Beyond The Papers

“It all depends on the child’s attitude and whether they choose to be thankful for their adoptive family…”

Recently, I encountered someone at a local Mennonite event. It was our first meeting, and one of their initial inquiries was, “Were you adopted?” Internally, I sighed. Why do people delve into such complex aspects of my life story without knowing me? Externally, I plastered a smile on my face and responded, “Yes.” Soon, our conversation shifted to the weather, work, and  the other obligatory subjects that one must talk about when meeting someone new. Yet, the adoption topic kept resurfacing.

At one point, they said, “It’s always interesting to hear adoption stories like yours that have ended in success” This slightly caught me off guard. I hadn’t divulged much about my story. What defines my adoption story as a “success”? Standing beside my Anabaptist wife, watching our children play, is this success? If so, what about my friends who grew up in Mennonite homes but later departed from that culture? Are they not successful? Many of them seem like successes to me… Additionally, how can you be certain that I’m not grappling internally with big questions of identity and a sense of not truly fitting into Mennonite/Anabaptist culture? Do these struggles diminish my success?

At another point, they said (quoted to the best of my recollection): “It all depends on the child’s attitude and whether they choose to be thankful for their adoptive family.” This remark was in the context of whether an adoption story is deemed successful. Ah, there it is—the dominant narrative. The adopted child must be thankful that God provided them with this new family. The success of the adoption hinges on the adoptee’s gratitude and effort to make it work.

This is the type of narrative that needs to be challenged. It does little to alleviate the pain adoptees experience; instead, it reinforces the notion that we are obligated to conform to a mold others perceive as “success.” When we’re reduced to case studies to validate their narrative, it dehumanizes us. Essentially, these narratives reduce us to objects supporting their storyline.

Just because I struggle to fit in or understand my identity doesn’t mean I’m not thankful for the food, clothing and shelter my adoptive parents provided. Nor does it mean that I don’t recognize that my first mother made what she genuinely believed was the best decision for me when she chose adoption.

My appeal to curious non-adoptees who enjoy hearing adoption stories is multi-faceted:

1. Perhaps refrain from inquiring about adoption until you’ve genuinely learned to know the person you’re talking to. You never know what struggles they might be grappling with regarding the subject.
2. Avoid making assumptions. Just because they outwardly appear to fit your definition of “success” doesn’t mean they aren’t internally wrestling with issues you consider indicators of failure.
3. Be open to asking questions without asserting definitive statements. Without experiencing adoption from an adoptee’s perspective, you’re unable to fully comprehend the adoptee experience.