If you’re willing, could you summarize your own adoption experience?

I was adopted as an infant in a closed domestic adoption. I searched in my early twenties for my first mother and had a brief reunion before she chose secondary rejection. I reunited with my biological father when I was 27, and we are in a decade-long reunion, including my three siblings who are now young adults.

On your website you describe yourself as an introvert, which probably would come as a surprise to anyone listening to you for the first time. You seem remarkably at ease conversing with everyone and did from the start. Is that a great challenge for you or does it come as easily as it appears to?

I have always loved having deep, in-depth conversations about meaningful topics with one person at a time. If you put me with a group, even with ten of my closest and dearest people, I will be awkward, uncomfortable, and questioning my life’s choices. One-on-one feels natural, and being in the role of interviewer gives a permission that I would love to have in everyday life: ask any questions that pop into my head, even if they’re invasive.

I find you describing yourself as an introvert also surprising because you stood on a stage and did stand-up comedy. That’s not something many introverts can do. Tell us about stand-up comedy—what was your experience and what has it done for you? How if at all does it relate to the experience of adoption?

My brief foray into stand-up comedy came from a desire to add to my interviewing toolkit (and reduce my public speaking nerves). The Adoptees On podcast covers challenging topics, often with a heaviness that can feel unbearable. I need to occasionally add levity into our conversations. I took a stand-up class with maybe a half a dozen others for six weeks. I loved my teacher. He asked us to lead with our story and personal experiences vs. “telling jokes,” which was much more in line with what I wanted to do. The class finished with a public performance of our comedy sets. It was fully one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever done. Generously, the audience did indeed laugh at my set. I’ll always be proudest of my first joke, “The best part about being adopted is never having to think about your parents having sex.” For the adopted people that listen to my podcast, finding good things to think about our adoption experience can sometimes be hard to come by.

I would say relating to the experience of adoption, for many of us, the loss of connection to our biological mothers was the worst thing that ever happened to us in our lives. The relinquishment trauma is real. To do a terrifying thing by choice felt incredibly stupid and like the worst thing in the moment, but afterwards the euphoria carried me for several days.

Did you anticipate Adoptees On becoming quite the phenomenon it’s become and that so many people would be listening?

I never expected Adoptees On to become what it has. My show gets between 20,000 and 25,000 downloads a month and has had 650,000+ downloads all time. Podcasts are a very slow build unless you have some sort of celebrity name associated with them or already have a massive following. There’s this draw to podcasting because it seems easy to do, and people wrongly think that with podcasting comes instant fame. It’s safe to say that Adoptees On is in the top 15% of all podcasts.

You’ve created an extraordinary space for adoptee voices. Why did you start Adoptees On? What purpose did you hope it would fulfill?

I started the podcast because I felt alone. I struggled and lost my first reunion with my biological mother to secondary rejection. I struggled in my second reunion with my biological father and was convinced I was the broken common denominator. I was able to find adoptee blogs to help me feel connected and was building friendships with several other adult adoptees on Twitter. They were the only ones that “got it,” and I had the deep desire to be able to hear all of their experiences so I wouldn’t feel so alone. I have loved podcasts for years. To give the hipster answer, I loved podcasts before they were cool. I listened to podcasts walking to and from university all the way back when I had to download them on iTunes on my desktop computer and transfer them over to my Sony mp3 player and then later my video iPod in 2005. In 2015, I happened to be listening to two different indie podcasts that both had episodes about “how to” podcast. They weren’t shows about that. They both independently had gotten a lot of questions from listeners and shared what they were doing. I had that lightbulb moment—I could do that! Lonely adopted me had found the secret way in. Podcasting meant I could interview adoptees to feel connection. It seems selfish as I look back on that motivation, but I’m thankful it hasn’t stayed that way. It has instead become a way to build connection for many adult adopted people that feel/felt like I did.

Can you tell readers who may not be aware of it about your other podcast?

I do indeed have a second podcast. It’s behind a paywall so a lot of people don’t know about it. I wanted to have something to give as a thank you when listeners signed up to support Adoptees On monthly on Patreon. It’s called Adoptees Off Script, and my main co-host is Carrie Cahill Mulligan (she was my first guest on the main feed, and one of my first adoptee Twitter friends!). We chat about adoptee/adoption news articles, upcoming events of note, personal things that I never talk about on the main show (like what I’m talking about in therapy), and we also have this amazing book club where we read adoptee-authored books once a month. It’s a whole other wealth of resources, but more fun with a mix of serious and silly. I try hard to leave it almost all unedited, so you hear my mistakes and all. It’s one of my favorite things I do. It’s also one of those things where I’m sure I put my foot in my mouth at least a few times a month. It feels safe to talk with Carrie and so I probably dish a little more than I should. We wrap every Adoptees Off Script episode with things we’re loving right now, none of which can be adoption-related. Think book recommendations, movies, podcasts, recipes, products, and one of my latest loves was this gigantic disco ball I bought used from FB marketplace. It’s a rich tapestry.

