WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS…(adopted people using all caps to write from anger/fury)
I have done this exercise countless times in my writing groups, and what I’ve found is that time and time again the writings sounded, sometimes even more than angry or furious, cleanly honest. I have the suspicion that it’s easy to confuse the rush of life force energy that goes through your body as anger or fury when you are adopted because you’ve been shown, in many cases, people can’t or won’t mirror back to you your emotions. Maybe you’re “too much”. Maybe you are too energetic. Maybe you are too sad. Maybe you are too happy. Maybe you are too emotional in general. This kind of feedback can lead to a fundamental resistance to one’s own feelings, the collapse in self-knowing into the muddy belief that our emotions and we are too much or somehow wrong.
I think anger can be rocket fuel for adopted people. Turned inwards, in can lead to depression, suicide, jaw pain, moodiness—you name it. If a person learns to sit with what feels like/what is anger or fury and let it have its say, perhaps first on paper for the safety of all involved, a person can learn a lot about what matters to them. Writing lets you see how you feel and hear what you think so you can then go out into the world and consciously express yourself.
AT LEAST THAT’S WHAT I BELIEVE.
I posted an invitation online to adopted people to write from anger/fury for 6 minutes in all caps on WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS…
Here are some of the responses:
(And if you sent me yours, and it’s not here, please write to me. I miss so many details in life. If you wrote to me and hadn’t done it in all caps, I’m waiting for your response so I can add it to this post.)
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS THAT YOU MUST STOP MISUNDERSTANDING AND DISMISSING ME. I AM A REAL PERSON, FLESH AND BLOOD, EVEN THOUGH THE BLOOD RUNNING THROUGH ME IS STRANGER-BORNE. THERE. I SAID IT. I AM STRANGER-BORNE. 1950s SPERM AND EGG: HORMONES IN THE HEAT OF JULY. THAT CONCOCTION IS ME.
IT MATTERS THAT I BELONG IN THE WORLD. FEELING LIKE AN OUTSIDER ALL THE TIME IS DEVASTATING AND MAKES MY WHOLE BODY HURT. MY MIND PLAYS AWFUL TRICKS ON ME. IT LEAVES ME WANTING MORE; SOMETHING THAT IS ALWAYS OUT OF MY REACH. I WALK AROUND WITH AN ACHE. WEIRDLY THOUGH, I HAVE A PRETTY COOL SENSE OF WHO I AM, WHO I WANT TO BE, AND HOW I WANT THE REST OF MY LIFE TO GO. I’M A WALKING YIN/ YANG. ALL DAY. ALL THE TIME. ON AND ON.
HERE’S THE HARDEST TRUTH AND WHAT I REALLY WANT TO SAY. IT’S THAT RELINQUISHED BABIES WILL NEVER BE HEALED. DON’T BE FOOLED. WE ARE FOREVER STUCK CLINGING TO THAT SLIPPERY CORD. FOREVER YOUNG. IT’S TRUE. YET, IF WE’RE LUCKY ENOUGH AND THE STARS ALIGN, WE GO ON. WE FIND OUR OWN PEOPLE. THE ONES THAT DON’T, WELL, THEY DIE FROM THE ACHE. JUST LIKE MY BROTHER.
(OH AND BTW, A BIG F*K U TO THE NURSE WHO TOLD MY BIO MOM THAT HER BABY HAD DIED.) ASSHOLE.
J.P.
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS I EXIST OUTSIDE THE FRAMEWORK OF FIXING SOMEONE ELSE’S PROBLEMS. IT TRIED TO WHITTLE ME INTO SOMETHING MADE WITH ANOTHER PERSON’S AGENDA AND IF I DIDN’T COOPERATE, THE PROBLEM WAS ME AND NOT THAT THEY WERE SEVERING CHILDREN FROM THEIR FAMILIES. FROM THEMSELVES. WHEN I WENT SEARCHING FOR MY FIRST FAMILY THE MOST PROMINENT QUESTION ON PEOPLE’S MINDS WAS, ‘WHAT DO YOUR ADOPTED PARENTS THINK ABOUT THAT?” I WANT TO KNOW WHY I SHOULD BE CHAINED TO THEIR REACTION. HOW DO YOU LIVE A LIFE WITH FREE WILL WHEN YOUR FREE WILL IS CONDITIONAL ON HOW OTHER PEOPLE FEEL? THE ANSWER IS, YOU EITHER DO OR YOU DON’T. AND WHEN I DECIDED TO START LIVING THE WORLD TRIED TO CONVINCE ME NOT TO. THE THING THAT MAKES ME THE ANGRIEST IS THAT THE LIVING IS SO HARD. BALANCING GRIEF, LOSS, AND THE SLOUGHING OFF OF SOCIETAL EXPECTATIONS. GUILT (FOR NOT HONORING THE PEOPLE THAT RAISED ME) AND GRATITUDE (THAT I HAD SOMEONE TO RAISE ME AT ALL). I WANT TO SAY, LET THEM TAKE BACK WHAT’S THEIRS TO CARRY AND LET ME HAVE WHAT’S MINE.
