My Biology Matters. It Did All Along.

An adoptee removes her rose-colored glasses.

by bkjax

By Kristen Steinhilber

My whole life, when everyone told me that biology doesnā€™t matter, I did everything I could to believe that they were right. I learned to ignore my gut and tirelessly struggled to silence my insides that grievously screamed otherwise. It took me more than three decades of fairytale-oriented platitudes and assumptions thrown like bombs my way about adoption to piece together one very relevant thread: everyone who told me that biology doesnā€™t matterā€”including both sides of my own adoptive familyā€”had intact bloodlines and genetic histories. And that what they were really saying, whether they meant to or not, was thatĀ myĀ biology doesnā€™t matter.

Before I finally understood this, my takeaway was hardly stretch, considering the message I was sent: if my biology doesnā€™t matter, thenĀ IĀ do not really matter. Thatā€™s what I believed above all else.

After my adoptive mother died, I found out she knew exactly who and where my biological family was and had kept it a secret from me. She had even allowed certain biological family members to attend my gymnastics practices without my knowledge. These kinds of thingsā€”withholding and secrecyā€”are encouraged in the world of adoption when it comes to the biology of adoptees. In fact, withholding and secrecy are legally enforced through sealed birth records. So when I found out, I assumed this was normal, understandable, or even maybe for my own good. My adoptive mother may have even believed that herself. Still, to know that there was nothing but a glass wall that separated me from the family Iā€™d only daydreamed about as they watched me, or that maybe Iā€™d accidentally brushed up against one of them on my way to get a drink from the water fountain, was a a mind fuck, even at the time. It just didnā€™t equate to anger the way it should have.

Thatā€™s what a person feels and should feel when they find out they have been lied to their entire lives by the person that raised them and who insisted that honesty is paramount. Anger. But since Iā€™d always been told that adoption was such a gift, I didnā€™t feel I had the right to it. I pushed my own feelings away and suppressed what was in my gut. Of course, the lesson I took away from this is that my truth (or the truth in general) doesnā€™t hold much value. Iā€™m not worthy or deserving of the truth; betrayals are to be immediately forgiven, no matter how all-encompassing. I applied this lesson to every aspect of my life without realizing, allowing others to manipulate me and believing them when they told me it was for my own good, telling lies myself and dismissing the feelings of those Iā€™d wronged.

When I met my biological mother, I also found I had two sisters, one who is just four years younger than I am. Four years. So, my mother wasnā€™t an unfit parent, yet, through adoption, I was still legally severed from all ties having to do with her. My sisters got to grow up together, and I, an inherently and dangerously lonely only child without even the knowledge that they existed.

There is no way I at 18 (or anyone at any age for that matter) could possibly wrap my head around that thought all at once without exploding. That my mother gave me away and then had two more children, and that they all built a life that went on without me, and that the only thing that separated me from them and that life was four measly years. So I pushed it away and again, suppressed what was in my gut; the same method of self-protection Iā€™d used my whole life. Your feelings donā€™t matter. Donā€™t have them. Biology doesnā€™t matter, and therefore all of the years you missed out on donā€™t matter either. Yes, you were the one who was given away but it doesnā€™t matter. You had a ā€œbetter life.ā€ Believe that, not yourself.

I had a beautiful reunion with them for years and ā€œfitā€ naturally. Not in the same way that they fit with each other; thatā€™s simply not possible when you miss out on all those years. I was also still under the thumb of the responsibility placed upon me to believe and feel they didnā€™t really matter. Not like the adoptive family who ā€œsavedā€ me. So I kept the feelings of everyone else protected and them at a distance.

Then one day they were gone. One fight was all it took. This is extremely common in biological reunion; many of our birth mothers have been both pressured to relinquish as well as shamed from every angle for relinquishing their children, not to mention having rarely been supported through their grieving process. So by the time we meet again, the combination of intense desire and fear of authentic connection often backfires, as do the reunions themselves.

During all of those years that I was included among them, I could never allow myself to be present with them. I never let myself dwell too much on the fact that my mannerisms and sense of humor are exactly like theirs and that I grew up without that. I didnā€™t dare admit to myself how good it felt to lay in the arms of my mother and sisters while we talked about everything under the sun and laughed in sync. I certainly never allowed myself to ask questions about my birth or the before and aftermath. I felt that would only cause upset and come across as ungrateful for the ā€œgiftā€ Iā€™d always been told she had given me by giving me away. Like, ā€œDid you ever regret your decision? Did anyone in the family want or try to keep me? Did anyone hold me or comfort me during the five days I spent in hospital nursery before I went home with my adoptive family? Did you name me? Can you tell me more about my father?ā€

And now, itā€™s too late.

