by Diana Leigh

Created on: September 12, 2008

Adoption: My experiences of being adopted

Another adoption story? Well, yes, it is. Everyone's is unique. Mine is, too. Back when I was an infant, (a little more than 60 years ago) adoption was not looked upon as being as positive an experience as it is today. It held a stigma all its own. The adoptive parents were seen to be needy, as was the child. Infertile couples had few medical choices, and there were many children in need of parents so they adopted. It was supposed to be a win, win situation.

I was only 4 weeks old when my adoptive parents were "selected" to house an infant girl child. The social worker, as the story goes, wanted them to take care of me while she was on vacation. It was during this time that they decided to keep me, even though they hadn't planned to adopt another child. At that time they were parents of an adopted, adorable little boy 2 years old, whom they had chosen from the local orphanage. The sweetest thing, they said. I, on the other hand, was not. I was ungainly, a loud screamer, never satisfied, a little waif in need of care. What better to do than to rescue this poor, helpless, demanding child? So begins this adoption adventure.

I was a bit of a rebel growing up. My brother, on the other hand, was the quiet, submissive one, not ruffling feathers, following the rules, doing what he had to do. It was readily apparent we were different from each other in many ways. Life was a constant battleground with me, but not with him. Our family had a tough time accepting those differences, and each day presented new challenges. No one was sure why things were the way they were, but a lot of times I remember hearing the phrases "not their own" and "adopted" being used. Even classmates, friends, and school personnel used them. Adopted children. I didn't understand, and for a long time didn't even know what the words meant, but it was hurtful. Although our parents tried to explain to us how important we were to them, their reactions and comments indicated differently, or so I thought. As I look back on those years I realize just how much not knowing who I really was affected my disposition. I never felt I belonged, I didn't look like anyone in my family, and wanted answers to many questions that I now know other adoptees have, the why's, the who's and the what ifs.

Adolescence brought with it a new set of problems. Identity crisis at its finest. Teenage rebellion. I often thought my "real" mother wouldn't say or do that to me. The "Cinderella

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