Gaslighting, or, Please Listen to Adoptees

Anon on February 10, 2023

Adoption makes people uncomfortable. If you mention you are adopted you generally get one of two responses: a slight look of horror and a quick subject change, or a tilted head “poor you”. I get it. Adoption is complicated and you don’t want to put your foot in it. 

Of more concern are those who gaslight adoptees and tell them they shouldn’t feel a particular way. Gaslighting means you are trying to make a person doubt their own account and their own experience. You would never do this to any other marginalised group. It is manipulative and cruel. Adoptee gaslighters tend to fall into a few categories:

Adoptive parents

Obviously, not all adopters but unfortunately too many. Adoption is a highly emotive issue for most adoptive parents (APs). I get that ‘adoption is trauma’ feels like a personal criticism. The idea that you might be complicit in a harmful system must be terrifying. 

Too often, APs will stonewall and refuse to engage with the idea of adoption trauma at all. Challenging behaviour and struggles with life MUST be down to pre-adoption trauma. Birth parents ’bad’, adoptive parents ’just doing our best’. These kinds of APs believe the solution is more funding and more support for adoption. It is a very rare AP who will posit we need to support birth families so that children can stay at home. Let’s be honest. Adoption, in the vast majority of cases, is about satisfying the needs of infertile couples and is a last resort for them. It is not about what is best for the child.  

I am often frightened when I stumble across adopter forums online. Adoptees who are critical of the current system are characterised as angry and aggressive, and to be ignored at all costs. We get ‘not all adoptees’, ‘I’m sorry you had a bad experience’ and ‘my adoptee doesn’t feel that way’. These APs are demonstrating, vividly, that they are not a safe person for their adoptee to share feelings with. I am reminded of that Mitchell and Webb sketch and wish that more APs had the bravery to ask, “Are we the baddies?”* 

We did not all experience neglect or mistreatment pre-adoption. Many of us have loving relationships with our adoptive families. We doubt ourselves enough. If we tell you that adoption is traumatic, BELIEVE US.

*I am not comparing adoptive parents to Nazis. Definitely not.

Professionals and ‘professionals’

Many of the social workers and therapists we come across are brilliant. They are underpaid, overworked, and endlessly supportive. There are a few who have blundered into a setting they are not equipped for and can do more harm than good. They usually fall into the category of people without proper qualifications or appropriate regulatory oversight. There are too many examples of these individuals reaching out, unsolicited, to adoptees and offering magical solutions. They are usually staggeringly patronising and seek to impose a denial of reality. They can cause terrible damage, especially for the adoptee emerging from the fog who might be asking questions for the first time and who lacks support.

I’m traumatised, I’m not an idiot. I haven’t lost my ability to think critically. I want support from compassionate professionals who are educated on adoption issues. 

The imminent removal of Ofsted regulation for adoptee support is a concern. It technically leaves us no worse off—Ofsted are toothless in practice and the requirement for regulation has severely limited the number of people who come forward to support adoptees—but to remove it entirely opens the door to charlatans. Everyone involved in supporting adoptees should have trauma-informed training. There should be appropriate oversight. And please can we prevent adoption agencies from being providers of this support? It is a blatant and dangerous conflict of interest.

Other adoptees

This one is particularly tricky. Not all adoptees feel the same way. If you had a great experience, fantastic, but two things: i) you might find you feel differently as time goes on, and ii) your good experience does not negate someone else’s difficult one. 

I hate saying that first part. It sounds so off. It’s just that I genuinely believed for years that I was lucky, and now I don’t feel that way. This experience of ‘coming out of the fog’ is so common but it is difficult to talk about without sounding patronising. This is one of the reasons we need more academic research into the adoptee experience and how it moulds and shapes you throughout life. 

As a minimum can we agree we should be respectful of each other’s experiences? There is no obligation on ‘happy’ adoptees to speak out against adoption but it is not helpful to silence those of us who do. For me, it is not about my trauma or experience, it is about systemic problems with our current system of plenary adoption. And let’s face it, the happy adoptee narrative is the one that is predominant in society. Unless you really believe that adoption is perfect, please make a bit of space for those of us who want change. 

Ourselves

I had a knock back recently when I was refused a mental health referral despite making myself horribly vulnerable in front of my GP. I quickly spiralled into thinking that, of course, they’re right. I am exceedingly lucky, my problems aren’t as bad as other’s and I am a pathetic waste of space who not only doesn’t deserve help but shouldn’t need it. And so on, and so on, and so on. It was exhausting. I was pulled back by an incredibly supportive group of fellow adoptees, most of whom had experienced something similar. They made me laugh and feel like I was in good company.

