Wiping of Tears/Coming Home Ceremony

I haven't much felt like writing about adoption for the past year or so. Adoption issues, at least superficially, seem to come and go, weaving in and out of certain periods of life from foreground to background. They seem to spring up unexpectedly and then to fade away again, imperceptibly, to be dealt with again at a later time. For now, adoption has faded to the background, once again. Tragedy within my adoptive family and personal "work" have again obscured the need to delve into adoption. Furthermore, my adoption story is incomplete, an ellipsis. My weak attempts to gain further information about my pre-adoption history have proven fruitless, so far, and I have let the strings of this story go. At least, temporarily.


I've spent much of the past year in reflection and healing and feel that I have gained a greater sense of serenity and gratitude for all that is good in my life. Having finally had a chance to grieve and to probe my Forbidden Adoption Thoughts, perhaps my heart and mind are now open and receptive to a more balanced view of adoption. A balanced view is one that is also more likely to be heard and acknowledged.


In this healing journey, I have inadvertenly stumbled upon the Dakota community and its healing traditions and ceremonies. I feel especially fortunate to have come in contact with a Dakota elder and medicine bundle keeper who has spent much of his time reaching out to Native American adoptees who were adopted into non-Native American families by offering what is called a Wiping of Tears ceremony to welcome these children, now grown, back into the community. He has also played an integral part in the passing of the Indian Child Welfare Act, passed in 1978, the purpose of which is to preserve the integrity of the Native American community. It is something I understand intimately - A fight for the right to retain one's sense of identity, which is oftentimes the only thing that keeps an individual sane in a chaotic world. Without a sense of idenity, an individual is prone to fill his emptiness and rootlessness with self-destructive tendencies. The United Nations and other NGO's appear to recognize that Identity is a major human rights issue:

Article 8
1. States Parties undertake to respect the right of the child to preserve his or her identity, including nationality, name and family relations as recognized by law without unlawful interference.
2. Where a child is illegally deprived of some or all of the elements of his or her identity, States Parties shall provide appropriate assistance and protection, with a view to re-establishing speedily his or her identity.

Why does it seem to take Adoption Law so long to recognize this right?

I shared my experience of adoption with the elder and his daughter and feel honored to have been invited to attend one of these Wiping of Tears ceremonies, although I am not Native American. I look forward to the event and can not help but wonder why the Korean community does not have a similar event (to my knowledge, at least) for its children who were adopted away. I feel that we are shunned, at worst, and patronized, at best. I am grateful that this particular Dakota elder and his daughter have regarded me with an open heart and recognize the common struggle that all adoptees from every nation share. This sense of inclusion, alone, has brought much healing to my life. I wish for other adoptees to experience the same feeling of inclusion that I have experienced, as part of any community. In fact, I extend this wish to all people who have experienced a loss of identity and culture.

The power of the Dakota ceremonies I have attended, including the sweatlodge and Sun Dance ceremonies, is undeniable. I have witnessed and experienced the palpable healing strength of ritual, of people reconnecting to their roots and their community through prayer and cultural traditions. Perhaps part of the solution to solving this so-called identity crisis that many transcultural/transracial adoptees share lies in reconnecting to one's roots, while also making peace with the past.

Why Many Adoptees are Angry, and Why This Doesn't Make Us "Angry Adoptees"

Anger is not necessarily a negative thing, in itself. In fact, it can be utilized as a powerful force, fuel for change. Anger can incite movement, action, the serving of justice. That being said, Anger becomes dangerous when it is unleashed without direction - as violence - or allowed to fester inwardly, without expression - as depression.

Many adoptees are angry, many adoptees are depressed. I am not talking about statistics, although they are out there (see the research of Swedish KAD Tobias Hubinette). I am writing from personal experience and the accounts of others I have known.

Of the many adoptees I have known and encountered throughout my lifetime, I have not met a single one who has not felt some some sense of sadness, anger, or ambivalence about being adopted at one point or another in their lives. This shadow-side of adoption seems to appear during adolesence or young adulthood.

I can not claim to know all, and do not, but I can say with certainty that this is true, in my experience.

Why are some of us "angry"?

-Because, in many cases, our original identity was altered/erased.

Having an identity and knowledge about one's origins has to be one of the most fundamental elements to feeling a part of humanity. To erase someone's roots and identity and then to pretend they are something they are not, incites anger in many people. The problem lies perhaps not so much in adoption as in "playing pretend". Erasing someone's identity feels like a crime against humanity. And it causes anger.

-Because some of us were kidnapped.