How important is it for adoptees to feel heard and be seen?

I don’t know if there is anything more important. Having validation of our experiences has been the number one healing tool for many of us.

I believe that storytelling is healing and gives people agency—that it’s healing for the teller and the listener. Can you talk about why you think it’s important—the role you think storytelling plays in healing or in coping? What do you believe both the storyteller and the listener get out of the conversations you have?

I remember once talking with an adopted person in their fifties and they were sobbing as they finished telling me some of their story, “No one has ever heard this before.” Imagine going five decades and hiding the most intrinsic part of your story from both yourself and everyone around you.

Sharing our story is undeniably scary, especially when expressing any amount of discontent or pain with the thing that all of society has always told you is the best thing that could have happened to you. It’s a huge risk sharing a story that includes a narrative that’s contrary to the dominant one—the risk being that of denial or rejection by the listener.

My intent is that when a guest is sharing their story with me, I give them my full attention. Questions come up organically that I’m curious about or that the future listeners will be wondering, and as we dive deeper I almost always empathize and identify with many of the things they reveal. I know my listeners empathize and feel seen even while listening because there is almost always a part of the guest’s story that is relatable. My highest hope is that listeners know they aren’t alone.

Adopted people, former foster youth, foundlings, late discovery adoptees (LDAs), not parent expected (NPEs), stepparent adoptees, donor-conceived people, so many of the communities you serve, BK, can identify with my guests’ stories. The pain in being disconnected from some part of your genetic heritage is real and manifests in many relatable ways.

You’ve talked to a number of guests about how creative pursuits bring healing. Can you comment about some of the ways people have explored or helped cope with their feelings through creative means?

I’ve talked with musicians, actors, painters, jewelry makers, writers (memoir, fiction, poetry), playwrights, costumers, photographers, graphic designers, singers and songwriters, both fine artists and hobbyists, filmmakers, chefs, fiber and textile artists… and I’m sure I’ve missed some. When I say there’s something for everyone to express themselves creatively, that’s no exaggeration. My creative hobby that helps me practice mindfulness is probably a little tacky, but I’m obsessed with 5D diamond painting (think paint-by-number with tiny glittery beads). It’s extraordinarily satisfying.

Have you found that many of your guests find the experiencing of doing the podcast something of an unburdening—that the sharing of their experience with you relieves them in some way just through the conversation?

That is definitely one of the surprises for me of doing this show. I’ve had many guests tell me that their interview was a powerful step in their journey and felt healing to them. To be clear, I’m not a therapist by any stretch of the imagination, but that’s the power of adopted people being heard by another adoptee: fully feeling seen and having their pain acknowledged.

You once wrote in a newsletter that it’s necessary for adoptees to be writing the books, becoming social workers, organizing events, etc. Do you see that happening at the level it needs to happen? If not, what is standing in the way?

I still believe that it’s necessary and want to support as much as possible adopted people leading the way in these areas. I am one 100% biased toward the adoptee voice and family preservation and I have no qualms about saying that. And no, I don’t see it happening at the level it needs to happen. It’s still woefully lacking.

We’ve seen the success of authors telling our stories without truly knowing what it’s like to be adopted. In the “#ownvoices movement” there’s a drive to ensure those who have lived it get the opportunities and I hope that will extend to adopted people getting the bestsellers instead of just our allies. We’ve wrestled with this conversation a bit on the Adoptees Off Script podcast and in my private Facebook group, and some of the thoughtful responses mostly boil down to the fact that adoption and relinquishment trauma is still not accepted or believed by the general public, and often when it’s adoptee voices sharing their truth they are seen as playing the victim.

What prompted me to write that newsletter, if it’s the one I’m thinking of, was sitting at a table of self-identified allies of adopted people who were mocking a painful situation for a pair of adoptees. They recounted a story that took place in my province years ago: a couple fell in love and got married and once the adoption records opened they discovered they were full siblings and had to separate and come to terms with a difficult circumstance. I never want to call someone an ally that would openly mock the adoptees they say they’re serving.

