The Tightrope is Real. So Many Adoptees are Afraid of Falling

In 1974, Philippe Petit walked on a tightrope strung between the Twin Towers. At one point he stopped to salute. If he stumbled, if he fell, he would die.

When asked why he did this, he said there was no why.

 This, walking on a tightrope between public buildings 110 stories high, was, of course, a crime. 

“Death is very close,” Philippe Petit said. “Life should be lived on the edge,” he said.

Some people need to bring themselves to the precipice of death in order to feel alive.

People like Phillippe could save themselves a lot of time and money in their next life by being relinquished and adopted instead. Then, from infancy, they could experience the feeling they are chasing now, in this adult life they are living. 

The only problem would be that they would never know what solid ground felt like, so the thrill would disappear because a tightrope walker who has spent their whole life on the rope would only know fear. 

I am writing this because an adoptee asked if I would write about the tightrope. I did not have to ask what they meant.  

When you are born to one mother and then you lose her before your brain is prepared to grow without her, it is easy to become a professional tightrope walker. This tightrope walking, however, is not an art that helps one appreciate life more by remembering that death is close—the feeling of walking a tightrope happens because death feels close, so close, part of us close, and we are doing our best to stay alive.  

When home is a thin line between given up and might be given up again, life feels perilous. It’s hard to take a deep breath, never mind have a satisfying poop. The body is on high alert because one misstep equals death.

This is something most people who weren’t relinquished and adopted or put in foster care don’t understand: many adoptees don’t feel they are standing on firm ground. Life for them is a series of steps taken all the while the head is turned mostly backwards, trying to figure out why she gave them up, trying to figure out the past so the future will feel possible. 

This kind of fear can also lead to reckless behavior, “I don’t give a shit” behavior, “fuck you” behavior that may make others think the adoptee feels confident, but I would argue that generally this type of behavior comes from exhaustion. What does it matter how good I am, anyway, when this tightrope feeling never subsides? I might as well just make my worst nightmares happen because clearly they are going to happen one day, anyway. 

If I am thin, if my body is in control, if I don’t ask for too much, if I am clean, if I don’t make too much noise, if I don’t upset you, will you keep me? Will you love me like you would love a real child? A real person? 

And if I’m not these things? If I’m dirty, if I’m bad, if I am a thief, a cheater, a problem, will you love me then? How will I know your love doesn’t have an edge, an ending point? It did for her, so why not for you, too? How do I know the difference between a tightrope and the earth?

 One time I told my coach Katie Peuvrelle that I felt I was on a tightrope, and she said, “What if the tightrope is on the ground?” That was a game changer. I could still walk the tightrope—it was still part of my life, but I could walk it safely. I was no longer a baby who had lost her mother and felt the freefall of I am going to die without her. I was an adult who had language and friends and all sorts of support that made the ground a place I could walk on consciously if I so chose. 

It’s not like you can just say, Oh! I was wrong! I’m not on a tightrope after all! We are talking about a brain that is dysregulated. We are talking about lifetimes of massive amounts of stress hormones flooding our bodies hour after hour, telling us we are in trouble. Getting off the tightrope and onto the ground isn’t something you typically just decide to do because we live with habits, both conscious and unconscious, and we have grooved the record of our life to play a specific kind of music. 

Regrooving a record takes a lot of work. Luckily for us, the brain is plastic, and, if we want, we can aim for a life that is less about managing perpetual upset and more about listening to our own inner vice. 

Katie also taught me, “Your stability is in your flexility. When we’re rigid, we’re breakable. When we’re flexible, nothing except a crazy act of God can uproot us.” Our inner voice lends us bend, flex. If we aren’t constantly bracing against what we fear is ahead of or behind us, we can better dance with what is right in front of us.

This morning I went out into the rainy morning and walked along the ocean while the storm raged around me. It was so wonderful to have the upset outside of me while I watched the waves smash into the shore and the pelicans ride the air currents. My job was to keep standing and moving forward while the wind did its best to push me over. 

I was on the ground because I wasn’t worried that I had done something that was going to make a parent or a spouse or a good friend upset. I wasn’t worried about not having enough money. I wasn’t worried that my world was going to fall apart at any moment. 

 I have spent about three years making all those fears public. It was carrying the black seed of I am wrong deep in my guts that kept me perpetually off-balance, perpetually on the edge of falling off the tight rope. I am learning that so many of the beliefs my brain carries are just plain wrong. I am not worthless. I am not a burden on the world. There is nothing wrong with me. It’s so much easier to feel rooted when you aren’t attacking your own feet. 

It took six years of planning to get Phillippe Petit up on the string between those much-missed buildings. It took a team of people. So many adoptees face the tightrope alone. They are afraid to talk about it. And for good reason. So many therapists aren’t trained to work with adopted people. So many parents are clueless as to what their child most needs when it comes to ACE scores and the brain. 

What if there were songs tightrope walkers sang? Songs of courage, of hope? What if tightrope walkers were birds crying out for their mates? 

It’s not about staying balanced. It’s about communicating. A body stiff with fear is not a body meant for stability. 

There is something I want to tell you...

What is it?

I’m afraid you won’t understand.

I’ll listen. Okay? Can we start there? 

I’m so frightened of being alone.

I’m right here. Keep talking. 

I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing. I am afraid I am the wrong thing. How do I move forward? How do I know I’m okay?

I’m right here. I’m listening. Tell me more.