From the earliest I can remember, I was always told the same story by my family, friends, teachers, and society: &our mother loved you so much she gave you up to have a better life. That could be true. The reality is, I may never know the truth.
While I held onto that story when I was younger, I am now 26 years old and more aware of the strict family planning policies and circumstances under which babies were adopted out. I was born under China’s "One Child Policy." I have no information about my first (biological) family, and I do not know a single person with whom I share DNA.
When I was 6 months old, I was adopted into a loving family in the United States. My parents provided everything they could for my adoptive sister and me. They still do. For all intents and purposes, our family was just like all of the other more "traditional” families in our town.
I got defensive when other children asked me where my "real" parents were
I would have family dinner every night and think nothing of the fact that the table was comprised of two white parents with two Asian children. Being a transracial adoptee was incredibly normal.
My parents gave us access to Chinese culture as much as they could. They worked hard to raise us to be proud to be Chinese-Americans. Every birthday and adoption anniversary, they reminded us that we had first families in China who were thinking about us. They never let us forget that should we want to, they will do everything they can to help us find our families.
I'm thankful for my adoptive family and for everything they have given me
I think about my story, and it's hard to ignore everything I have gained. However, it’s the loss that society doesn’t acknowledge and why I advocate for adoptees.
Despite being incredibly lucky that I was matched with a family that supports my genuine self, I am not thankful for the circumstances that led to my adoption. I still think about my first family and have a natural curiosity about my roots. Neither of those facts makes me ungrateful or angry. They are parts of me and always will be.
I grew up feeling like I didn’t really belong anywhere
I knew I wasn’t white, and when I tried to fit in with my fellow Chinese students, they pointed out that I didn’t speak the language, eat the food, or go home to a Chinese family. Although my parents did what they could to provide my heritage culture, ultimately, they would never know firsthand what it meant to be Chinese.
I was stuck in-between.
Even now, the only group I feel completely at ease with is with fellow transracial adoptees. Yes, I love my adoptive family and I am so thankful for them, but that doesn’t erase the fact that to gain an adoptive family, I had to lose a biological family. I had to lose a culture. I had to lose an entire identity.
I look in the mirror and I wonder where I inherited my facial features from. I imagine a time when I can know my first family and not feel like I was just plopped down on Earth from nowhere. I wonder if there will ever be a time when I know my actual birthday and not just a date that was estimated when I was found.
It's almost indescribable how in-between I feel
Torn between two families, two cultures, two identities.
I am grateful that the people in my life give me the space to grieve a life I could have had. I can process the possibility that I will never know the people who gave me life. I can speak freely about how complex adoption is without fear of abandonment. I can work to reclaim my Chinese identity without hurting my adoptive family.
All of this has made me resilient, and I am proud of the woman I have become. I am thankful for many things in my life now, but I do not forget it all started when I was separated from my mother.
