially in Sacramento. 

Unfortunately, we don’t currently have adoptive parents on the board or any active adoptive parent groups. PACER is interested in changing this and has consulted with NACAC (North American Council on Adoptable Children) about how to reach out to adoptive parents. 

Also, I’ve been soliciting interest from several therapists who are also adoptive parents. Therapist and adoptive parent Nancy Verrier (author of The Primal Wound) is one of them. 

I think the biggest reason adoptive parents have not been involved with PACER is the disparity in experiences between adopted persons, first/birth mothers, and adoptive parents. Adoptive parents have always been the leading force in the adoption industry, as agencies, policy makers, and the media give their experiences more precedence than adopted persons and first/birth mothers. Adopted individuals’ and first/birth mothers’ voices have not been front and center. 

Pacer-Birth Mother stories

PACER has shifted this power dynamic, giving adopted persons and first/birth mothers the support and a forum to express their experiences of loss, anger, guilt, shame, bewilderment, etc. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: What are typical reasons adoptees first contact PACER? Do these reasons vary greatly between men and women? 

Dr. Topfer: The main reasons adoptees first contact PACER are for issues around search and reunion, and a desire to be supported by others who understand their experience. 

I haven’t noticed or heard that these reasons vary greatly between men and women. However, there are more women than men regularly attending our peer-led support groups. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: Can you describe some examples of “breakthrough” or “a-ha” moments for new members seeking support? 

Dr. Topfer: Good question. I don’t know the “breakthrough” moments for other members but I will speak about my own first experience as a PACER member. 

I had attended a PACER adoptee group several times over a two-year span before my breakthrough moment. It took that long because, admittedly, in those first meetings I was intimidated by others who openly shared their search and reunion experiences. 

I was still deep “in the closet” in terms of my search and reunion and exploring my adoptee identity. It wasn’t because I hadn’t searched before; it was because 15 years earlier when I had contacted my first/birth mother, there was not a welcoming response. So, in those first meetings, I didn’t feel I could contribute significantly to the group. 

Now I wonder if other adoptee newcomers have felt similarly? After finally mustering the courage to talk about my adoption – which felt necessary for my own mental health and wellness – at this same time, I attempted to make contact with my first/birth mother again. As I opened up more, the PACER adoptee group felt less intimidating and more helpful. 

As time progressed, I participated in other PACER events and even went to my first American Adoption Congress conference. At that point, I clearly saw the benefits of being with others who had similar feelings and experiences.

Secret Sons & Daughters: What sort of advice or support do you offer for someone who has had an unsuccessful search or rejection from found relatives? 

Dr. Topfer: This has been my experience with my first/birth mother and her family. The best advice and support I can offer is to practice patience and letting go. 

This doesn’t mean giving up – quite the opposite. It means continuing to hope that a connection will develop but not holding on so tightly that other family member opportunities are missed.  

I see this pattern with adoptees: Their first, and usually only, primary focus is on their birth mother. It’s natural to have this sort of tunnel vision because as adoptees we didn’t receive the genetic bond and love from our first/birth mothers, and we desperately needed it! 

Despite the importance of a mother’s bond, however, an adopted person must realize that he/she has two whole entire families with separate members who may be welcoming, warm, and accepting. In fact, it is other family members who are more likely to extend open arms because they don’t have the loss, shame, guilt, and grief of first/birth mothers. 

As I stated, my personal experience included a restricted “birthmom tunnel vision” for years. 

At the first contact attempt, my first/birth mother screamed and yelled at me. She was in hysterics. This scared me off for another 15 years but I still thought about her often. 

Then, during a therapy session one day, it struck me that I have not only a mother but a father, as well. This felt revolutionary! My therapist was very supportive of my search for him. 

Less than six months after I shifted my attention away from my birth mother, my birth father found me! It’s been two years since we connected and we have a great relationship.

Secret Sons & Daughters: Your site has an excellent, comprehensive list of articles and suggestions for finding an adoption-sensitive therapist. Have you found an increase in the number of mental health professionals that have joined in the belief that adoption has a significant, lifelong, evolving impact on an individual? What type of training is sought by adoption-savvy professionals? 

Dr. Topfer: Thank you. I worked hard on gathering useful articles, videos, and other helpful resources for the website. Many articles are borrowed from C.A.S.E. [Center for Adoption Support and Education, which generously offers free use of information] and other sources. 

