Indian Late Discovery Adoptee

Fuck. Fair to say that I've broken down at least once a month at this point. Every now and then, I feel like I'm doing pretty good. And then suddenly the weight of it all comes crashing down. Learning you're adopted in your thirties is overwhelming. Just so much to process. I feel like there's something new everyday. Always something that triggers an emotion. On one of those moments when I finally gathered myself after breaking down, I pulled out my phone, and this is what I wrote: God fucking dammit. Why is this my problem?! They made the choice. They made the decisions! And I'm the one trying to pick up the pieces! I'm the one living this shit! I'm the one trying to figure out my God damn identity! I'm the one trying to get my paperwork from some fucking court and who the fuck else knows that has access to it! I'm the one who got fucked by what was supposed to "fix things" and "save me"! And they don't want to listen and hea

How do you bury someone that you've never met? How do you bury someone preemptively? Because they may or may not be alive. How do you bury someone that you don't even know if you'll ever meet? Somewhere out there are my mother and father. At least one of them knows I exist. I do care about them. Enough to keep them in my thoughts. Enough that it keeps me up at night. The more I learn about other Indian adoptees that have tried to find their birth families and failed to do so, the more real it seems that I may never find anything. I consider myself to be a hopeful realist. I wasn't even sure that was a thing till I thought about it. And then I Googled it. And it is what I am today. I'm hopeful that I may find my family. I'm hopeful that I'll find answers. But I'm realistic to the fact that it's also a pipe dream. That there are other things in my life today that are more important. I'm realistic to the fact that it doesn’t matter how much time, ef

It has been over a year now since I discovered my adoption. It is still a bizarre thing to think about that a person could experience. I have spoken and shared thoughts with many other adoptees, and late discovery adoptees. Among the LDA crowd, I have learned that this is never going to go away. The pain, anger, and grief is something I will always carry from now on, but I do know that as time goes on, I will become better in coping with it. I have formed new opinions on adoptions. My perspective is continually changing, and evolving with each day. The more I learn, and the more I allow myself to feel, the more I grow. I've come across so much information from other adoptees, and the vast amount of knowledge out there is incredible. Every adoptee has a story. Speaking of adoptee stories, here's a bit of how mine has progressed. So, I sent my letter to my a-parents back in January. Since then, I have spoken to either of them over the phone. I did reach out a few times in a group

On January 17th of 2020, I sent my a-parents a letter. I wrote down my thoughts and feelings that I've been having up until that point. Today is May 14th, 2020. As far as I know, neither of them has read it yet. When I first sent it, my a-mother shared a lot of her thoughts. Much of which were hurtful. But, she didn't read the letter. It would have brought to light a lot of what I was going through. Maybe she would have replied differently. But then again, in her words, "Whatever you feel or think I validate even without reading anything." A month later in February, I sent them a message in the group chat asking whether or not either of them read my letter. I got zero responses. Not even an acknowledgement of my question. Then again in March, I sent them another email letting them know I still wasn't sure if any of them read it. And so, I will post that letter here. If it helps someone else, great. But at least it will be read by somebody. It’s been a

In May of 2019 I discovered that I was not at all related to the couple that raised me. When I first took that DNA test, it was not my intention to uncover the lie that is my adoption. I just wanted to see where my DNA and heritage came from. I still remember the shock I initially had when I first opened up the results. Some days I feel like I'm still shocked by it. Shortly thereafter, in September of 2019, the adoptive parents came to visit for two days. While they thought they would have a normal pleasant visit, my plan was to get answers and talk about the adoption. Whether or not they planned or wanted to talk about the adoption, I do not know. I'm sure at some point our a-mother would have brought it up, but I had to go about it on my terms. When I think about it today, for 34 years, I did not know who I was. I had no control of my story. I know that the choices I made the day they came to visit were done for me to get back that control. When our a-parents and younger

I hate my name. Just going to jump right into it. For years I've had to explain to people how I got my name. My name is S* Krishna Rao. And to keep it simple, for the longest time, I've gone by Kris. Because S is my first name, people always ask where the Kris comes from. I tell them it comes from my middle name. However, my first name is actually the family name. They usually ask how do I pronounce my first name. As it is a long Indian name, with 12 characters. I always tell people it's just as it reads. Simple really. And then I'd explain it's origin. How it really is the family name. How my a-father took what was his family name and placed it in front of his given/first name. This is typical of the region he belongs to in India. This did however make it his first name when he filled out documentation when he moved to the States. And thus, Rao became the last name that a-mother took as it was a simple and easy last name. When I was adopted, my a-mother deci

Every now and then I read someone's reunion story. It's pretty neat how quickly most adoptees are able to find their biological families. Many of them match with members of their families with DNA tests. Unfortunately for international adoptees such as myself, this is not always the case. Being that I was adopted from India, the likelihood of people taking expensive DNA tests over there is slim. In fact, majority of my closest matches are 4 to 5 generations away. And 2 of them that I've reached out to are also adopted. It's a bizarre feeling not knowing my mother and father, and not knowing if I have any biological siblings. I often wonder if my biological father, or siblings even know if I exist. The hardest part for me in searching for my family is that I have none of my original paperwork. My adoptive parents claim they don't remember where they've kept any of my adoption paperwork. And so, I'm in the process of trying to get my paperwork via other

This month was my birthday month. While birthdays are reminders of the day we are born, mine is now also a reminder of the day that I was relinquished. As a late discovery adoptee, it’s a reminder that for more than 30 years, I was told I was somebody that I’m not. A reminder that the people who raised me, lied about my roots. And as an adoptee, a reminder that I may never know my birth family. This was the first birthday I’ve spent with the knowledge that I am adopted. And quite honestly, I was not sure how I would be mentally as the day came closer. Reading up on the experiences of other late discovery adoptees and how the first of everything after discovery is difficult, I knew I just needed it to be quiet. Nothing fancy. I certainly didn’t want all the phone calls and text messages coming through. So in prep for that, in this world driven by social media, one of the things I did was hide my birthday on Facebook. And this really helped. No phone calls, other than my sisters. A h

It’s been 8 months now since discovering I was adopted. Since then, I have gone through a multitude of emotions. Shock, anger, and grief primarily. Some days I’m still in shock to the fact that I am adopted. I am no longer a biracial person for starters. I’m now just one race. I have, and am still learning to accept myself as both an adopted person, and a person of one ethnicity. I’m still shocked that the ones who raised me (my parents) denied me my truth. They both lied to me for more than 30 years. They had me believing that they were also my mother and father. All the stories about my birth, nothing but lies. And in doing so, they took away my roots. They took away what makes me, me.  As another LDA put it, "I continually ask - why? Why was this kept a secret from me? Why are there still secrets? Why did my adopted parents, who instilled the life lessons of honesty, truthfulness, and integrity, turn around and willfully deny me the knowledge of my true identity?"