Hey there! I’m Laura.
For the past thirty years, I’ve been navigating my adoption journey—a path filled with joy, pain, discovery, and lessons learned. I’ve celebrated the gift of new family, made my share of mistakes, learned from them, and then changed my search to find my authentic self.
Adoption, search, and reunion can be a harrowing journey. People who are not adopted do not understand why this could be. Thus adding to the shame, guilt, and frustration.
It is up to us to change the narrative. It is possible to shift the perspective so that adoptees can discover their worth, heal their wounds, and create lives that reflect their authentic truths and desires.
Adopted at birth…
I was adopted at birth in 1968 through a closed adoption in Houston, TX, through the Homes of St. Mark’s. I’ve always known I was adopted, and since I knew a few other kids who were adopted, too, it didn’t feel abnormal.
I grew up as an only child with zero cousins— I was literally the only kid in my family. I used to dream about having siblings and cousins, like the ones I saw in other families. Thankfully, my parents were good at building friendships, so life was always full of them.
“Knowing where you come from can provide a sense of belonging, continuity, and self-awareness. It’s a fundamental part of understanding and embracing the entirety of your unique story.”
Coming out of the fog…
Is a common term to describe when adoptees start realizing the impact and consequences adoption has had on their life.
I was definitely in the dark when it came to my adoption or adoption in general. It was not something that was discussed. In college, when I was looking for an elective, I came across a research class called Openness in Adoption, and I jumped at the opportunity. It was a total eye-opener. As I listened to dozens of real-life stories from birth mothers who placed their babies in closed, semi-open, and open adoptions, I realized for the first time that my story began before my parents adopted me. It was a strange feeling knowing I shared DNA with total strangers. My heart and mind wanted to access the truth of my origins. It became an essential quest that I wouldn't let go of. Like an archeologist on a mission, I couldn’t stop until I found the truth of where I came from.
I knew that my reaching out to these people who I didn’t know might be met with resistance and I may be unwelcome news. I needed to tell my birth mother, “Thank you for giving me life”. It was because of this study that I appreciated the sacrifices most of these women went through to give their babies life. Sadly, their families or life circumstances often left them no choice. Any needs and feelings they had went unheard and unseen. The mothers were not allowed to hold, see, or touch their babies, who had been a part of them for over nine months. This is traumatic and has been proven to leave wounds for both the baby and the mother. If the adoptive mother dealt with miscarriage or infertility, she bears the wounding of that trauma, too.
This wounding and trauma are what got me interested in coaching. I want to explore what we can do now to heal from the wounds of the past, which are buried deep in the unconscious.
“Adoption represents a breakdown in the relationship between parent and child, whether it’s the biological parent who gives up the child or the adoptive parent who’s unable to fully connect with the child due to their own trauma.”
No instruction manuals…
I went full steam ahead to find my birthmother because that’s how strong the pull was. Discovering the truth, even unpleasant, was worth the risk of how terrible it would feel to keep silent.
I contacted the adoption agency in Houston and quickly heard back from them. She had always hoped I would be in touch. They nicknamed her “Cornbread” because she brought wonderful cornbread to the potluck dinners. This nickname immediately brought sweetness to her, and there was a tiny feeling of comfort because cooking and cornbread were big parts of my upbringing and memories.
My first mother and I got to know each other by writing letters through the adoption agency and then directly. I was hungry to hear everything. I learned that she was twenty-two years old when she gave birth to me. I was twenty-two when I reached out to her, and I was born on the 22nd. We met in person for the first time on a layover at the Atlanta airport. She was beautiful inside and out, and I wanted to share my good news with everyone!
But not everyone was happy about it. She was still a secret, and my parents did not know how I would proceed. My dad had told me not to bring it up with my mom because it hurt her too much.
I was a wreck. Secrets are poison, decomposing you from the inside out. I tried therapy, but no one seemed to be able to help me. No one got it. So I kept putting on my happy face and tried not to let anyone in on what was really going on inside.
“The pain of being ignored is not just about rejection, but about feeling unseen, unheard, and unworthy of love.”
It’s a small world after all…
The small world and coincidences around my adoption are the bright spots for me. I found out that my best friend and I were in the same nursery in the hospital after our births. My birth mother lived with a family I later knew from school. I later discovered I had known my paternal biological aunt and her kids (my first cousins!) for years. We had been together and had not known we were related. Fascinating stuff.
Medical information is an important part of an adoptee’s needs. When our three-year-old son was diagnosed with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis, I wanted to find out the other half of my medical history from my birth father. I received all the medical history he was aware of. In that process, I learned that he had one daughter. An only child like me. She also had a son. The closed door became cracked. And I wanted to bust it wide open.
Being accepted by my biological family was a thirst that could never be quenched. Nothing could make us feel like family because we didn’t have time on our side knowing this. I wanted my parents to know that this thirst had nothing to do with them or my gratitude for them. We, adoptees, are impacted by the stigmas of reaching out to families who are not technically ours, the appearance of turning our backs on our current families, and not being grateful for what we’ve been given. And as an adoptee, our body subconsciously knows what it feels like to be abandoned. And our biggest fear is to be abandoned again.
I found that I could either continue to let these fears and feelings of inadequacy run the show or take control back. That is what I found with coaching. Coaching has taught me how to become aware of self-sabotaging beliefs, to catch them, and to turn them around to self-love and compassion. We cannot truly love others if we cannot truly love ourselves. We cannot receive love from others if we cannot receive our own love. I can be abandoned now and not make that mean anything about me. It’s about time.
Sending you love and encouragement on your journey.
XOXO,
Laura