Category: adoption

Appa Update

Back in December, I wrote about finding out the name of my birth father and where he currently resides in South Korea. Since then, that is where the information trail stops. I have attempted to contact my case worker through the organization I am using and the last I heard was that there was going to be an attempt to contact him. Since that last email, the staff has changed a little bit and it appears that I have slipped in between the cracks.

After four different emails sent to the general email inbox, my next attempt will be to call them in hopes to make contact with someone who speaks English and I can see the status of my case. My plan is still to return to visit this year, however, if I do not make it this spring, and it’s looking like that, I will probably wait until fall. I don’t have a desire to go during Korean summer with heat and humidity.

The longer time passes as I wait to hear from the organization, the more anxious I get about losing the little piece of information that I have. It’s crazy the emotional roller coaster that I have been put on even with just the case of having his name. I used to think that such information was enough, that I would only need to know a name that would satisfy my curiosity but it seems like that isn’t the case.

Now that there is known information, everything feels like it is within reach. I can sick to my stomach just thinking about the numerous possibilities. Before I knew any of this information, I had come to accept that to find him would be a near miracle…and now that it has completely proven me wrong I am curious now more than ever.

My plan is to call the organization in Korea in the next couple of weeks to see if there is someone who is still in contact with the people handling my case. I am hoping that there is at the very least something to report back so I can start planning my trip back to Seoul.

Here is a link to the bringing of my appa search. Nothing Short of a Christmas Miracle

 

In the World of Adoptees

Since the debut of my book, I have had a lot of conversations with a variety of people. Some are planning to adopt, some have already adopted and others are other adoptees. While I was writing Ode to Bermuda Grass, I never thought that I would have some of the conversations that would occur or the stories I would hear from others. It has given me the opportunity to not only share my story but share some of the darker stories from adoptees. Not everyone knows that there is a very dark side of adoption, that there are children who are place in adoptive homes and abused physically, emotionally sexually or that there are international adoptees whose parents did not finish their naturalization paperwork and therefore they are not naturalized citizens. These are not the stories that adoption supporters don’t want to hear or are even aware of.

Does this mean that I don’t support adoption? Of course not, I believe that there is a place for everything, even an adoption. Although I don’t know the story surrounding my adoption and my birth mother’s circumstances, I choose to believe that she made the best choice because of her situation.

I don’t believe that I see the world through rose colored glasses, but I was not aware that such stories like these existed in the adoptee community. These stories exist and their voices are not often heard. Like all things there is an ugly dark side of adoption, one that is not frequently talked about or even addressed. I have heard stories of adoptees being “returned” by their adoptive family and felt rejected from not only their biological family but by their adoptive family as well. The devastation that this creates in unimaginable and heartbreaking.

I say all of this to say that adoption shouldn’t be taken lightly, that there are a multitude of attitudes, feelings and situations that we as adoptees face. Does everyone understand them? No. Are there enough supports for adoptive parents and adoptees? I don’t believe so. Even if these darker stories are not shared from those who have experienced it for one reason or another, it is something to be aware of. Take the time to understand us adoptees, our stories are not always fairy tales with storybook endings, sometimes they are tragedies, thrillers or dramas.

Why Can’t I Visit Them?

It has finally happened. The questions I have been dreading for the last four years. My daughter has started asking why she can’t see her “other parents”, her biological parents. I partly blame myself since I have been talking about the fact that I have most likely found my birth father in Korea. The thought of explaining to her why she is unable to have any contact with her biological parents is something that has weighed heavy on my heart.

Recently it has been brought to my attention that I claim to be an “adoptive” parent however I am not on my daughter’s paperwork. This is true, and if I have misled you in any way, you have my apologies. However it does not change the fact that paperwork does not define a family, that is exactly what it is, just a piece of paper. Throughout my life, I know families whether, through law or otherwise who aren’t on each other’s papers, that doesn’t make them any less family. If you ask my daughter she will tell you I am her mother. To HER I am her mother, that’s all that I need.

Since she has come into our care, we have always kept things at her level. We try to explain different situations in a way that she will understand. When the topic of biological parents would come up, she typically would use the term “other parents”, a term she continues to use. It what makes sense in her head. Eventually, I know there will come a day where we have to the hard conversation about why she can’t see them and the circumstances that lead her to come into our lives.