I’ve watched several adoption-related organizations dissolve (or implode) over the past few years, and one thing I’ve noted as an outside observer, is the commonality of what is merely lip service to centering adoptees. I asked an organizer at one conference who had requested me to come and speak, “how many of your other speakers are adopted people” and the response of incredulity on her face was my answer. The thought literally hadn’t even occurred to them that ensuring adequate adoptee representation should be at the forefront at an adoption conference. Some of it is a desire to cater to everyone and so we become an afterthought. I also see the adoptee-led organizations that are thriving, and applaud the challenging work they’re obviously putting in to secure safety and full representation.

In what other ways can adoptees ensure their voices are heard?

I’m prefacing this with a reminder that I recommend doing all advocacy work out of a place of wholeness (serving with the scars vs. an open wound to borrow a common expression). As unfair as it is to have this responsibility, I believe it is our job to tell the whole truth about adoption. If the only people willing to share are the adoptive parents and the folks who only share the brief glimpses of happiness (the reunion porn, as some of us call it), these false societal narratives are going to continue to be dominant.

To ensure being heard? What doesn’t work is the rage-y call-out culture. That gets people blocked and silenced. Instead I think it’s the quiet one-on-one moments when we share candidly with safe friends and family how adoption has truly impacted us. When we’re not under pressure of the quick come-back on a Facebook post; when we’re sharing a full, nuanced picture of our experiences; when we can back up what we’re saying with facts and articles, these are ways we’ll be taken seriously and be heard.

How often do your guests make you cry?

It used to be every single episode, now it’s probably half of the time.

Is there an emotional cost, or burden, of receiving all the stories you hear? How do you carry that and what sort of self-care do you do in response?

First, I want to acknowledge there is a huge cost to my guests sharing their stories. Risk of backlash from their friends and loved ones. Potentially painful recounting of past inner work. Their emotional labor is real.

For me personally, I get wiped out after recording. I often nap afterwards. Sadly I’ve gotten somewhat numb to the hard things people share with me. I have to compartmentalize because otherwise the things I hear haunt me. I have an excellent psychologist who helps me process when things get too challenging. I’ve been known to take a bath in the middle of the day to try and wash away the feelings.

I believe you’ve said that the podcast has literally been lifesaving for some people. Can you explain?

*TW – Suicide

I have had multiple adopted people write to me and share they were experiencing suicidal ideation, a couple of whom had already made suicide plans. Each one found the podcast and for the first time in their lives felt seen and heard by hearing other adoptees share. All of them chose to stay in this world and got supports in place that were adoptee-specific. What a miracle that hearing another adoptee’s story could be lifesaving. Talk about validation being important!

The other surprising note I’ve gotten a few times is that the show has saved a couple of marriages. All of these messages expressed a similar circumstance: relationship problems stemming from search/reunion where the partner didn’t get it. The adopted person shared some episodes from the relationship series with their partners (including an episode my husband did with me) and it led to each of the couples going to therapy with adoption- competent therapists to repair their connections.

Adoptee voices are so important and yet often I get the impression that those voices are in an echo chamber—that adoptees are largely speaking to an audience of adoptees. Do you agree, and if so, doesn’t this limit the ability to truly spread awareness? What do you think needs to happen to make change in this regard?

It takes incredibly strong people with a support system in place to safely challenge the narrative publicly. A lot of us are still working on figuring out our identity, confidence building, and truly learning to love ourselves. Talking with other adopted people and sharing our work with them may feel like a safe first step.

I understand not wanting to put yourself out there—even talking to other members of the adoption constellation isn’t innocuous. Some listeners may remember the disgusting personal attack Caitríona Palmer and I experienced at an adoption conference by a biological mother in 2019. We were presenting a session on our mutual experience of secondary rejection from our mothers. We were describing our personal stories, what we did, what we regretted and wished we had done differently. Truly it was a recounting of our personal stories and memories, when a fellow presenter, who was also a biological mother, ran up to the mic that was for Q&A at the end of the session and yelled at us. Her primary message was that everything we had done as adoptees was wrong and “of course” our mothers left us because of our actions. It was one of the most egregious outbursts I have ever seen in a professional setting and one of the most painful experiences of my life. Both abusive to us as presenters and for the adopted people in the session to witness. I’ve never named her publicly, but I’ve seen her booked at other events and it’s always a shock to see her name on the agenda. Sharing adoptee thoughts and experiences is not always welcome.

