Those of us who have grown up in safe homes, have no concept of what happens behind closed doors in many homes around Australia.
I have a great adoptive family and grew up feeling sorry for anyone who wasn’t adopted. My mother told me honestly that my birth mother loved me but for reasons we didn’t know, she had to place me for adoption. I would learn years later that my adoptive mum would often pray for my original mum, and hoped that she was somehow finding peace with the tough choice she had to make.
My childhood was a happy one growing up in suburban Brisbane. With a different set of genetics, I was the curly haired chatterbox in a somewhat more reserved family. I adored my brothers and always felt like the family favourite, although my middle brother will sometimes disagree!
Like many adoptees, I had moments of genetic ‘bewilderment.’ I had a curious longing to know if I looked like anyone else on the planet and would often notice how much my friends hands and faces reflected those of a parent or sibling. Adoptees are often hesitant to share these thoughts, in case we are deemed to be ungrateful to our parents. But my parents certainly saw this as a natural curiosity and I didn’t feel bad for harbouring these thoughts.
I remember when my mum was tirelessly working on the family tree and I felt a strange emptiness looking at the charts in front of me. Whilst I was proud to be her daughter and part of the family, I felt really disconnected to 500 years of people that weren’t a blood connection to me. I remember thinking, “Well I’ve got a whole other tree that I’m probably dragging to my adopted tree.” I’ve since heard it described as such by Trevor Jordan, the president of Jigsaw Queensland, “Adoptees don’t have trees, they have orchards.”