From the very beginning, being adopted, I already know the type of questions that she is going to ask. I know the type of information she is going to ask. As of right now, she continues to have a relationship with her maternal grandmother, however eventually I know that will not be enough. As she continues to watch me walk down my journey, there are going to be a lot of similarities and differences. There will be questions that I won’t be able to answer and ones that I never thought she would ask.

Over the last four years, I have gone over and over in my head the type of information that I would want in her position and go from there. Like any good parent, I have wanted to do everything possible without hurting her to shield her from her previous circumstances. There are experiences that a two-year-old should never be exposed too, words that they should never hear and situations they should never be placed in. I know that one day, I will have to answer the hard questions and walk beside her as she slowly starts to discover the truth. My only hope is that I can be the mom she needs and use my experience and journey to help her when she walks through the valleys.

Always,

J

Nothing Short of a Christmas Miracle

I have been debating when or even how to write about this. The last week or so has put me into a zombie-like state. My children’s dad said I have “pregnancy brain”. For the life of me I cannot get words out of my mouth, I forget what things or called or even how to speak. If you know me, you know this is typically not the problem. No, I am not pregnant. The emotional roller coaster I have been on and continue to be on isn’t anything short of a miracle.

For those that have been following my journey, I lost my father in October 2017. Since then and prior too then, I had an ever growing rift primarily with members of my family.

A couple of years ago, I start searching for my biological family. I began searching for my birth mom (omma) since it seemed the easiest place to start. My adoption paperwork from Korea has bits and pieces of her story. According to my paperwork I have where she grew up and part of her childhood, mirrored some of mine. Eventually when she was 20, she gave birth to me and I was immediately relinquished for adoption. That’s it. No mention of who my birth father (appa) at all.

Fast forward to March of this year, after contacting an organization I finally had a lead on my omma. This lead seemed very creditable because she was the only woman in the country with a matching name and birthday as the woman on my paperwork. However upon meeting her, my hopes were dashed and I find out that as much as she wanted too, she was not my omma. She wished me well, told me I grew up beautifully and that my omma should be proud.

I thought my journey ended there. After that there wasn’t much more to do than to leave my DNA as a “missing” person in Korea, and hope there eventually would be a match. This has to guarantee. Because my paperwork had so many details, the retired police officer, current professor said he was willing to go to where she grew up and ask the elders if they knew her name/location.

Although I left Korea with unanswered questions, I knew emotionally I may not have been able to handle a blunt rejection. After much time and therapy, I had to walk away from the search. It was emotionally tolling and the amount of unanswered questions and different scenarios could drive a person mad. During the summer a lot of adoptees go back to Korea, it is usually when the organizations that help adoptees is bombarded by requests. It was at this time I decided to take a step back. I stopped following up and being diligent on searching for omma.

I emailed my contact a couple of times, and didn’t learn anything new. Slowly I was coming to terms that this would be the end of the search and I was working through accepting that my questions may remain unanswered.

A couple of days after my launch party I receive an email from my contact. Something that I never thought I would ever read. It said that a man was found who is presumed to be my birth father and this professor/retired cop wanted to bring me to meet him. I screamed in the middle of the email. I scared my kids so much they started consoling me as if I was tragically hurt. Of course o couldn’t hold back my emotions and tears ran down my cheeks. This didn’t help, my poor children were convinced I was hurting. I told them it was happy thoughts, that they had most likely found my biological father.

I became numb. I didn’t know how to react. This mystery man had a name and location. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think the possibility of finding him would happen. Since I have zero documentation regarding my birth father I either assumed my omma didn’t know or there was another legitimate reason why he was kept off of my birth certificate. The number of questions that ran through my head were endless. I wanted to know every little detail nothing too big or too small was insignificant at this point. My mind needed every single question answered. Of course I immediately wrote back stating I wasn’t sure when I would be back but that I will be back to Korea as soon as I am able.

Upon asking how this man was found, the response was “trade secret” and that was the end of that. I will admit I was a little disappointed but for the first time my appa had a name and a location. This is still mind blowing.