When I see adopted people building their muscles in adoptee-land, I hope they will grow into service and sharing in the greater community when they’re ready. I sort of answered part of this earlier, that talking one-on-one to our safe friends and family about what we’ve experienced is the way I believe will spread awareness and change the narrative.

What aspects of the adoptee experience do you feel remain least understood and most require awareness?

Because of the depth of loss, identity confusion, and the loyalty trauma response, many adopted people may not have been able to tell you adoption was a problem until later in life. I have friends that deeply regret their complicity in being the “poster child for adoption” in their teens and early adulthood. Promoting adoption can sometimes be the only way to push down the cognitive dissonance some of us experience.

If you could say any one thing to someone who is not adopted about adoptees what  would it be?

The privilege of the kept is the innate knowledge of identity. They have a naïveté of the importance of access to original birth certificates, medical information, and a full racial, cultural, and genealogical history. When you have always known who you are and where you came from, it’s not obvious that everyone needs and deserves access to that same information. It’s almost impossible to understand what the lack of that knowledge does to us because you can’t remove your intrinsic knowledge of identity to put yourself in our shoes.

What are your plans for Adoptees On going forward?

You’ll see more interviews with academics, more therapists, and more deep dives into topics that I find fascinating. I hope to add some new voices to the community and have been slowly working away at that behind-the-scenes.

What might readers be surprised to know about you?

One of my gifts of reunion is being diagnosed with celiac disease. My biological father passed that down to me, and now that I’ve been tested and am completely gluten-free I feel a million times better. I’ve mastered GF cooking, but GF baking feels impossible to adapt to. The perfect GF cookie remains elusive.

You’ve talked to virtually everyone in the adoptee world. Is there anyone you haven’t talked to that you’re dying to have as a guest?

I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface! I’ve only publicly interviewed 100+ people in the adoptee world. My hopefully-one-day list is extremely long and the limitation is the capacity for the number of episodes I produce each year. I have a lot of people request celebrities like Sarah McLachlan or Keegan-Michael Key. Maybe one day! Truthfully some of my favorite interviews are with adopted people who aren’t necessarily well-known. I love being able to share someone’s story who might not otherwise be heard. If you twisted my arm to name names, my current top two are Jeanette Winterson and A.M. Homes. We’ve been reading some of their work in our Adoptees Off Script book club and I want to be friends with them and thank them for their bravery in telling adoptee stories in mainstream publishing.

What haven’t I asked you that you wish I had?

Absolutely nothing! Thank you for the honor to share with your readers. I appreciate your service to the genetically severed community. What a brilliant magazine name, Severance. Perfection.

What do you do when you’re not researching guests and recording your podcast?

I enjoy interior design and I’m desperately trying to love gardening (mostly failing). I’m always in search of my next favorite podcast. When I read for pleasure, they’re mostly psychological thrillers and I cross my fingers the plot twist isn’t adoptee or adoption- related. I’m being a mama to my two little boys (7 and 9) and I’ve been married for 16 years to my amazing husband who was my first long-suffering listener to me constantly talking about adoption.Haley Radke is the creator and host of the Adoptees On podcast. She’s an adult adoptee advocate, co-facilitator of the Edmonton Adoptees Connect group, and has a BA in psychology. Radke is passionate about elevating adoptee voices to help challenge and change the traditional adoption narrative. Find her on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles and essays about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