I would never speak to another person the way I speak to myself. The reason I was in denial for so long about the effect that adoption has had on me is that I was gaslighting myself. I’m ‘too sensitive’, ‘not strong enough’ and just inadequate generally. I am going to try and stop this behaviour, or at least try and start noticing when it’s happening. I am accountable for my behaviour as an adult. It is not my fault that I was relinquished and adopted.

And finally…society

Oof. I don’t know where to begin with this one. Adoption tropes are all around. Baked into TV, films, books, just everywhere. I have never felt injustice so keenly before. It has knocked the wind out of me, and taught me so much, not least reverential awe for those who contend with more visible injustices or intersectional experiences. There is surely a lightbulb moment coming when we can take a serious look at the way we talk about adoption? Where we start to speak honestly about the nuances, biases and appalling mistreatment at play? It could just take one article that captures the zeitgeist, or one TV show that portrays it accurately, or one politician who is prepared to speak out. Here’s hoping…

The Harsh Reality of Living Without any Medical History

Liz on February 10, 2023

I am an adoptee born in 1974 and adopted 8 weeks later. I speak from lived experience of inheriting a genetic condition, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS) from my first mother but only discovering this in my 40s.

I’m 49. When I look back at my life up to now, I can pinpoint times that I struggled with my health. Times that, if I had arrived in my adoptive family with a full medical history, would have been easier to manage, quicker to diagnose and come with a lot less worry. 

The impact of unexplained physical symptoms

As a child, I had double-jointed thumbs which I would contort into odd shapes to amuse my school friends. On the netball court, my weak ankles, flat feet and hyper-mobile joints led my feet to ‘collapse’ at times, giving me shooting pains. I just thought this was normal but when I was 13, with continual knee pain and bunions at such a young age, my mother took me to a podiatrist for gait analysis. I was given custom orthotics to put into my shoes to correct my fallen arches and over-pronation. 

At age 14, my teeth were crooked and I had a centre shift—my two front teeth were not central in my mouth. My dentist removed all 4 of my eye teeth to make more room, as my mouth was overcrowded. I had a fixed brace fitted top and bottom, metal rings moulded around all 4 molars and I had to wear elastic bands which stretched from my top to bottom brace – only to be removed when eating.

Pregnancy and childbirth—unexpected complications

Giving birth to my first child, pre-diagnosis, I had an emergency C-section because she was in undiagnosed breech position. I’m certain that she turned in the middle of the night after I was induced, due to having pre-eclampsia, and waiting for labour to start. I experienced awful pain and looking back, it might well have been that—EDS makes for very stretchy insides I later discovered. My episiotomy was very slow to heal, another facet of EDS which I just didn’t know at the time.

The effects of anaesthetics

When I gave birth to my second daughter, in Belgium, I had asked for an epidural. After her forceps delivery, the placenta would not arrive. That turned into a medical emergency as they discovered there and then that I had placenta acreta, where the placenta grows into the lining of the uterus and won’t come away on its own. I had to endure manual extraction, which was traumatic. And still painful, despite the epidural. I kept telling the medics “I can still feel!” I don’t think they believed me. Had they and I had prior knowledge of my EDS, we would all have been able to navigate round the fact that another feature of EDS is that we react differently to anaesthesia as our tissues are too stretchy to hold the anaesthetic and it doesn’t seem to stay where it is needed. When my daughters and I go to the dentist for any fillings or extractions, our dentist is now aware that she needs to give us more local anaesthetic and to give one with less adrenaline in, as that gives us the shakes. 

Our mental health: adoption is trauma

At university, I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I was treated with both counselling/talking therapy and antidepressants, but these didn’t really help. I didn’t even really feel comfortable with being diagnosed as ‘clinically depressed’ because deep down I intuited that something was just and has always been ‘off’/wrong… What was glossed over was the fact that I am adopted—not was, am—and being adopted has affected me lifelong. Even though in counselling sessions, I found myself mostly talking about my relationship with my adoptive mother and how difficult I found that growing up, my being adopted in and of itself was never addressed. Looking back, it was as if it simply was not even relevant – neither to my life, to the counsellor and certainly not to my mental health.

Adoption: the elephant in the treatment room

I do not believe that I was depressed, not clinically. I believe that I was traumatised. No pills could ever have helped me. I did not want to take pills. I wanted to be able to express, for the first time in my life, how I felt. I wanted to be heard. To be seen. To be validated. 

