The last couple weeks, on the way to and from work, I’ve been soaking up a lot of Adoptees On podcasts; and, while I am a writer, the one topic I have neatly avoided is my adoption/search/reunion and that I decided reunion wasn’t what I thought.
Or, rather, I wasn’t sure what reunion was supposed to be. So, after 11 years or thereabouts, not knowing how to be a reunited person (or knowing where or how I fit with that family) I wrote an email to my firstmom saying I thought we’d come to the end of our path, thanking her for having me, and that it had been nice to meet her other children. In some circles, they might refer to my withdrawing as a “time out”, one of the stages of reunion. What it felt like was that I just didn’t belong to or with them. I’m not sure how to call “time in”, if I ever felt like I fit with them, without anyone in my birth family wondering about my sanity. The withdrawal October 2015; I found my firstmom in February 2004.
It’s a long story (aren’t they all?) but I wanted to begin by saying “Thank you” if you’re reading along. There are a lot of these stories out here, about adoptees. We are the lost, the found and those of us who float somewhere in between.