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In 2014, I decided to do a 23andMe test to learn about my father’s family and feel closer to him. I had lost him to a heart attack in 1996, and his family had not been warm with me since his death. When the results came back, they showed none of the Russian and German heritage I expected from his family, but instead indicated I was 50% Scottish.Yes, this was not the first NPE revelation I had. To start, when I was born, my mother was married to her second husband. They were very unhappily married and she began a series of affairs. Because of her marriage and very Catholic parents, she created the ruse that I was the product of the marriage, so his name is on my birth certificate. I had weekly Saturday visits with him for 11 years, until mom disclosed he wasn’t my father and that my step-father since I was 2 years old was really my biological father. About 12 or 13 years ago, a DNA test proved my birth certificate father was not biological, and my step-father adopted me. I changed my name to Klugman and lived very happily with my step-father as my father all that time until his sudden death from a heart attack. I had never felt like I fit into my father’s side of the family: I shared no physical resemblance or mannerisms. I’d always felt like an outsider that they put up with. So in essence I was primed to deal with this issue already because of my early life story.Even though I had something similar in the past, I was still shocked. I had completely identified with my dad (step-dad), even though his family was clearly not having it. In film, there’s a shot in which the foreground and background move simultaneously, but the center image remains fixed, creating an illusion of surreality. That’s what I felt immediately and in spurts for months afterward — like aftershocks.I think my training did help. I specialize in trauma, so I was immediately aware of the effects of trauma on my functioning, and I got back into therapy with Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing (EMDR). I knew I was experiencing grief and had some compassion for myself.No. It was completely foreign until I hired a genealogist, Christina Bryan Fitzgibbons. Once she explained it, I learned this was a thing after all.I freaked out for a few months, but in the back of my mind I knew I needed answers. I asked my dad’s sister to test, assuming it would come back with no match, and I was right. Originally I had assumed it was the birth certificate father since he was of British ancestry, so I hired the genealogist only to confirm that. She knew immediately without doing any research that was wrong and found the real bio dad within two months.In hindsight I did, although I had no idea what that was until learning about NPEs. The crux of my professional focus in the NPE area has been the effect of surprise DNA revelations to identity. It’s a foundational issue that’s necessary to have us feel affiliation and value with our groups, tribes, communities.No. It was an easy choice for me, more like a compulsion. When I made the decision to go forward, it couldn’t happen fast enough.I turned to her right away because I did not believe I understood how to go about the search. Some people find everything themselves, but I don’t think it would have been that easy for me. I didn’t understand about centimorgans or how to triangulate relationships in family trees when they were distant. Christina knows all the intricacies and was able to find my biological dad based on his second cousin’s tree posted on Ancestry.com. That was not something I would have put together.Impatience, wonder, fear of rejection, anger.Once I had the initial meeting with my bio-dad, I was in the most indescribable turmoil that I can’t explain. I was uncomfortable in my own skin and I wanted to kill my mother (figuratively), but within a day or two, all the pain I had felt from my dad’s family not accepting me was fitting into place and sort of melted away. I had answers to lifelong issues that then made sense and I didn’t have to struggle with the pain of not knowing anymore. There was a sort of relief that allowed me to move on.Immediately upon identifying my bio dad, my husband challenged me to do something about this professionally. As a therapist, I’m very comfortable listening behind the scenes. I would never have put this out so publicly, but innately I knew I had to in order to heal. I was 100% correct.Because I’m an EMDR expert and have training in grief, I used those two pieces to formulate the bones of it. I’ve been doing research ever since, really focusing on identity. I’m developing a certificate curriculum to train clinicians for continuing education units (CEUs) on how to work with the NPE population since it’s a specialty approach.Identity is big, followed closely by connection in the form of support, acceptance, or lack thereof, namely rejection. Because of the nature of our conceptions, others (namely the mothers) feel they have ownership of the story and can control the dissemination of the information. Being seen and understood is a basic component of therapy and being a human being.Absolutely! In my blog I write about the seven key characteristics of NPEs I’ve discovered from collecting stories from clients, my podcast interviews, my own story, and those on the secret Facebook group for NPEs I’m part of. They include feeling a stranger within the family, discovery, grief, identity confusion, intuitive knowing, managing family relationships, and being in reunion with new family. Not every NPE experiences each characteristic in the same way, but there are unmistakable commonalities that thread them together.They’re almost the same, just the paths to get there veer off slightly. Usually adoptees discover their stories “when they’re old enough,” and NPE stories are often taken to the grave. There’s no right time to tell your child you’ve been lying to them about who their parent is. However, adoptive parents usually understand from the beginning they will have to tell their child their origin story at some point and just wait for that point to present itself. NPE mothers typically have no intention of ever telling, and until the advent of commercial DNA tests, there was no risk of people learning the truth.I don’t think they are that different. If you take Dani Shapiro’s latest book, “Inheritance,” she describes my story, but with one less father. She had no idea, like I had no idea. There are several ways to be an NPE — donor conceived, adoptions, surrogates, and others all technically are NPEs. The major difference besides their conception is in how the individuals find out.I offer a podcast, Sex, Lies & The Truth, for NPEs and their families to feel connected to a larger community and learn about aspects they felt alone with but can now relate to others, learning about themselves as they go. Same with my Finding Family blog on “Psychology Today,” where I write about the unique aspects of being an NPE, what I now call Parental Identity Discovery.™ I coined the term to be more inclusive of mothers who are unknown parents from adoptions, surrogates, etc. and will now use the term to title my certificate curriculum. I am a licensed marriage and family therapist and licensed professional counselor in California and see NPEs in person in my private practice or via tele-therapy throughout the state. I also offer virtual coaching for those living outside California, including a virtual support group for NPEs.