After a lifetime of searching like Nancy Drew on the case of ā€œWhy am I like this?ā€ Only now can I see my adoption trauma and maladaptive coping qualities through a lens of clarity. Because of the fairytale narrative that is everywhere and enforced by seemingly everyone who has ever seen a movie about adoption, my clarity has been systematically hidden from me. What I was conditioned to believe was self-preservation was actually self-abandonment.

The spiritual and psychological isolation of having two families but not belonging to either has ripped me from limb to limb, over and over, my entire life. My humanity has never once been seen by the adoption industry and the laws that bind, through which family ties and preservation are rendered unimportant. My voice and dignity have been robbed. Every memory of family I have is tainted either by lies or painstaking regret.

My story is not any other adopteeā€™s story. But the gist of it is not uncommon. These themes of diabolical dishonesty, betrayal, unbearable rejection, and hopelessness run through countless adopteesā€™ stories, and are begging not to be ignored.

Adoptee Rebecca Autumn Sansom made a film titled Reckoning with The Primal Wound that captures the complexities, forsaken years, and mirror smashing pain of adoption better than any other Iā€™ve seen. My favorite part is the ā€œAdoptee Armyā€ featured in the credits. Thereā€™s a massive number of names listed, all those of adoptees who stand in solidarity for adoption reform. After a lifetime of feeling utterly alone, I was moved to tears seeing my name included with all of the rest.

We are the adoptee army, and our biology matters. It did all along.Ā 

Steinhilber is a private domestic adoptee with a passion for adoptee rights and mental health advocacy. You can follow me her on Instagram and Twitter: @girlxadaptedĀ 

Severance is not monetizedā€”no subscriptions, no ads, no donationsā€”therefore, all content is generously shared by the writers. If you have the resources and would like to help support the work, you can tip the writer.

On Venmo: @sandrafckingdee

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17 comments

Megan Berkel February 17, 2022 - 3:51 am

You are so strong and are an amazing person! You have a built a beautiful you!

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Xiaoling February 17, 2022 - 4:13 pm

Wow. Thank you for sharing your story Kristen. The common positive narrative surrounding adoption is so damaging. We need your voice and your honesty. Thank you for speaking up.

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:34 pm

Thank you so much for sharing this with me šŸ’• and for taking the time to read my story.

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Sherrie Kappa February 17, 2022 - 6:03 pm

I curl up in this same head space. Thank you for sharing.

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:34 pm

šŸ’•šŸ’•šŸ’•šŸ’•

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Tonyamoore01@gmail.com Hockaday February 17, 2022 - 7:57 pm

I can definitely relate to Kristen Steinhilber story.

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:35 pm

Thank you šŸ’•šŸ’•šŸ’•

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DonnaG February 17, 2022 - 9:15 pm

“One fight was all it took.”

Ain’t that the truth! So much like adoptive fam in so many depressing ways. See also: One “wrong” question or comment. One glance. One time I act like my real self in joy and humor and happiness that seems “too much” for them. Social media post about my own adoption they dislike. I had an advanced degree in this already growing up and into adulthood so it is thoroughly demoralizing to encounter it in genetic mirror images but, alas, adoption did what it was supposed to do. Sever me physically, legally, and socially from my family so I would never belong and would have to live a life untethered from myself.

I’ll never get this twisted again. They never wanted me, or my mother, to be happy and whole. Their profit motive is based on creating broken adoptees and mothers so that saviors with money can swoop in. They create the problem in the first place and then make money off the “solution”.

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:37 pm

Thank you for sharing this with me. I can relate so much to everything youā€™ve said šŸ’” so glad us adoptees all have each other now. šŸ’•šŸ«‚

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Alesia Weiss February 22, 2022 - 4:00 pm

Very moving story. Thx for sharing

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:38 pm

Thank you šŸ’•šŸ’•šŸ’•

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Amy Bonilla February 26, 2022 - 5:08 pm

You are amazing, strong, loved and you matter!

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:35 pm

šŸ’•šŸ’•šŸ’•

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Kristen Steinhilber March 5, 2022 - 8:39 pm

Thank you so much šŸ˜ŠšŸ’•šŸ«‚

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Barbara Attwood March 6, 2022 - 5:35 pm

A heart rendering essay. Every adoptee who reads your essay will feel your pain. Stay strong, make your voice heard and fight for adoption reform.

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Jan Rekow March 25, 2022 - 3:37 am

Blue Plastic Cow is beautiful. Thank you for being a strong example.

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Jennifer McRae March 28, 2022 - 2:07 am

Thanks so much for writing this piece – I saw myself in every single word. I too, got the ‘biology doesn’t matter’ my entire life. I grew up on a farm with my adoptive parents, so it just beggars belief that they totally bought into this malignantive narrative. I also learnt to deprive myself of my true feelings in order to protect everyone else, but myself from being hurt. After 50 years I’m finally extracting myself from this thinking, I’m not 100% there yet, but hopefully one day I’ll be free of the ‘keeping everybody else happy’ project.

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