She's Adopted

They just didn't tell her

An Adoptee As a Parent

on December 17, 2012

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After I discovered that I was adopted, I became much more tolerant of my daughter Gigi. I cherish her far more than some people might given certain circumstances. The other day she got into my expensive make up and painted her whole face with it… absolutely destroyed the whole kit, went into my closet and got into one of my night out dresses and rubbed her hands on it to remove the makeup…and I just laughed. Although part of that may be because my adopted mother beat the crap out of me once for doing the exact same thing.

But my reaction is far from what it might have been if I didn’t know about my  adoption. I’ve changed. Seeing my daughter being herself and doing silly stuff all the time just like I did, gives me joy, more than anything.

I am much more relaxed about it. I stopped using my bitter and restrictive adoptive mother as a guide on how to raise my own daughter… It never crossed my mind before that my mom’s intolerance, roughness and lack of affection towards me were totally personal and not her just being just a mom.  I didn’t know that her attitude, treating me differently from my brothers, had nothing to do with me being clumsy, curious or loud. It had to do with raising a child she didn’t choose  (According to her, my dad came home on a Saturday  with me on his arms…) I know it’s weird… but I come  from Brazil and in that country illegal adoption was a common practice back in the day, and it still is now, especially in the Northeastern part of the country. The laws have changed a little bit. But the people… not so much.

I always liked to take my daughter Gigi with me to do my errands and to have fun around. She’s an awesome kid, really she is, but now, I see her from a different perspective. I wish I could stop time  or even go back in time and enjoy her little self much more than I have so far…  I fear for her future.

Maybe only an adoptee would know how weird it is to have the first biological relative you’ve ever met be your own child. That is so distorted, so wrong, it shocks me. The only blood relative I’ve met is my own daughter! The baggage of my adoption passes onto her and her kids followed by the lack of any background to share with them. We’re a severed branch of a family tree. There is only me and my sprout, Gigi, on that side of the tree. The weight of an entire clan rests on my shoulders. Do non-adopted people think about these things?

Are my issues with Marfans, depression and anxiety related to my mystery family’s history of illness? What family history do I need to know for my daughter’s sake? What about her kids, and their kids? Again, I am left as the sole repository of this knowledge, with zero access to any information that might help to understand my bloodline.
What has been done to me and my daughter is wrong. She should not have to suffer because I was adopted. Gigi deserves full access to her ancestry like any other person.


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