In regards to adoption-savvy professionals, I haven’t found a noteworthy increase in mental health professionals and organizations embracing adoption’s significant, lifelong impact. Most therapists recommended on our site have been exploring adoption issues for a while. 

I will add, though, there is increased discussion in the adoption community about adoption competency for professionals. It’s slowly trickling into mainstream mental health. The Donaldson Institute recently released a report about the “Need to Know – Competency in Adoption Therapists” and the APA has an Adoption Practice and Counseling Special Interest Group (SIG). 

A recent California bill proposed that mental health professionals must be certified in adoption competency before obtaining adoption agency referrals. Unfortunately, the bill was gutted and now only states the need for training. Overall, these factors indicate the need for adoption competency is on the minds of professionals aware of adoption’s complexities. 

Regarding training for adoption-savvy professionals; what I do know is that trauma-informed therapy is becoming the standard focus of treatment for not just adults but for children. 

Adoption-sensitive professionals understand the aspects of trauma in adopted and foster children. They acknowledge long-term trauma caused by closed records in adopted adults, too. This opens up different modalities that a practitioner can use to help achieve levels of healing and development—neurological and neurobiological, attachment-focused, somatic, mindfulness, transpersonal, etc. 

In this sense, adoption-savvy professionals perhaps will seek trainings that are trauma-informed, empirical, and experiential. 

Secret Sons & Daughters: Do you have unique support options for individuals affected by various types of adoptions – infant, older/foster child, international, open vs. closed? 

Dr. Topfer: No, not specifically, although we know our group members do have a wide range of adoption experiences. 

We do see the need for more specialized groups, including “professionally-led” meetings, which we hope to start in fall of 2014. They will be facilitated by a professional, be fee-based, closed, and scheduled for a specific amount of time. 

Our current groups are peer-led, drop-in, open, and not fee-based. During professionally-led groups, members will be able to explore their adoption experiences more intimately in a small group.  

Secret Sons & Daughters: What do you think the future holds for open records laws within states and perhaps on a national level?

Dr. Topfer: The trend has been for states to finally open records but with conditions – a waiting period in which a first/birth mother can opt out of contact. Ohio, Illinois, and New Jersey have unconditional vetoes in place. Maine, Oregon, and Alabama do not have vetoes. 

PACER does not have an official stance yet on conditional or unconditional records but we lean toward no compromises and no vetoes. 

A representative from CalOpen, the leading open access organization in California, recently stated: “States that have passed conditional bills are ruining other states’ chances of passing unconditional open access bills. They are unfortunately sending a message that it’s fine for some adoptees to have access but not all; ultimately, that is not okay!”

PACER California access

Personally, I lean toward an unconditional access bill. I used to agree it was okay if some adoptees’ OBCs were sacrificed if the majority got theirs. The compromise seemed acceptable – until I realized my own first/birth mother could redact my OBC, despite Ohio’s recently passed open access bill. 

I was born in Ohio and supportive of the bill (am still partially supportive), but when I read that my birth mother could take away what is truly mine, my heart sank. Those who act too quickly to put conditions on open access bills have not looked deeply enough into this dilemma.

Secret Sons & Daughters:  If you would like to learn more about PACER, visit their comprehensive site: pacer-adoption.org

Thank you for visiting Secret Sons & Daughters. In addition to stories, you can find valuable resourcesdiscover your rights to your original birth certificate, meet other adoptees, and join the discussion by commenting (below) or on our Facebook page. Comments are always welcome. And we’d love to hear your story. Please subscribe and join our growing community.

Concerned United Birthparents Offers Insight and Support

June 24th, 2014

In 1975, a Massachusetts birthmother named Lee Campbell attended an adoptee support group with a few other birthmothers. As she listened to adoptees swap stories, she wondered if mothers who had surrendered children for adoption might benefit from separate discussions about their experiences. The other mothers she’d met agreed.  In the year that followed, Concerned United Birthparents (CUB) held their first meeting at (ironically) The Church of the Immaculate Conception on Cape Cod, and incorporated a few months later. During CUB’s first eight years of operation, they answered 45,000 letters, half of which were from adoptees, many of whom were testing the waters on meeting a birthparent. Keep in mind, this was the late 70s/early 80s when most adoptees didn’t think reunions were possible, let alone a socially acceptable option.

Today, CUB is a national organization, a recognized voice for birthparents, and a valuable support resource. In addition, they’re a major resource for adoption reform history and have supplied Harvard’s Schlesinger Library with over 10,000 pages of CUB history.