Some of my best friends have graciously started a GoFundMe to help get me to Korea as soon as possible. The money I had to go was used on my last trip and I was most likely planning to go back at the end of next summer but those plans were not set in stone.

After hearing all of this new information, I need to get to Korea ASAP. It is unbelievable that this miracle has happened. There is no other way to explain this, especially a couple of weeks before Christmas. I have included the link here if you feel led to donate, please do. Thoughts and prayers for this part of my journey are just as appreciated. Thank you. I will be keeping everyone posted on the start of this journey.

Always,

J

Adoption Awareness Month

I have shared this picture before, not recently but I feel since it is “National Adoption Awareness Month” it needs to be shared again. Both as an adoptee and adoptive parent, this quote resonates with me on every level. Like everything and everyone, there are vast varieties of feelings adoptees have with regard to adoption. There are “angry” adoptees, adoptees that have no intention of finding their roots, others choose to address any and all issues that have come from their adoption.

Every year I would proudly support National Adoption Awareness Month, a month that I would celebrate my adoption and the pride I have from it. Which I still do, however, there are a lot more issues that usually aren’t addressed. When I was younger, I always wanted to foster/adopt, mostly because I wanted to give a child the same opportunity that I was given. I still have that desire, however, I feel as if I have come full circle and have been able to see adoption as a whole in a completely new light.

When I was younger, I wanted to adopt a child of a different race, I never really knew the reason why but looking back from where I am today, it was because I didn’t want to be the only non-white face in a crowd. I thought that my entire life I would constantly be in the minority and I used to have a sense of loneliness that came with it. Growing up there were other adoptees, several in fact but all of us never really would hang out or even talk about what it felt like to be adopted. Maybe it was because we never knew how much adoption can impact someone.

Once I started fostering my now daughter my viewpoint started to change. During the adoption process I found myself wanting to ensure she would be connected to her roots, even if that just meant appropriate pictures I could find on Facebook or anything really. These were some things that I never had and I wanted to make sure some of her eventual questions would be answered. It was then that I ran across this quote.

I never really looked at it from another perspective. I had just always assumed that I was given up for adoption because that was the “best choice” at the time. However after speaking with some adoptees, ones who have reunited with their biological families, mostly Korean adoptees, I know that some were relinquished through coercion or some were taken away and given up by extended family members. These ideas had never crossed my mind. I guess I had always had a rosy picture of adoption, at least until I met my daughter and walked through part of her journey.

There is a weight that comes with adoption, for the children and the parents. I know that I will be questioned as her mother because we are different races and that there will be some questions that I may not be able to answer. There is a weight that comes with knowing all of that and knowing that she will have her own unique set of struggles. I know that I cannot protect her from everything and that eventually, she will have to walk on her own journey through adoption as I have.

Some adoptees have used National Adoption Awareness Month to advocate to keep biological families together. I am neither pro or anti-adoption, my situation is not the same as all other adoptees, we can relate on similar feelings and have a “me too” moment but our journeys and struggles are not all the same.

Instead of using this month as a way to advocate one way or another, I want to use it to bring other adoptees’ voices to light. It’s time to listen about the impact that it has on us, that some of us were not adopted into loving homes, some are estranged from their adoptive families, others have suffered neglect and abuse, some international adoptees have even been deported because their adoptive parents never completed the naturalization paperwork. These are the voices that you need to hear. It is their stories that matter. Not all adoptions have happy endings some are short stories and some tragedies and those stories need to be told.

But I Don’t Remember

It wasn’t until my trip back to Korea in the spring of 2018 that I missed something I never remembered. Prior to the trip I talked with other KADs before I even bought my ticket.After several conversations I had made the decision to go on the trip on my own, without friends or family. There were going to be other KADs in Korea that I was going to meet up with but I would end up taking my first (that I remember) transcontinental flight solo.

After upgrading my ticket, which I highly recommend, and several movies later I arrived at Incheon Airport. I still have a hard time describing what it was like just walking off of the plane. Just stepping off the plane and walking through the terminal was emotional. My eyes filled with tears as I walked through the terminal to baggage claim. I hadn’t even made to baggage claim or even gotten in a taxi yet.

