“Our podcast dropped today,” Amy texted me. “When you have time, I’d love to hear your thoughts.” I put Bird’s collar and leash back on, opened the car door, and headed out to do more walking.

I love Amy’s voice. I don’t remember the first time I heard it. It might have been at April Dinwoodie’s house when I did a Write or Die, but Amy and I might have talked many times before that. The older I get, the more time becomes a river. She carries New Jersey with her everywhere she goes in that voice of hers, and her heart. So, first of all, when I started the podcast, I got to hear that, her voice.

I also love Haley Radke’s voice. When I was coming out of the fog, first I binge-listened to all the available Adoptees On episodes, and then I listened to each new one the morning it dropped. I had a ritual where I would head for the hilly trails in Los Gatos and listen to Haley interview, each week, another adopted person. I have nothing to compare this experience to because nothing is comparable to hearing people talk about things you thought were your fault, your flaws, your problems, your strangeness, your brokenness, when really all of these things were side effects of being relinquished and adopted, things that had never, never, never, never been talked about in my house while I grew up. Or in any therapists' office I visited.

Early on in the podcast, Amy mentioned how my book You Don’t Look Adopted helped her not break up with Jeff after three months of dating. Amy has told me this story before, but somehow hearing her talk about it on the podcast made it more real, and I felt awe at the fact that I had actually followed through on my dream and had written a book about being adopted even though I wasn’t sure other people wanted to hear it and that it had, in fact, made a difference on at least one person’s life.

This is why I love being a writing coach for adopted people. I KNOW how important it is for them to dig deep and say their truths because I believe in my soul one of the best ways to deal with the alienation and strangeness of adoption is to speak your truth until you find your people.

(My favorite thing about Flourish, the year-long adoptee group I co-led, is that two people on opposite ends of the world ended up together as a couple.)

It was hot today, and Bird felt that one walk had been plenty, so even though I wasn’t done listening, soon we were back in the car and headed home.

To hear Amy and Jeff talk about making their relationship work, to hear Jeff talk about learning adoption, to hear Amy’s willingness to say what it’s really like to be an adoptee and a therapist, led me to a day where I didn’t do much.

I got on the Peloton when Bird and I got home. I had that upset feeling where everything felt wrong and I felt excited, angry, and teary somewhere deep in my body. I thought about a beloved adoptee writing client whose son had died at his own hand, and it was hard to process just how hard life can be. One thing I’ve found post-fog is that I can be deeply upset and I don’t have to try to say exactly why—I just have to breathe and feel and let the upset pass without trying to squelch it. Riding and sweating helps with the cascade of grief feelings and thoughts that don’t always seem connected but are.

When I was done on the bike, I got on my yoga mat to stretch and to listen to the rest of the podcast. Amy talked about needing to get on the floor during times of deep distress, and, as I listened, face down on my mat. I thought about all those times as a teenager I filled myself with brownie batter and then went into the living room, turned on music, and laid down on the floor and basically held on as the room and my life spun around me. If only I’d been able to talk to someone about this. None of my friends ate until they felt sick and then held onto the carpet. What was wrong with me? When you do things that you can’t explain to others, loneliness can creep in because you can’t invite others into your life with language.

If my 16-year-old self had had an adult Amy Geller in my life…well, I can’t imagine it. It would be like saying if I could have run a 4-minute mile when I was sixteen instead of a 5:34 then my life as a runner would have been very different.

When Amy shared that sometimes she would get out of bed to lie on the floor because it was something she had to do even though it confused Jeff, I felt…safe. I guessed it cost something for Amy to share that on the podcast because she’s a therapist and there she is for everyone to hear, being vulnerable and human. I love when people say their truths even when they don’t come easy. Especially when they don’t come easy. If Amy had Botoxed her life and smoothed out the lines, she would not be as powerful, I think, as a therapist because there would be dishonesty in the form of omission when she is face to face with another adoptee in her office. How can we heal if we aren’t accurately mirrored?

Near the end of the episode, Amy said, “This is not a rough patch. This is our life.” That was such a powerful and normalizing way to sum up the adoptee experience. My new mantra is “This is not a rough patch. This is my life.” The freeing part of that is I feel okay with life being hard, and, instead of fighting the status quo or going limp, I can rise to the challenge. It’s when I think things are not the way they’re supposed to be that I struggle the most.

When I was at Spirit Hill Farm during COVID, Amy was my love coach for a few months over Zoom. I said something super dick-ish to her our first or second call, and we had it out, and she stuck with me. Trying to get close to an adoptee can be like trying to grab a lobster out of the sea. But, man oh man, when an adoptee acts out and is STILL accepted, and is STILL given another chance, and is maybe given chance after chance because trying doesn’t mean perfect, the resulting connection is amazing. I feel so bonded to Amy. She didn’t leave me when I acted out. She stayed. I stayed. We did our work together and my heart opened.

And today I got to hear her, sweet Jeff, and Haley work to make the world a better place for adoptees and the people who love them.

Amy, those were my thoughts. xoxo