This old Phil Donahue clip—which includes an interview with Lee Campbell—is a first hand look at that history and the heated early conversations on reunions, searches, pressure to relinquish, and whether an adopted person should have a right to his or her history. I’ll warn you, from about minute 21 on, it’s disconcerting to see that for as much as things have changed, we still have a ways to go.

I had an opportunity to talk with Patty Collings, CUB’s current President (and a birthmother herself), about CUB’s evolution over almost four decades and what they offer today, especially for adult adoptees. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS:  When did CUB decide to open meetings to others impacted by adoption and what prompted that change?

PATTY: Early on, when meetings were limited to the greater Boston area, CUB’s mission was to create a safe place for birthmothers to discuss their surrenders. Early members developed a birthparent manual of sorts, exploring issues such as searching or not searching; following their children’s lives from a distance or making contact; and how to make a comfortable niche for themselves after reunion, however that turned out. Initially, there was also an active adoptee group in the Boston area with whom we shared a few meetings.

That all changed as CUB grew to better understand birthparenthood and began to open branches across the country, especially in places where there were no active adoptee groups. Today, attendance at a typical meeting is split almost evenly between adoptees and birthparents.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Why might someone attend a CUB meeting?

PATTY:  I’ll never forget one of the first meetings I attended. There was an adoptee in her reunion’s early stages. I’ll call her Carol. She told the group that her birthmother, Susan, had said something that upset her very much and continued to bother her whenever she thought about it. Susan had said: “When I first held you, I just thought you were too perfect for me to keep, so I had to give you up.” Carol felt those words as cold and uncaring, and she felt very hurt by them.  

Another birthmom at the meeting told Carol that what Susan said resonated with her. She said she knew that feeling of shame and unworthiness, and that she too had felt unfit to raise a child as an unwed mother. This other birthmom explained that Susan might have thought that her daughter was so precious, so much better than her that she deserved a better mother, a better person to be her parent. 

In the months that followed, Carol told us that what she heard in that meeting helped her to feel better whenever her mother’s words popped in her mind, and she didn’t dwell on them as much anymore. I still get choked up each time I remember that meeting and how Carol’s face softened.

That experience is something we see again and again—adoptees have an opportunity to get a better understanding of their own birthparents by listening to other birthparents talk, and it goes the other way too. Birthparents gain an understanding of what their children might be experiencing when they can hear from other adoptees. And it seems easier to take in such points of view when it comes from someone unrelated yet very familiar with the experience.

We believe this is our most important service, providing emotional support and meeting people wherever they are in their journey. Sometimes it is an adoptee struggling post-reunion, sometimes it’s a birthmother grappling with an open adoption that closed, and other times it might be a birthparent or adoptee wondering if they have a right to search. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Can you describe a realization, or break-through of sorts, that might happen at a meeting?

PATTY:  We often hear adoptees who are searching say they believe their birthparents don’t think about them, aren’t looking for them, and don’t want to find them, let alone be found. They’ll assume this because the birthparent has not registered with any of the mutual consent registries. They are often surprised to hear birthparents in the group explain that they were unaware of the registries, and/or that they were told by the adoption agencies that they must never interfere, never intrude on their child and the family who adopted them. So many of us were told this would be very disruptive, and that, for all we knew, our child didn’t know about his or her adoption. 

It’s one thing to read this in a book or online, but when birthparents are face to face with adoptees and talk about how they have thought about their child every day, wondered if they were safe and happy, and how they think about that child every birthday – boy do we ever think about them on their birthdays—it has a different kind of impact.

I feel confident saying that the vast majority of birthparents want to be found. There’s an interesting statistic in Jean Strauss’ film about Illinois’ recent open records law, A Simple Piece of Paper: since the records opened, more than 8,000 requests for original birth certificates have been filed. Of that 8,000, only 47 birthparents asked to have their name withheld.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: What advice do you offer someone who has experienced rejection from his or her biological relatives?

PATTY:  A birthparent who refuses contact with his or her child is the most distressing situation. My personal belief is that we owe it to our children to be open to a relationship and to give them whatever information they ask for. This may include the identity of the birthfather (and his contact information if we have it). They have the right to know who they are and where they came from, their birth story, the first chapter of their lives.  

Adoptees typically search for their mothers first. Birthmothers who initially refuse, but later agree to contact, often describe feeling shock after being found. This is often because being an “unwed mother” might be a long-held secret, and the shameful memories so painful that they have coped by keeping feelings deeply buried. They also anticipate that they’ll be shamed and rejected by their friends and family when the truth comes out.  For some mothers who have gone through this, it took years to process these feelings before they were ready for a relationship.  