L.S.
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS I AM NOT YOUR BLANK SLATE TO FILL IN WITH YOUR PRETTY PINK RIBBONS AND BOWS. I AM NOT YOUR PERFECT DAUGHTER FANTASY TO REPLACE THE CHILDREN YOU LOST BEFORE ME. I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM. YOU THOUGHT YOU SAVED ME BUT YOU TOOK WHAT WASN'T YOURS AND NOW I'M LEFT TO SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES. YOU GET TO TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT YOUR PERFECT DAUGHTER WHILE I'M LEFT DYING INSIDE. YOU GLOSS OVER THE HARD PARTS. "OH SHE'S SO SMART, SHE HAS A GREAT JOB, LOOK AT WHAT I DID TO MAKE HER SO GREAT. SHE WOULD'VE HAD NOTHING WITHOUT ME." INSTEAD OF ADMITTING THE REALITY THAT YOUR DAUGHTER IS A DEPRESSED, SUICIDAL RECOVERING ADDICT THAT WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. WHEN I TOLD YOU MY FIRST MOM COULD'VE RAISED ME IF SHE ONLY HAD SUPPORT, YOU SCOFFED AT ME WITH THAT ENTITLED HOLIER THAN THOU ATTITUDE. "NO ONE COULD'VE RAISED YOU BETTER THAN ME. NO ONE COULD LOVE YOU MORE THAN ME". YOU THINK YOU'RE A SAVIOR BUT I THINK YOU'RE A SELFISH, CLUELESS MONSTER.
BB
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS I’M NOT GOING TO TELL YOU AGAIN, KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN. YOU ARE A BUTT-IN-SKI AND YOU SHOULD MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. IT’S GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU. IF YOU KEEP IT UP, YOU’RE GOING TO BE SORRY. YOU’RE ON THIN ICE! KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN! IF I HAVE TO COME OVER THERE, YOU’RE GOING TO REGRET IT. WIPE THAT SMILE OFF YOUR FACE. YOU’RE NOT GOING TO SIT THERE AND SMART MOUTH ME AND GET AWAY WITH IT. STOP CRYING OR I’M GOING TO COME OVER THERE AND GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. JUST SIT THERE AND SHUT YOUR TRAP. IF YOU DISAPPEARED YOU’D STILL BE IN THE WAY.
(I CAN HEAR HER SCREAMING VOICE AND SHE HAS BEEN DEAD FOR A DECADE.. SHE USED TO WIND UP HER WORDS THEN SPIT WHEN SHE UNLEASHED THEM. IT’S THE ONLY ANGER I’VE EVER KNOWN AND SHE STAYS LOCKED UP. I WOULDN’T UNLEASH HER ON MY WORST ENEMY.)
JOYCE D.
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS YOU THINK YOU WANT THIS — BUT YOU DON’T. YOU GENUINELY BELIEVE THE WHITE PICKET FENCE WOULD SOLVE YOUR PROBLEMS, THAT BEHIND THE DOORS OF THE CASTLES WE INHABIT FOR 18 YEARS ARE CHILDHOODS ONE COULD ONLY DREAM OF. I’M SORRY TO BREAK IT TO YOU, BUT IT ISN’T FUCKING THAT.
WE ARE PRISONERS, CONDEMNED TO LIVES THAT HAVE BEEN PRE-WRITTEN FOR US. I AM THE LAST RESORT — THE PRODUCT OF WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU TRY AND TRY AND TRY AGAIN TO GET PREGNANT, WITHOUT A SINGLE DAMN CHANCE OF SUCCESS. THEY SAY “FUCK IT,” HIT THE NUCLEAR BUTTON AND MY LIFE IS WRITTEN FOR ME. I AM BORN A SQUARE PEG IN A ROUND HOLE — BUT TO YOU, I SCORED.
I GREW UP WITH A SILVER SPOON IN MY MOUTH. BUT I’M TELLING YOU, THAT SPOON IS POISONOUS. TO TRADE AGENCY FOR COMFORT? FUCK THAT. IF THERE’S ONE THING AMERICA CARES ABOUT, IT’S THE FREEDOM TO MAKE YOUR OWN DAMN CHOICES IN LIFE. I NEVER GOT THAT CHOICE. MY LIFE WAS DECIDED FOR ME — NOT JUST WITH WHO I’D CALL MOM OR DAD, ALL OF IT. I INHERITED THE EXPECTATIONS OF ALL THE BABIES WHO NEVER CAME TO BE. I AM AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT CHILD, THE BABY WHO SOLVED THE DESPERATE COUPLE’S PROBLEMS UNTIL THEY REALIZED I DIDN’T ACTUALLY SOLVE THEIR PROBLEMS. I WAS THE PROBLEM CHILD — THE KID WHO COULDN’T JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP AND BE EXACTLY WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.
IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS. YOU COULD HAVE ASKED ME. YOU COULD HAVE ASKED ANY OF US. BUT YOU DIDN’T. YOU DIDN’T WANT TO. IT’S EASIER TO BELIEVE WE ARE HAPPY. YOU REVEL IN THE FANTASY YOU’VE CREATED FOR MY LIFE — THE LIFE YOU TELL YOURSELF YOU DESERVED WHEN BILLS AREN’T BEING PAID, WHEN MOMMY AND DADDY GET A DIVORCE, WHEN YOU FIRST REALIZE YOU’RE NOT IN CONTROL. “IF ONLY I WAS ADOPTED,” YOU LAMENT.
YOU WALK PAST MY CHILDHOOD HOME. ZILLOW SAYS IT’S WORTH MILLIONS. “WHAT A LIFE,” YOU THINK TO YOURSELF. YOU HEAR THE SOUNDS OF THE OCEAN IN THE DISTANCE. IT’S QUIET. I AM LOCKED IN MY BEDROOM, WEEPING UNDER A PILE OF DIRTY CLOTHES INSIDE A LAUNDRY HAMPER. SOAP RESIDUE LINGERS ON MY TASTE BUDS. AM I BEING DRAMATIC? PROBABLY. BUT THE ONLY REASON I’M IN THIS DAMN CLOSET IS BECAUSE I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING PLAN. IF I HAD YOUR PHONE NUMBER, YOUR ADDRESS, ANYTHING — I’D BE OUT OF THIS HOUSE TONIGHT. I CAN’T COUNT HOW MANY TIMES I’VE WALKED TO THE END OF THE STREET WITH A PLOT TO ESCAPE THIS PLACE — TO RETURN TO YOU — ONLY TO REALIZE I HAVE NOWHERE TO GO.
LET’S FACE IT — YOU DIDN’T WANT THIS LIFE FOR ME. YOU WANTED THIS LIFE FOR YOURSELF. ADOPTION IS A GAME OF RUSSIAN ROULETTE, BUT YOUR ODDS SEEM PRETTY DAMN GOOD WHEN ALL SIX CHAMBERS ARE LOADED WITH THE ILLUSION OF A PERFECT LIFE. YOU WERE NAIVE ENOUGH TO BELIEVE IT. IN YOUR EYES, I HAD WHAT YOU WANTED — WHETHER FOR ME, OR FOR YOURSELF. AND WHEN, AFTER YEARS OF PROTECTING YOU FROM MY OWN FEELINGS, I FINALLY TELL YOU WHAT REALLY HAPPENED — WHAT DO YOU DO? I DON’T NEED A DAMN APOLOGY. BUT I DESERVE A LOT MORE THAN A MOTHER WHO TELLS ME SHE WOULD HAVE KILLED HERSELF IF SHE KEPT ME. I HAVE THE ADOPTION PAPERS, BITCH. WHEN YOU WERE 18 YEARS OLD, YOU WROTE YOU WANTED NOTHING MORE THAN TO RAISE ME YOURSELF. AND DEEP DOWN, WE BOTH KNOW THAT’S THE HONEST TRUTH.
A HUMAN BEING
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS I WANT PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND THAT GROWING UP WITHOUT YOUR BIOLOGICAL SIBLINGS HURTS. WHEN BIOLOGICAL MOTHERS LIE ABOUT NOT KNOWING WHO THE FATHER IS, IT HURTS DOZENS OF PEOPLE—NOT JUST THE FATHER. IN MY CASE, MY DAD’S FAMILY WANTED ME, BUT MY MOTHER TOOK THAT AWAY FROM ALL OF US BY LYING IN COURT UNDER OATH.
I GREW UP WITH MY ADOPTIVE PARENTS’ BIOLOGICAL CHILD, AND SHE HATED ME. SHE MADE MY LIFE MISERABLE AND BLAMED EVERYTHING ON ME, SO I WAS CONSTANTLY IN TROUBLE. SHE WAS 8½ YEARS OLDER THAN ME, AND THE DYNAMIC WAS NEVER FAIR.
