How did i get here?

My name has been Andrew Philip Charles Wallis for most of my life, yeah, I know and I’m not even a royal family fan, neither are my parents! I was born in 1973 and spent the larger part of my life so far living in Nottingham (although I now live in Grantham, Lincolnshire) with loving parents and a sister. I'm the eldest by three years.  I moved here for work and I've been here since 2018. But when I was born I was a Dave, David Charles Rice to be exact.

David wasn't required in the world he was born into. Andrew, on the other hand, was “chosen”. David, given up for adoption by the woman who carried him for nine months, then chosen by the people who couldn't have children and had an infant-sized hole in their lives. Hear the word ‘adoption’ What do you think of? I bet it’s images of a loving couple getting the chance to love a child that nature had cruelly decided they couldn't make for themselves right? Well, ok not everyone thinks like that but to be honest, even I picture that.

Sure that's a thing and it's the larger part of the adoption process, finding a forever family for an otherwise unwanted child and that is amazing isn't it? I've spoken to my parents about their experiences of adopting my sister and me and they had nothing but good things to tell me. We were adopted as babies, just a couple of months old each and according to them we both settled in well and were as perfect to them as babies get. No doubt they could have done with not being woken so much during the night and for us to come ready fitted with some sort of volume control, but on the whole, normal and lovely to them.

There was a short period when I was nearly six months old when my birth mother may have wanted me back, but that didn’t happen in the end. All was well for the Wallis family. Both my sister and I were blonde and blue-eyed, as is Mum so it was often commented that there was quite a family resemblance, that usually came with an element of surprise after people found out we were adopted. My Dad, on the other hand, looks almost Italian, with thick nearly black hair and a strong nose and chin. He looked like Elvis in his younger days and had no resemblance to us at all. not that this was ever an issue to us, in fact, I didn't really think about the differences until very recently.

I have always known I was adopted, at least I can't recall any such time where I was told about it, and up until recently I would have told you that I haven't been affected by being adopted, I mean I know I have my issues and after having a few different sessions with counselors over the last 10 years, I was still none the wiser as to where these issues originated. I say “until now” because this year 2023 I had an almighty crash landing. These events are not new to me as I’ve been falling out of my own sky on and off for years, but this one was different, I fell hard and fast into the black hole that is me and couldn't get out, shutting the world out and locking the door to it and all that was in it. I functioned in safe-mode for months.

In April my partner had started to ask me if I'd thought that any of this could be related to my adoption. I did as I always do and dismissed the notion, but she was not going to let it go. During a visit to me, mainly to check I was ok and wasn't about to do harm to myself she suggested that I have a listen to an audiobook and had said that I might find it interesting. I did as she suggested and downloaded it that evening. The next day I opened the app on my phone and began listening. I was gobsmacked, this person was reading a book about me, it was all me, everything. For the first time ever in my life I was listening to someone describing my mind, my actions and my thoughts. But this book wasn't about me, it was about her! So maybe I'm not the only one who acts, thinks and feels like this! The lady was Fiona Myles and the book was ‘Adoption Trauma’ . The book was written by her and describes her life growing up as an adoptee, and she really opened my eyes to the possibility that I too could be living with adoption trauma. I couldn't believe my ears. Fiona narrates her book too which makes it feel very personal. The added accidental soundscape of her dog and kitchen sounds in the faint distance is a great addition and I'm so glad she left them in the recording.

I didn't really do Social media as the less ‘out there’ I was the more in control I felt at the time, but I logged on to Facebook and searched for a group she administered called ‘This is me - I'm adopted’ and applied to join hoping to connect with others going through the same. I checked the next day and my application had been refused. Had I broken the group rules already? This set my anxiety off in its shit-shaped rocket. so after a few days of doing nothing but thinking about it, I emailed Fiona, I sent an email to an address that I found on her website, I felt a bit overfamiliar doing it, and that too made me feel quite uncomfortable, within 5 mins she had replied with an apology saying I had no profile image so the Facebook group rules were not satisfied. Phew! That was all it was, but now I had to put my face online… Oh god, I didn't like the idea at all, but in the end, I opted for an image taken of me and my eleven-year-old son, we were both standing on mounds on the surface of a field, it was in black and white and more importantly we were facing away from the camera. I checked back to find my introduction message had now appeared at the top of the group field and it read;

“Hello. New.

I was adopted in 1973. Really struggled with social and relationships. Finally facing it and recognising it. Only took 50 years!

I also have issues with social media, finding that I struggle with letting go of control and end up with huge anxieties over it, so this is a big leap for me. I can't even bring myself to add a photo these days… we'll see.”

It got a few likes and hug emojis and some encouraging comments so I considered that a relative success. At least now I felt that I'd truly started to recognise it. There are others out there feeling the same I thought. I'm heading in the right direction.

Image: © Alan Wallis