I am hearing more and more personal accounts of (Korean) adoptees who have either found their birth families or have been found by their birth families, only to learn that they were kidnapped and brought to the orphanage without both parents' consent. This was typically done by a family member.

-Because for many of us, it felt like our entire family had died and everyone else was joyful and celebrating. What is recalled deep in our cells as a moment of loss for us is recalled only with happiness in adoptive parents. We remember the shadow-side of that happy day... And that shadow-side never quite goes away.

It would be considered absurd and perverse to expect a child who has lost her parents to death or divorce to smile and be joyful about coming into custody of her new guardians. Why is this viewed differently in the case of adoption?

When I look at very recent post-adoption pics, it is very interesting to compare the traumatized/pained/fearful/confused children's faces compared to the parents' faces. As children, we want to please our parents. If they are obviously pleased, we will want to mirror that pleasure and joy in their faces. It is not necessarily their fault that we don't grieve our losses, it is merely the nature of the situation.

We were traumatized and saddened at having lost familiar faces, smells, sights, sounds, and tastes in the matter of moments. But our parents were overjoyed at our homecoming. The two sets of emotions are incongruent. Our parents see our arrival in a happy light. We see it in penumbra and deep in our souls, will always continue to view it that way.

Judging by the lifelong childhood grief as experienced by my adoptive father at the loss of his mother in childhood, I can say that deep childhood grief and loss never competely go away. A loss is forever. My father expressed the following about having lost his mother in childhood - "I wanted to die." He was ten years old.

As a 9-month old adopted infant, I expressed my grief by staring blankly and emotionlessly for long periods of time, tearing out handfuls of my hair, incessant crying, and panicking when my mother left me in the car (to get me out on the other side).

I'm not saying that loss has to permeate our existence - I'm saying that loss is always a part of our make-up.

And loss and sadness, when denied and discounted outright, causes anger.

No one wants to see his child suffer. But it must be understood that sadness and loss are a part of adoption. Certainly not all of it, but it must be acknowledged. And the more it is allowed expression, the less of an issue it is likely to be.

Anyone claiming that drastic changes in a small child's life, such as those occuring in international adoption, could not possibly have an impact on her, need only witness the upheaval an adult experiences when trying to acclimate to a new culture and language in anothe country. Only recall that the child has limited means of expressing her inner upheaval.


(To be continued...)

Adoption is a Penumbra

This is my answer to this blogger's post.

There are so-called “angry” adoptees, ambivalent adoptees, and “happy-lucky-me” adoptees. To me, you cannot permanently label them as one or another, as oftentimes, I have found that these labels are merely phases an adoptee may (or may not) move through in his or her lifetime.
I don’t agree with hatred, insults, mockery, sarcasm, etc from any side - adoptee, adoptive parent, nor birthparent. All parts of the triad need to have more compassion for each other. It is wrong and hateful to engage in such behaviors, regardless of how you have been affected by adoption.

That said, pretending that loss, sadness, and anger are not elements of adoption for all members of the adoption triad does nothing to benefit anyone. I cannot deny evidence that adoption, while a positive thing in many respects, is traumatic for many.

Adoption is a penumbra, made of loss and gain, light and darkness, joy and sadness.
I think when we are able to acknowledge, accept, and release our own sadness and loss, which brought us to adoption, we are able to be compassionate to the pain of others, regardless of whether they are an adoptee, a woman who gave up her child, or a couple who could not have biological offspring.

Opening Pandora's Box: This is How it Begins

For the past decade or so, I have been quietly taunted by the unshakeable sense of having permanently fallen behind the "rest of the world". Although I was labeled "gifted", possessed a myriad of trivial talents and was more or less a high-achiever (part of my adoptee perfectionism?), I was late in everything everyone else seemed to perform so naturally. I was late in dating, late in deciding which college I wished to attend, late in deciding what it was that I wanted to major in, somewhat late in graduating, late in falling in love, late in leaving the country I studied abroad in, late in leaving successive emotionally and physically abusive relationships..

And, approximately two months shy of thirty, I am late in almost all anticipated and expected achievements that nearly all acquaintances and friends in my age-category have already - seemingly effortlessly - attained.

What is it that holds me back? A lifelong procrastination caused by endless indecision? Is it this black hole, this yawning emptiness inside me that swallows my confidence and capacity for clear-thinking?

With my adoption search, I feel it is the same: so many other adoptees seem to have been there, done that. They did the heritage camps, the KAD meetings, the outward searches, the soul-searches, appear to have moved on as much as one possibly can... For better or for worse.