I found myself in the same situation many years later, after the birth of my first child. I felt elated to have started my own family, and I knew that I was not suffering from any kind of postnatal depression, but I went into the hospital to speak with one of the post-birth counsellors there as I just couldn’t shake the ‘lost’ feelings I was having.

Again, a hopeless exercise. I went once and I remember tears streaming down my face as I told the counsellor how disappointed I was that I had to have an emergency C section as my baby was breech – that I lost the chance to give birth naturally and to be able to see my baby being born, coming out of my body—so I knew she was really mine, and of me. I told her how important that was to me. She just sat there. She was not qualified to handle what I was telling her.

Where could I find support post-partum?

So I left the room, sat in my car in the hospital car park and cried. I didn’t know who to turn to next. So I stuffed all these feelings down and they didn’t resurface until a couple of years after the birth of my second daughter. 

I was living in Belgium with my family at the time. My husband worked away seventy percent of the time and I was separated from family and friends. We spent five years in Belgium. I was struggling. I saw my GP, who diagnosed me with Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD) which might as well have been ‘I have no clue what is wrong with you so let’s call it a generic anxiety disorder and send you on your way with some antidepressants.’

Trying to take charge but the issues are still not recognised

The tablets made me spaced out and dizzy. So dizzy that I had an accident. I fell off my bike because my balance was so bad and my head so fuzzy, and hit my head on the kerb. I went to the hospital. I was okay, but I had had enough. I stopped taking those tablets and have never taken any again. I knew something was wrong. Not with my head, but with my life. I knew it was time to try to talk about how I felt, my adoption, my adoptive mother. All of it. 

I found a psychologist. We conducted our sessions in a hybrid of French and English. He listened. He let me cry. He held out tissues, but there just was no solution. I felt like he couldn’t fix me. Again, we focussed on my struggles with my adoptive mother, rather than the issues of being adopted and taken away from my mother as a baby. So I gave up.

EDS diagnosis and the consequences

A third attempt to try to sort myself out (and understand myself) arose from my Ehlers Danlos diagnosis in 2017. EDS is a genetic disorder where the structure of connective tissue & collagen is abnormal due to a gene mutation. This results in abnormally fragile and hyper-extensible tissues throughout the body which can lead to a range of multi-systemic symptoms and have a widespread effect on the body. Joints are hyper-mobile, or ‘loose’ and unstable, leading to overly tight muscles, joint pain and fatigue.

Looking to my first family for answers

As I was showing signs of Vascular EDS, which is often considered to be the most serious form, I had to see a geneticist to undergo genetic testing and ’counselling’ to ascertain which of the 13 types of EDS I had. I had to go through an extensive screening, with many questions about my family history. This was not only upsetting but very frightening.

Even though I am fortunate enough to be in reunion with both of my first parents, I was terrified not only for me, but for my children and, actually, for both of my first parents as I had obviously inherited this condition from one of them. I apologised profusely to my first parents when I emailed them a two-page document I had put together myself, asking about any possible conditions or early deaths in our ancestry from particular diseases or cancers. It was the only thing I could think of doing—to try to take control of my own health and protect that of my daughters.

Finally, some genetic testing—why do we not get this sooner?

The wait for my genetic screening results was fraught. I lost a lot of weight through worrying and this entire process brought many things to the surface for me about what adoptees have to endure without access to or knowledge of our genetic history and medical records. It is not only cruel to deny us access to these records, but it is also a danger to our health and that of our children and we often have to jump through several hoops to obtain these records.

My results came back negative for Vascular EDS, so a diagnosis of Hypermobile EDS was given.

Facing the intergenerational impact

A carrier of EDS has a 50% chance of passing it to their children, so without delay I had my daughters assessed in London to see if I had passed this on to them. They did indeed have the condition. I felt awful. That was all on me. My eldest daughter was 13 and my youngest 10 at the time.

The three of us have all seen a heart specialist, a podiatrist and several physiotherapists over the years to manage our EDS as best we can. Looking back, there were things I could have done which would have helped my girls, or afforded us to be better prepared for dealing with this. But I lacked the knowledge at the time.

Finally, some progress with mental health professionals

In order to manage this newly-diagnosed condition, I was referred to a clinical psychologist for Pain Management. We did discuss how to manage my pain, through pacing, prioritising, postponing, planning and delegating. However, certain traits were recognised by my therapist: my perfectionist tendencies, my need for routine and control of my environment, my people-pleasing and my system being on high alert/fight-flight for much of the time.

