Sex and Relationships Columnist Dasha Pebly discusses the topic of adoption and the treatment of the process as a form of family building, based on personal experience as an international adoptee
In December 2005, I was adopted by a young-ish American couple. I was fourteen months old. My parents already had two biological children, a daughter and a son. Both of my parents had known they wanted to adopt before they’d even married one another. They began the process of adopting an infant from Russia over a year before my adoption was finalised.
When I was about four, my parents adopted another child. This time a young boy from China. He had been in a severe fire when he was younger, in which he lost his fingers and was seriously burned. My brother was five or six when he became a part of our family, and I struggle to remember a time without him.
My adoption, and my brother’s adoption, crucially impacted me as I grew up. Ironically, it was witnessing my brother’s experiences that taught me the most about how people view adoption. There was this idea that my parents were heroes for adopting a disabled boy from China.
My parents never exhibited a saviour complex over their decision to adopt, but it was obvious that others considered them that way, as saviours.
Adopting is to confront major challenges in parenting, and is deserving of admiration. It’s a trying and difficult process, and adoption isn’t smooth sailing once the legal aspect is out of the way. Parenting an older adoptee especially is known to come with exacerbated trauma and behavioural issues. However, treating adoptive parents as saviours is not the same as admiration. It is extremely dehumanising and reduces adoptees to mere recipients of charity.
While my experience as an adoptee has been simpler than my brother’s, it’s not been perfect. When I was younger, I used to cry because I missed my birth mother so badly. My identity, too, has been shaped by the confusing complexity of being an international adoptee. I have no connection to my native land, language, or culture. I don’t know my personal history. It may seem inconsequential, but this lack of identity is painful. At twenty years old, I still feel a pang when people talk about how they have the same nose, or eyes, or smile as a grandparent or parent.
My adoption has been something I’ve had to personally reckon with, and it always will be. Yet, on more than one occasion, I’ve been told I should consider myself lucky to have been adopted. I admit, I love my family, and am fortunate to have them in my life. I’m also happy to have avoided the unfortunate political reality of Russia. Still, telling someone their adoption makes them lucky is out of line. Adoption, even in the best cases, is difficult. It is traumatic. It may be true that a child is fortunate to be adopted, but it is up to the adoptee to conclude that for themselves.
No one should tell an adoptee they must be grateful for an event that has irreparably changed their lives. Not only is it devaluing, it just demonstrates how ignorant some people are to how deeply adoption affects you.
Like many other adoptees, I have no knowledge of my family medical history. I don’t know if heart failure, or cancer, or any number of things runs in my family. Furthermore, I had to attend Occupational Therapy and Speech Therapy when I was younger because being an orphanage stunts your growth. I never had permanent delays, but there are adoptees whose development is permanently stunted. These are issues people often don’t even think of. That seems to be the trend with adoption. People fail to consider the full impact on the child, and focus instead on the parents.
Over the past years, increased awareness of infertility has also aided in making clear another issue in popular conceptions of adoption. Specifically, adoption is portrayed merely as a solution to building a family. The parents’ desire to have kids is centred. There is little acknowledgement of how difficult adoption actually is for an adoptee. Indeed, failed adoptions frequently feature parents woefully unprepared for the difficulties of raising an adopted child. They were not prepared for the mental and physical effects adoption takes on a child. When they realise they’re in too deep, the child pays the price. Adoptive parents need to be prepared for the struggles their adoptive child will inevitably go through. Instead, too often, adoption is treated as a way to satisfy the desire for children.
This is not just an issue for straight couples struggling with infertility. Within the queer community, for instance, I’ve encountered couples that treat adoption with a similar flippant attitude. We live in a time where science is expanding options for having biological children. While a great thing, this has not stopped the problem of people turning to adoption solely because they cannot have biological kids.
There’s a frustrating paradox to how many treat adoption. On one hand, adoptees are pitiable charity cases, and adoptive parents are generous heroes. At the same time, adoption isn’t treated as the shattering trauma it is for the child. While this narrative is starting to change, these ideas have not disappeared entirely. I hope that as more adoptees push into the spotlight, these misconceptions will be defeated once and for all. Great strides have been made, and I’d be remiss to ignore that. The twentieth century was defined by serious shame and secrecy around adoption. Many children had no idea they were adopted, and found out as adults or died in ignorance. Even in the past ten years, there’s a greater understanding of the difficulties that adoptees face. It’s heartening, but the work isn’t done yet.
Adoption is an issue near and dear to my heart. It’s something I get angry over, at times. My anger comes from a place of care. I want children who’ve lost their family to find the same love and care I was lucky enough to find. No parents are perfect, but I do consider mine to be excellent adoptive parents. They entered the adoption process with a focus on providing a child with a good, healthy home.
Adoption wasn’t about giving them a family, it was about them giving me and my brother one.
My parents never kept my adoption from me, nor did they let it be something that ostracised me. I never felt like a second option compared to my biological siblings (an experience that is unfortunately common). Other people believed my parents did a great service to me and my brother by adopting us. My parents always left the impression that it was the other way around- they were lucky to have us in their family.