WHEN ADOPTEES ARE RAISED ALONGSIDE THE BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN OF THE ADOPTIVE PARENTS, IT CAN CREATE A PAINFUL IMBALANCE. IT OFTEN MAKES ADOPTEES FEEL “OTHERED,” LIKE WE DON’T TRULY BELONG.
IT ALSO HURTS THAT I HAD TO MEET MY BIOLOGICAL SIBLINGS AS AN ADULT. I DIDN’T FIND OUT WHERE MY BLUE EYES OR CURLY HAIR CAME FROM UNTIL I WAS IN MY TWENTIES. THOSE THINGS MAY SEEM SMALL TO PEOPLE WHO GROW UP WITH THEIR BIOLOGICAL FAMILIES, BUT TO ADOPTEES THEY ARE PIECES OF IDENTITY WE GROW UP MISSING.
ADOPTION IS OFTEN FRAMED AS SOMETHING PURELY POSITIVE, BUT MANY PEOPLE NEED TO UNDERSTAND THAT ADOPTION IS ALSO TRAUMA. 💔
BLAKELY SARA SUE
WHAT I REALLY WANT TO TELL YOU IS I HATE BEING ADOPTED, I HATE NOT KNOWING ANYONE WHO LOOKS LIKE ME, I HATE AT 57 I STILL DO NOT KNOW WHO I AM, I HATE THAT THE PERSON I WAS BORN TO BE CEASED TO EXIST THE MINUTE I WAS THROWN AWAY, I HATE THAT I STILL CRY FOR MY MOTHER BUT DO NOT KNOW WHICH ONE, I HATE THAT I AM NOT SURE THAT THE LOVE I FEEL FOR MY ADOPTED PARENTS IS REAL, I HATE THAT I NEVER FEEL NORMAL, I HATE THAT I FEEL RESPONSIBLE FOR EVERYONES FEELINGS, I HATE HOW BEING ADOPTED AFFECTED EVERY RELATIONSHIP I HAVE EVER HAD, I HATE HOW BEING ADOPTED AFFECTS MY CHILDREN, I HATE THE RIVER OF SANESS THAT RUNS THROUGH ME CONSTANTLY, I WISH I WAS NORMAL, I WISH I KNEW IF MY FEELINGS WERE GENUINE, I WISH I FELT LOVED, I WISH I FELT SAFE, I WISH I DID NOT LOOK FOR VALIDATION WITH MEN, I WISH I WAS NOT BROKEN, I WHISH I DIDN’T HURT PEOPLE BY LASHING OUT, I WISH I WAS NOT ANGRY, SO ANGRY, I WISH I COULD HAVE HAD A CHANCE JUST TO BE ME AND I WISH I KNEW WHO THAT IS……I WISH I WAS NEVER ADOPTED
TINA SMITH
HATE ADOPTION. I HATE WHAT IT DID TO ME, WHAT IT TURNED ME INTO. I HATE MY ADOPTERS. I HATE EVERYONE WHO THINKS ADOPTION IS BEAUTIFUL. I HATE EVERYONE WHO DISMISSES ADOPTEES WHEN THEY TRY TO TALK ABOUT THEIR PAIN. I HATE ADOPTERS IN GENERAL. I HATE PEOPLE WHO THINK ADOPTION IS A BETTER ALTERNATIVE TO ABORTION. I WOULD'VE RATHER BEEN ABORTED THAN LIVE THE LIFE OF TRAUMA ADOPTION GAVE ME. NOTHING ABOUT THIS IS BEAUTIFUL OR EVEN SLIGHTLY POSITIVE. BEING ABUSED BY GENETIC STRANGERS FOR DECADES ISN'T BEAUTIFUL. HAVING A FAKE BIRTH CERTIFICATE ISNT BEAUTIFUL. HAVING FEWER HUMAN RIGHTS THAN EVERYONE ELSE ON THE PLANET ISN'T BEAUTIFUL. HAVING MY INFANT BODY COMMODIFIED AND PURCHASED ISN'T BEAUTIFUL. HAVING THIS PREVENTABLE TRAUMA AFFECT MY DAILY ADULT LIFE AND RELATIONSHIPS ISN'T BEAUTIFUL. FUCK ADOPTION APOLOGISTS - I HOPE THIS SAME HORROR HAPPENS TO EACH AND EVERY PERSON WHO THINKS ADOPTION IS A STROLL IN THE PARK THAT WE SHOULD BE GRATEFUL FOR - AND WHEN THEY NATURALLY BECOME SUICIDAL AS A RESULT, I'LL BE RIGHT HERE WAITING TO INFORM THEM THAT THE WHOLE OF SOCIETY DOESN'T GIVE A SINGLE FUCK AND NEVER WILL. ENJOY A TASTE OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE, ASSHOLES.
LAUREN BLAUER