It was the first time that someone had suggested to me that I was not depressed, nor was I going mad, but that I was genuinely struggling. Again, we spoke about the difficult relationship with my over-protective, controlling adoptive mother, but not the maternal separation trauma. Mixed emotions followed—a combination of relief, anger and extreme sadness, to name but a few.

In 2022, aged 48, I finally found an adoption-competent therapist. A therapist who specialises in family therapy, but who also happens to be an adoptee. She understands my primary trauma and my feelings around being an adoptee plus the secondary trauma of having an adoptive mother who could not give me what I needed. Who in fact made my initial trauma worse.

What can we learn from my story and what needs to happen for adoptees?

We must have access to our medical history and our trauma must be validated, understood and treated by adoption-competent therapists because, for some adoptees, not only our health but our very lives may be at stake.

Finally Being Diagnosed with Complex PTSD

Debbie on February 10, 2023

When I was a teenager my mother told me I was not her biological daughter. I had been fostered but she refused to tell me who I was and where I came from. Social services knew I had been deceived throughout my childhood but they did not tell me the truth.

I felt sad and lonely as a child, something was missing. I had to wait several months for my adoption order before I found out who my biological parents were and the circumstances surrounding my birth. I did not receive support from any professionals to help me process this discovery.  

Anxiety and depression

As I grew into a young adult I visited the GP because I suffered from severe anxiety and depression but instead of taking my childhood into account, I was given a prescription for antidepressants which only numbed me so I stopped taking them.

I felt a deep sense of loss and shame inside my body. I also felt fear. I was not safe. I couldn’t express it but professional services continued to ignore the traumatic childhood events surrounding my adoption. I struggled to form relationships and I felt immense grief. I had flashbacks, nightmares, stomach pains and migraines.

Normal decisions became difficult and overwhelming, I was constantly hypervigilant. I couldn’t regulate my emotions, I found it impossible to breathe deeply or calm myself. Self-loathing affected every part of my life and relationships. I was flawed, unlovable and unacceptable. I questioned my value and my worth. I was living on autopilot, unable to make rational decisions or enjoy my youth and I would react to everything. 

Pregnancy

Life events and experiences triggered these emotions inside my body constantly. During my first pregnancy, I had only recently been reunited with my birth mother when she died. The grief and pain interrupted my bonding with my child. I believed I wasn’t going to be a good enough mother and I shouldn’t be in this world. 

Left untreated I developed severe postnatal depression and was given another prescription for antidepressants but still no recognition of the cause. It took two years and a breakdown for a sympathetic GP to tell me I needed counselling.

Cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT)

I was placed on a year-long NHS waiting list and given CBT. I was told it was my thoughts that were detrimental to me not my experiences. So I internalised more shame.

The CBT didn’t work; I knew it was much deeper than changing my thought patterns but CBT and IAPT counselling was all I was offered by the NHS for another twenty years. I couldn’t afford private therapy.  

Finally being heard

As a middle-aged woman, I made a desperate visit to yet another GP. I was feeling hopeless, guilty, and shameful. I had severe uncontrollable mood swings. I isolated myself as a coping mechanism and had dissociative thoughts. I sat in that surgery and I told her all that I had been through in my life as the tears streamed down my face. She finally heard me and I was referred.

Several months later I had a consultation with secondary mental health services. Six months after that I was assessed by two clinical psychologists and asked a series of questions about my life experiences. I was left in the room for the team to discuss my answers.

When they returned they sat down and told me I had Complex PTSD. I didn’t even know what it was! Suddenly my whole life made sense and I cried from the relief in my body as the clinical psychologist apologised on behalf of the NHS for my suffering all these years. 

Still waiting to see a therapist

That diagnosis was in October 2021 and I am still waiting for my trauma therapy because apparently there is a shortage of trained therapists and a long waiting list.

My advice to any adoptee

My advice to any adoptee who is struggling with similar symptoms is to visit your GP and insist on a referral and get a second opinion from another GP if you are dismissed.

The important first step for any adoptee who cannot for financial reasons access private therapy is to get a referral to the right services.

There is post-adoption support through your local authority for adult adoptees as well as six free counselling sessions via PAC if you live in a subscribing borough – but many councils do not offer this. Some charities offer therapy and will assess you for a reduced fee if you are on a low income.

You deserve all the help you can get and you are not alone.