Exposure

I recently shared my story on the @officialpeopleofindia page. It went pretty much how I thought it would.

I knew by sharing my story with them, it was going to reach out to a much larger audience.

It was nerve-racking and anxiety-inducing. But I knew I needed it to be done. Let people see the other side of a system they believe is best for abandoned and unwanted children.

The comments to my story included those confused and angered by me saying I was brought up with love and abuse. Like it's impossible to experience both. To them, I can explain my trauma to you, I cannot understand it for you.

As I read through more, there was empathy and backlash. Backlash because I was shedding adoption and my adoptive parents in a negative light.

And this is why it was important for me to share. Because there are a countless number of adoptees afraid of this backlash. Afraid of what society will tell them how to feel. That we need to suppress all the bad and just be grateful that we're alive.

I understand full well that there are many children in India in need of a home. I know of and have read the struggles. And this is why I say adoption is me being in a constant state of conflicting emotions.

I know that because I was adopted internationally that I was given access to resources and education I would not have had if I remained in India. I can appreciate that. And at the same time, I abhor all that adoption has taken away and wish to change it.

I am anti-adoption. I am not anti taking care of children. There's a difference that those not adopted don't see.

Adoption is a system that is supposed to stop children from suffering and save them. And when these children grow up to become advocates for themselves and speak out, instead of thinking of ways to revamp the system or change it entirely, we get blamed for not assimilating and not being grateful for it.

Because of the word count on Instagram, they had to make some changes to my post. Here below is what I originally sent in its entirety:

My childhood was filled with love and abuse. As a child, it was confusing. I often wondered why was it that the people who claimed to love me as their family were also the ones causing harm.

The hardest part was never understanding why I couldn’t bond with my parents. There was an invisible barrier that prevented me from understanding them or being understood by them.

In my teens is when I struggled hard to comprehend this. In spite of being their child, and being told I was their son, I always thought something was wrong with me. Like I was the crazy one for questioning our differences. No matter what I said or did, my parents constantly reassured me that I had the same qualities like them.

When I was 34, I took a DNA test for fun. The results immediately confirmed a doubt I had my entire life, just never truly confronted. I was not related to my parents. I was not surprised by this. It was the answer I sought for years, just didn’t have the knowledge to ask the right questions. It explained every moment of my past. It explained why I could never bond with my parents. It explained so much about my past at that moment.

But, at the same time, I was shocked. Shocked by its implications. That the people who taught me, to be honest, were themselves dishonest. I was lied to for 34 years. For 34 years, I was made unaware of my adoption. Raised to forget about my true and first identity. Raised to never know my biological family.

When I initially confronted them with these results, they denied them and said I was still their son. But in my mind, I already knew. It took them 5 weeks to finally admit the truth.

My adoptive mother is Cuban. My adoptive father is Indian, from Andhra Pradesh. For more than 30 years, I believed I was biracial. It never made sense to me growing up. Looking in the mirror and not recognizing my own reflection. Who was this person? Why did my own reflection not reflect the identity I was given?

But we believe our parents. We grow up being taught to accept what they tell us as truth.

One of the current struggles now is trying to find my authentic identity. What I really am. Where I’m really from. Who my roots are.

I would love to find my birth parents. I just don’t know how. 

Having lived in India for 11 years, I have some understanding of its culture. But what I don’t know is India’s views on adoption. I get the sense that it is still very much a taboo topic. As it is, I’m still trying to learn the laws and regulations the Indian government has regarding adoption. 

We’ve all seen or at least heard of reunions stories in India. Where adoptees spend a considerable amount of money to search for their biological families. I wish that it was more feasibly achievable for every adoptee.

I don’t know how I came to be in this world. But it is my right to know it. To have access to my ancestry, my heritage, my culture, my history, etc. All the things that are passed on from one generation to the next.

I wish this not only for myself but for all adoptees.

I want my birth mother to know I want to find her. And that it should be okay for her to search for me as well. Just because she gave me up more than 30 years ago, I don’t think that necessarily meant that she was willing to never see or hear from me again. And there needs to be a way to reverse this process of adoption that will allow us to find each other again.

I really hope to convey the message that for many international adoptees, we really just wish to know where we come from and see our families.

Adoption takes away just as much as it gives. And for many, we aren't that "lucky". Our adopters are and can be abusive making the experience so much harder.

Not only are we denied by the adopters, but then have to face difficulties if we choose to search for birth families.

There's also the issue that society constantly tells us to be grateful for being adopted. And that we were "saved".

It's a complex and complicated issue that is different for every adoptee. But at its core, there's a trauma caused by the separation of a child from their mother.

For me, to be adopted is to constantly be in a conflicting state of emotions. I both appreciate and abhor it.

I can appreciate some of the things adoption has done for me, and I abhor all the things adoptions has done to me. It’s something only those with the adoption experience can truly understand. And it’s not fair that I had to lose access to my biological family, and my true identity simply to be taken care of.

I implore anyone that wishes to learn and understand more about what it means to be adopted to start listening to adoptee voices.