The entire flight over to Korea I was so anxious about everything. I don’t speak Korean and this was a trip I was going to be taking on my own. During my trip there were only a few tours that I was planning on doing the rest of my itinerary I left open to just explore the city.

Through baggage claim, I immediately felt as easy. I could feel the tension in my shoulders disappear and it was an odd comfort. I never knew that a place I have no memory of would feel so much like home. There was a comfort being able to blend into a crowd and just being in a place that seemed so familiar that I have no memory of. It was the most incredible experience I have had. There were days that I just walked around and just enjoyed being there people watching. I am already planning my next trip back. Now that I’ve been able to connect with the country, I want to be able to experience all that it has to offer. I hope this helps other transracial adoptees. Have you had similar experiences?

 

Always,

J

Anxiety Never Stops

I know it’s been a while since I published a new blog. Honestly, I was just enjoying the feedback and the pre-orders starting to come in. I thought today would be a good day to write again. This afternoon I will get to see an uncle (first cousin once removed, I think) in the first time in a very long time. Frankly, I barely remember him and I guess the last time I saw him I was very young most likely younger than my kids are now. This morning after my kids and their dad left for the morning, I was alone in the house and frantically started getting dinner prepped and looking around to see what else needed to be clean before family showed up.

This used to be one of the biggest stressors, family visiting. If the laundry was neatly put away, my kids’ rooms weren’t clean, or the house hadn’t been dusted, vacuumed and the kitchen was a mess then my anxiety would have kicked into high gear and I would have started to panic. This morning the kitchen had been cleaned, the floors freshly swept, although not washed, the entryway swept, hallway swept and the “guest” bathroom cleaned. There are two baskets of laundry that still haven’t been put away and even thought there are dishes in the sink they are drying and waiting to be put away.

As I was preparing dinner for this evening I started to go over different topics of conversation I had in running through my head and already had my defenses lined up. I had created a list of topics to avoid and readied excuses or explanations for why these topics were to be avoided or why certain things weren’t done that had been “expected” of me. That is when it hit me. The expectations I was holding myself too were all in my head. My family wasn’t coming to make sure that the house was clean or that the laundry was folded or that my kids always made sure their rooms were clean. Trust me when I saw that the house is generally clean, however, I am not a fan of dusting and only do so when necessary.

I’m sorry to disappoint some of you, but I don’t weekly dust my house, vacuum or make sure that laundry is always done, folded and put away. That’s not me. It’s never been me. Now don’t think that I have dishes with caked on food laying around or garbage that hasn’t been taken about because that’s the case either and that’s not the point.

The point is that for the first time I was able to recognize that after years of being held to ridiculous standards and causing myself unnecessary stress, I finally called myself out on it. It was the first time in a long time that I finally got to recognize it. My home may not be perfect or Pottery Barn worthy but I know that family isn’t coming to see if their expectations have been met and visit me. I get to spend time with my family because I’m me because they are coming to visit me and not have any preconceived expectations. It is one of the best feelings ever.

The anxiety isn’t going to stop, but now I know that I will be able to recognize and control it better than before. It’s taken a lot of work and money, honestly investing in my therapist was one of the best decisions I made. To be on the other side of anxiety and the mix of therapy and medication I am so much happier. Without either of those, I am not sure where I would be or who I would be. The anxiety no longer controls me and for that I’m thankful. **Reminder Pre-Orders for my debut book, Ode to Bermuda Grass: My Journey through Grief, Loss and Adoption** are still available** Click Here to order.

Always,

J

Are you my family?

Family. At times the word can seem foreign to me. For a long time, I would look at other families and be envious of the things I didn’t have, whether it was siblings or the ability to spend time together and not want to scream. I learned from a young age that family seemed to be everything. Family was this mythological construct where people always got along and they always wanted to spend time with each other. Growing up I would watch shows like Family Matters, and Full House all the while wondering if that is how a family is supposed to be. Then I saw an extended family of mine and they were always taking vacations together, talking together and genuinely enjoyed spending time together. This was not always the case for me and it still isn’t. I didn’t really know that families could spend so much time together without sacrificing some part of their mental health.

As I grew older and not having a civil or even functional relationship with my “step sister”, I found my family elsewhere. My family and “sisters” were friends, people whom I could be myself with, that loved me unconditionally. After joining my sorority, I found my sisters, women that to this day I know I can call day or night and they will be there. Those three other women are truly my sisters, I word that I don’t use lightly.