So when a birthparent says “no,” it might not mean never, it might just mean not now.  If an adoptee has contact information, I encourage him or her to reach out again after some time has passed, and at some point, also consider searching for siblings and other relatives.

If an agency is involved and will not release information because the birthparent withholds consent, an adoptee might consider contacting a search angel or private investigator, or sign up for registries and DNA matching services. These avenues can help someone discover a sibling, aunt, uncle, or even a grandparent who is open to a relationship.  

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: I’ve noticed that terminology can be a real hot button. For example, whether to refer to a mother as “birthmother,” “first mother,” or some other term, and I know there are language challenges for mothers as well. How is that handled in meetings?

PATTY:  There are no rules other than people can use whatever terminology works best, whether that is “I placed my child for adoption,” “I relinquished my child,” “birthmother,” “first mother”—whatever works for the person trying to share his or her experience. The goal is to support someone wherever they are in the process. 

Our founder, Lee Campbell, considered several names when she was establishing CUB—the first organization to support and advocate for mothers who had lost their children to adoption. This video details the word “birthparents” inspiration and Lee’s thought process as she considered commonly used terms at the time — first, natural, biological, genetic—and then decided on “birthparent, birthmother,” as one word, like grandparent. It was a label she hoped would unite mothers of adoption loss. The rest of the title for what Lee called her “unique band of sisters” came easy after that. Lee adds: “I envisioned us birthmothers ‘united’ in our ‘concern’ about our children, and that’s how “Concerned United Birthparents” fell into place.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Tell me a little bit about fathers—did birthfathers attend in those early years, and has their participation changed over the years?

PATTY: Fathers matter, and we have long invited their participation.  Our birthfather membership is lower than birthmothers, but we know that many men may not even be aware they have a child, or that the child was given up for adoption.  Also, we have heard from fathers who, years after walking away from their partner’s unplanned pregnancy, realize that they feel shame too. 

On a separate note, the recent focus on illegal adoption lawsuits filed by Utah attorney Wes Hutchins on behalf of birthfathers whose children were adopted without their knowledge or consent, or under fraudulent circumstances, may encourage even more fathers to come forward.  We encourage them to join us. 

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS:  Do meetings also focus on helping adoptees and birthparents search for one another?

PATTY:  I joined another group, ALMA (Adoptees Liberty Movement Association) in 1997.  I joined CUB in 2001. ALMA is more focused on advising people how to search, and on forwarding open records legislation. In addition, they also maintain a mutual consent registry for birthparents and adult adoptees. While CUB supports these registries and legislative efforts and shares search resources, our primary focus is support and awareness.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: What geographic areas can someone find a CUB support group and roughly how many people attend a typical meeting?

PATTY: We’ve found that the in person connection is invaluable.  It can be very comforting to sit and talk with others who really “get you.” And we have all benefited from hearing how others cope with ongoing searches, rough reunions, rejection, finding a grave, and learning to deal with some family members who suggest we just “get over it” and “move on with our lives.”

Several California cities have active members, including groups in Los Angeles, Orange County, and San Diego north and south groups. In addition to California, there are groups in Boston, Minneapolis, Portland, Washington, D.C. and Lakeland, Fl. The meeting size varies anywhere from 7-20 participants (usually in California). Our meetings in Lakeland, Florida typically have 3-10 people. We also have a younger cohort of birthmoms that meet online via Google Hangouts.

In addition, members who are not close to a local group have found support through our newsletters as well as emails and phone calls with CUB members.

SECRET SONS & DAUGHTERS: Any other in person opportunities, especially for those that don’t live near a CUB group?

CUB Retreat Banquet

CUB Retreat Banquet

PATTY: We host an annual retreat, usually at a hotel near a beach, bay, or a lake so that the environment is ideal for reflection between sessions. The schedule is not packed with multiple sessions that run simultaneously. Instead, we focus on a core program. This year’s conference will be near Tampa, in Safety Harbor, Florida, Oct. 17-19, and feature a panel on Found Adoptees, several experts on an Open Adoption panel geared to younger birthmoms who are contending with open adoptions that closed, and a panel of three (two birthmothers and an adoptee) involved in family preservation work, finding resources and support to enable expectant mothers and fathers to parent their children. We also plan to have a representative from the Philomena Project. 

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For more information on CUB and upcoming conference details, visit Concerned United Birthparents.

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