But here I am, unmarried, childless, not feeling especially outwardly (or inwardly, for that matter) accomplished... Still disowning the same nagging questions and attempting to remind myself to be kinder, gentler, and more compassionate to myself. I am not on "everyone else's" timeframe - Just my own. And that timeframe is a part of the Universe, whose plans for my life I cannot possibly begin to fathom.

Today, at the juncture of yet another relationship gone awry, to my surprise, I found myself posting my adoption information and pictures at http://www.goal.or.kr/ and calling Holt International's Post Adoption office in order to inquire about my file, which is presently at my parents' house. Thanks to bits and pieces of useful information gleaned from KAD sites such as Korean Adoptees Worldwide I was wary of Holt International's post-adoption service fees ranging from $50-$400 for inquiries into one's history and simply asked them for my case number.

The woman who answered the phone seemed wary and prodding: "What are you going to use it for?" She asked twice. To myself, I thought, "I don't trust you, thanks to many of the stories I've heard - And it's really none of your business." I never answered her question directly, but instead diverted her attention by asking other questions about my file and whether or not I could attain a copy of it, and for what fee?

When I inquired about the fees associated with obtaining available file docs (which amount to zero information, anyway, from what I've been told), the woman again hesitated, saying that adoptees were not charged fees for everything - that it depended what they were requesting. "Why does she sound so anxious?" I thought to myself. Her apparent anxiety only served to further cement my decision to be as aloof as possible.

One thing I did discover was the true nature of my so-called "Korean Birth Certificate". What it really is, is a document which officially denies the fact that I belonged to a bloodline and to a real family tree. Apparently, when a child is abandoned or relinquished, the Korean government takes it upon itself to sever the child from all familial ties and create a document with a new family tree, starting only from the child. Officially, then, the child has no REAL HISTORY, from that day forward.

Having received confirmation of my case number from the woman at Holt International, I went on to do as I had been directed by others who are experienced in searching and have learned the hard way: I contacted Holt Korea, formerly part of Holt International Children's Services until they parted ways in 1976 (just two years before I was adopted in August of 1978), and wrote the following letter:

Hello:

I was adopted through Holt International Children's Services/Holt Korea in August 1978. The file that was given to my adoptive parents at the time of adoption indicates that, at three months of age, I was abandoned at a police box in Wool San, was later transferred to a "baby home/orphanage", and then lived with a Korean foster family in Seoul before being adopted to the United States at nine months. Other than this, my file includes very little additional information.

I am not currently in search of my birth parents, but rather, am seeking any additional information surrounding the circumstances of my birth and/or my family history. I understand that the summer months are a very busy time for you, but I would very much appreciate it if you could look into my file to see whether or not there may be anything more available other than the scant amount of information I have received (name, dob).

Of particular interest to me is any pertinent health information, my real birth date, my real Korean name, the ages of my birth parents at the time of my relinquishment, information regarding the occupations and personalities of my birth parents, and the reasons/circumstances behind my relinquishment.

Also, I would like to know if it is possible to place a letter and pictures in my file to give to anyone who may be searching for me and reassure them that I am well.

Here is a bit of information that may help you:

Adoptive Name:
Korean Name:
Case #:
Date of Birth:
City of Birth:

Thank you very much for your assistance - I hope to hear from you soon. If there is anything that I can do to help you in expediting this process, please let me know.

At the moment, I am not quite certain what I am looking for, other than a few answers to fill that gaping void that seems to forever erode and inhibit my self-esteem and ability to form and maintain close, trusting relationships with others.

What I say in my letter is true: I do not wish to meet my birth family at this time and I am ill-prepared for such a possibility, having been through a series of traumatic experiences in succession in recent times. I just want some basic answers: My real birth date, for example, not just an estimate that the Korean Social Workers made when they found me (if that is actually the case). Is that too much to ask for?

I have also discovered that, in many cases, this is another half-truth or untruth: Many, if not most babies who were supposedly "abandoned" or "orphaned", in fact had families. Their true stories were altered in order to make these pseudo-orphans appear more "adoptable" and appealing to prospective adoptive parents.

What would my adoptive parents, who had adopted me as a perceived act of charity, thought, had they known the Truth?

And what a vast difference it makes in the psyche of an adoptee to know the truth that she was not in fact "abandoned by a police box", as her adoption papers claim, but rather, taken to an orphanage and relinquished by a relative?

In any case, this has all been a long time coming. And, although it would seem that the ultimate decision to do it was impulsive, it has been in-process for almost thirty years.

We will what this brings. I have no expectations. Only an aching need to act... Finally.