Recently I started reconnecting with my mom’s family, some of whom I haven’t seen since I was a little girl. People that I barely remember, if I remember them at all. For the last two years, my kids and I have walked in the local ALS Walk for my dad. This year, seemingly out of nowhere, family from Florida that I just got in contact with this year, decided to make the 8-hour drive or fly up for the walk. This would have been enough, the fact that these two people who I don’t remember meeting are coming up to support ME and an organization that helped my dad during his fight. My “uncle” (actually my mom’s cousin) offered that a group he belongs too, Bourbon Society of Central Florida could sponsor my team and hold a charity raffle. I was floored. Believe me when I say that nothing shocked me more.

In support and appreciation for their support, I had team shirts made with their logo on the back. Last night they had their raffle and the total they raised for the ALS Society. It brought me to tears. They are such an amazing group of people, truly. My uncle is amazing, someone who I barely remember and haven’t seen in over 20 years made this all possible. THAT is family, that is something that I never thought would happen. I am truly overwhelmed and so thankful. In less than two weeks I get to give him the biggest hug ever and thank him.

Love your family. I love mine and I am so thankful for them.

Always,

J

What?! I can’t be racist…

Growing up not physically looking like my family created some challenges. There were moments in my childhood and beyond where I fell victim to racial slurs and comments. One Christmas while I was home from college there was a discussion of interracial relationships. My stepmother said that it would be “taboo” to bring home a black man, the look on my face must have given her an indication I was confused. Her response was how her family isn’t racist but…by that point I had stopped listening. I was furious. EVERY RELATIONSHIP I was in WAS an interracial relationship. Last time I looked in the mirror I wasn’t white…but I also apparently didn’t count as a person of color (POC). My parents stated that it would be weird if I brought home, someone of another race, even though I’m not white. It always struck me as odd and I tried not to take it personally but how couldn’t I? I am a person of color.

I was raised in a home that didn’t “see color”. Where I was taught that it was on the inside that counts. The truth was is that people DO SEE color, it is one of the first things we notice whether we want to admit it or not. Though it does not define us, it sure as hell matters how we identify ourselves, we see ourselves as POC. While those around my chose not to see color I was aware of it constantly. In school, while learning about the Civil Rights Movement and Japanese internment camps my parents would reassure me that society had made progress since that time and they do not care what color I am. It does matter. As a POC, whether my family sees it or not, my struggles are different than theirs.

Funny thing is that you CAN be a racist even though you have POC as friends or you yourself are a POC, they are not mutually exclusive. Just because you know a POC, are a POC or raised a POC but still, have racist thoughts or feelings STILL MAKES YOU RACIST. I’ve heard excuses like I don’t count because I’m a “Twinkie” (that’s a whole other discussion) because I know this person or that person then racism isn’t an issue or my personal favorite is about the time period someone grew up in. Guess what? It’s not an excuse. You can still have hate in your heart.

The first racial slur I heard was in middle school. I didn’t know what it meant until I asked my dad. It made me mad for several reasons most importantly because I am not Chinese, I am Korean. Initially, I did not know what the word meant, I just knew that I was mad. I believe that race is something that needs to be discussed, you can be “colorblind” while still being able to address race.

Recently while I was driving down the road a truck passed me and yelled another racial slur. No, I wasn’t being a stereotypical “Asian woman driver”, I was stopped in a turn lane waiting my turn during rush hour. It had been a long time since I had heard a racial slur with so much hate directed at me.  After that, I knew eventually I would have to have a discussion with my son. My son is half Korean and half Caucasian, his physical features are mostly mine, he looks more Asian than he does white. He will need to understand that there is hate in this world and there may be times that he may fall victim to it. There is a sense of duty to protect my child from the hate and even though I cannot shield him from everything I can teach him about it so he will understand.

Whether or not we have the ability to admit it or not, on some level whether it be conscious or not, we are aware of race, society is aware of race. There are still discrepancies in this world between the races and not addressing it is part of the problem. We cannot confront what is not known. The question comes down to, are you going to sit back and watch or muster your courage and do something about it?