03/04/2021
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Family is such a complicated topic for me. I have adoptive family, biological family, some obligatory family, and chosen family. Many of us have step-parents and siblings, along with in-laws. Family is wonderful, challenging, complicated, and messy. What defines family for you? Is it a given title, or is it earned? What do we owe people? What if they abused us? I ponder these things all of the time, and the only conclusion that I have come to is that it is up to us to determine who belongs in our lives and why.
Growing up adopted, I was not allowed to know anything of my biological background. For me, it was infuriating and interfered with my developing sense of self and identity. My father told me that this is my only family and that is how I should think of it. For some people, that might work. Looking different and feeling different had me wondering about my roots. It was especially tough during adolescence. Most of my young life (before I was 26) I looked around constantly wherever I went, wondering if there was another face that looked like me. I looked in the hallways at school. Could I be related to anyone there? I scanned faces in the mall. I was terrified of dating a sibling. I was very ashamed of these feelings. How could I feel like this when I have a family? Little did I know, many of us wonder.
Who knew to whom I could be related? My father was a huge bigot. He had something to say and a stereotype about everyone. What he had to say about people of color makes me cringe to this day. He did not consider anyone of color his equal. I was instructed to NEVER bring a Black boy home to meet my parents. One day, while he was on a typical rampage, he started in on Europeans, calling them dirty and greasy. I somehow suspected that maybe my origins were somewhere in this mess and that he was insulting me, too. The problem obviously was not anyone else. It was him. No one else was acceptable. Little did he know how that hit my self-esteem. I remember being so offended by how he viewed and treated others. I made a decision to live differently.
What if my birth mother was a pr******te? Drug addicted? Homeless? A rich princess? Black? Hispanic? Poor? Mentally ill? I wondered what I carried in my blood and what I would be passing on if I had kids. How would I feel about all these scenarios? About that time, Oprah had a show on about race. I was always busy after school and rarely got to watch her show, so it is interesting that this episode I was able to see. She pointed out that 10% of white people have black roots (this was decades ago) and are not aware of it. I wondered if that was my case. What would I do about it given the environment in which I was raised? If I had a wish that could be granted, it would be that everyone spends time with people who seem so vastly different. I think people would be surprised at the commonalities. After thinking about it, I knew I would accept any other race with pride, albeit still in fear of overstepping a line and being abandoned again.
For decades, I reflected on this and learned everything I could about people. I spent time getting to know older women, as if that would give me some clue as to why someone would give away a baby. What was wrong with me??? I spent time at the dining hall for the homeless and observed as I volunteered. I found out that some of them were college-educated people who had just lost their jobs. I saw mothers with children who had no other support. I saw people who were unwell and needed mental health services. I saw people for whom the education system had not been effective. I saw people with the same wants and needs as I.
As a teacher, I worked in a variety of settings and really got to know people. I worked in an inner-city public school, a private school for the wealthy that was a feeder to boarding schools, a private school for wealthy families with children with learning disabilities, and at a public charter school in the city. There were people who drove Porsches who were pedophiles and/or accused of r**e. There were grandmothers who were dirt poor, raising grandchildren, who called regularly asking for more practice or whatever they could do at home to support their kids in school. I saw a wealthy family in which the parents were never home and available. Mom was constantly traveling for fun and the minor child was left to the care of the housekeeper. I heard stories of her finally taking him on a vacation with her, only to leave him in the house alone for hours while she was at the yoga studio. The neighbors fortunately took him with them during these times. Who is the better parent? The one with money, or the one who is attentive? Why do we correlate money with better psychological circumstances? Surely, it helps level the playing field, but does not determine character.
If she had been a pr******te, I think it would have been a measure of survival. I learned about drug addiction and common theme of childhood trauma. I learned that so many homeless people need mental health supports. I once saw a study stating that many have had a history of head trauma. I had learned about wealthy people. At the core, they are not that different. They too, have marital struggles, work problems, health issues, and problems with their children. I got to know people of color and started really listening to what they had to say. Spending time putting myself in the shoes of others to the degree that I can, I began to see through the eyes of compassion and love for all people. I could deal with all those things with compassion. I can honor their truths and dignity.
Later in life, I found out the truth of my origins, which brought a lot of grounding and healing. I no longer felt like an alien dropped at their door from out of nowhere. I found some beautiful people and some traumas, just like everyone else. My adoptive family has never been a fan of my search for answers. I think we need to be flexible in our definition of family. Is family only my adoptive family? Yes, they housed me, raised me, and loved me to the best of their ability. I love them to the best of mine. There was also alcoholism and various types of abuse committed there. Are my genetic ties considered family, even thought they were legally severed? Each adopted person feels differently. Some are thrilled that they did not grow up with their biological families, and some wish they had. It impacted me the most as an adult every damn time I go to the doctor’s office. I am reminded of what I do not know. (There was a time when that information was critical to me in a medical crisis.) Is my family the members by marriage and partnerships the people that I love as well as the people that I am best served by keeping a distance? Or is family the precious group of friends (and family) that make up my social network and support system? I would posit all of them, with as much grace as we can give.
Through it all, I have to give myself permission to feel how I feel, even when I want to stop this wild ride with some and get out of that seat. I spent a lot of time hearing and seeing that adopted people should always be grateful. I am, and I’m not. Why are we shamed for having human emotions that are perfectly reasonable given our individual situations? I have spent a lot of time in Al-Anon rooms, where people who were not adopted had a variety of feelings around family. Some can admit their true feelings only in the environment of non-judgment. This all circles back to what love looks like and what forgiveness is, and how that all fits in to our narrative. All I know for myself is that I work every day to make a choice to live with my heart as open as I can, to be as honest as I can, and to give myself a break for being human. For me, my answer is that family is complicated. There are those with whom I choose to spend my time, even if we are not related, and those with whom I feel obligated to acknowledge, but limit my time. There are no absolutes, which is beautiful and gut-wrenching all at the same time. I have to say that overall I feel so very blessed.
