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Second Class Citizens

Or third.

Maybe Steerage. I think that's us, cribmates. Steerage. Our quarters in the bowels of the ship, drinking stale water and eating the leftovers of the first class passengers. Guess who's walking on the decks, tasting the fresh air, and eating the hot meals that congeal on our plates? 

Let's face it, adoptees are non-persons. Persons have families, legally and morally obligated families. Persons have iron clad identities, protected by law, and the rights to their own identifying documents. Persons have support systems that cannot be withdrawn without consequences. Society accepts and enforces this. 

There is no legal or ethical requirement for adopters to provide the kind of lifelong care expected of biological (kept) families. Adopters are allowed (encouraged, in some circles) to rehome, incarcerate, or straight-out abandon "their" adoptees at any time for a wide variety of amoral, albeit socially acceptable, reasons. (RAD, undisclosed health issues, cultura…
Recent posts

Ask The Ungrateful Adoptee

I've been asked a lot of questions; about my families, my personal story, my relationships, my friendships, et cetera. Since I'm not quote sure what specific information or opinion anyone is looking for, I thought I'd lay the floor open to questions. 

Leave your question in the comments section. I'll answer when I can, if I can, if it's appropriate.

The Ungrateful Adoptee

Adoptee Support or Public Forum?

Yeah, I took a break. But I'm back to my blog, because once again online adoptionland has proven too perilous and unsafe for free expression. I've been tweeting for a while, and had started to enjoy it quite a bit... until once again the barrage of adoption/relinquisher apologists emerged from the woodwork. Once again, I'm not being kind enough, they say. Once again, I'm not sympathetic enough. Once again, I need to take some time to mature and understand relinquisher pain. This shoved in my face by adoptees, many of whom are not now and have never been in reunion with any bios. 

When it comes to knowing your own story well enough to be able to separate it from the adoption narrative as a whole,  I think some form of reunion is a necessity. And being able to separate your personal experience from the adoption narrative as a whole is a necessity. Otherwise you spend all your time bogged down in equivocations and #notall, and any general, philosophical conversation is ren…


National Adoption Awareness Month. Not National Adoption Month, the month to venerate adoption and lift up adopters, relinquishers, and agencies. No. It is National Adoption AWARENESS Month, the month for you to be aware of what adoption means, what it entails, how it feels, and what you've actually done if you've participated in it. Adoptees are taking the month that should have been ours to begin with.
So buckle up. It's about to get real in adoptionland. 
A National Celebration of Adoption is Offensive 
By doing so, you are spitting in the face of every person who suffered under an inappropriate adoption, and I daresay that's a silent majority. Most of us don't talk about the suffering inflicted on us by being adopted because of the way you spit on us. 
You gaslight us by claiming our "bad experience" has "poisoned [our] perspective", because you "know someone who's adopted,  and they're just fine". Or you tell us we "don&#…


Apparently there is some confusion about "Don't Whine To Me", ( so allow me to clarify.

1. Nowhere in the blog did I say it was adoption or death for my daughter. I said adoption wasn't an option,  which it should NEVER be.

2. I didn't keep her because I'm adopted and I knew what that meant. I was 17, in the fog,  and thought being adopted didn't bother me. I kept her because she was mine and I was PISSED OFF at being put in that position. I wasn't strong,  resilient, or wise,  nor did I have one iota of self esteem. I was PISSED. I was rash,  defiant, headstrong, and PISSED THE FUCK OFF.

3. If you think this post supports the adoption complex, re-read it. My daughter was murdered four months after I escaped that complex. And SHE WASN'T MURDERED BECAUSE I KEPT HER. She was murdered because some guy stalked me home and robbed me. Even if I had signed a relinquishment form, s…

Just Use The Family You Have

When I was in the fifth grade, we got the dreaded Family Tree project in social studies. We were to learn about our ancestors and how they contributed to who we were. The importance of our lineage and its impact on our lives. 

I remember raising my hand and saying, "But, Mrs. _____, I'm adopted. I don't know my family history."

"Just use the family you have," she replied, dismissing my question with a wave of her hand. "That will be good enough."

It didn't feel "good enough", but I bit my tongue and took the two huge pieces of paper with a picture of a giant tree on them. The trees had at least ten generations' worth of empty spaces in the branches for parents and grandparents. "One for rough draft, one for final," she instructed while my face felt dull and hot. "I challenge you to go as far back as you can. This is always a fun assignment." It felt like she was taking pot shots at me at that point. 

I took the pa…

Don't Whine To Me

When I was 17, I lost my child. Quite literally. She died in my arms. After spending months in two separate maternity homes who tried with all their might to convince me I was a stupid, selfish, irresponsible little slut who was not only unfit to be a mother,  but also devoid of every human feeling. I mean,  how could I possibly not feel sorry for all these poor, sad, wealthy, pretty people who couldn't have babies of their own? Older, married,  employed people who promised to buy her a life and send her to college? Sad, lonely people who "just want a baby to love", who were so much better and more qualified to raise my daughter than I was? Didn't I want to give them my baby and make them happy? Who was I to think that my deep love for her would be enough to get us through, to motivate me to be resourceful enough to take care of my little girl?

Months of it. One day while taking out the trash I just kept walking. I'd had enough; I was done listening to people who …