Trust you?... but I'm adopted!
In this article I'm going to try and explain more about how I believe that adoption trauma is present within me and as easy as it is to say that I do feel things and do things that are related, I want to try and get more in-depth about it and really consider the facts.
First of all, I'll look at why there is even such a thing residing in me because my life growing up couldn't have been more normal. A loving and stable home, friends, although not too many of them, school was ok, I was never going to be the next Einstein, that was for sure, but it was fine, So, why?
According to my adoption records, I was born in Nether Edge Hospital, Sheffield. I have two birth certificates, one from my birth that has my name quoted as David Rice and the other, a second certificate that states Andrew Wallis as my name, both report my birth date as 30th May 1973. In some of the official adoption forms however I was born on the 31st of May 1973 and furthermore, the only time I've spoken with my birth mother, that's a whole other story that will get into later, Spoiler alert… she gave me up!
Anyway, she was absolutely convinced it was 20th May 1973 and swore by her recollection. If you were to ask when my birthday was, I'd tell you it was the “end of May”. I wonder if that's because for around 20 years I've been unsure as to when it actually was.
Of course, I've always ‘celebrated’ my birthday on the 30th. The word celebrated is in inverted commas for a reason as I've always disliked birthdays. I may have had the odd party as a child, I remember one vaguely and I think It was around when I was 4 or 5. But we've never made much of a fuss in the family when it comes to celebrating the day of our birth. Yes, there were gifts and often a cake and maybe a meal out or cinema, but that was as far as it went. No big shindigs for us.
In the last few years I've spent them alone, I know, sad, right? I usually find myself sitting in the cinema on my own in the afternoon and then find myself blind drunk by the end of the night in front of the TV. God, wine really loves me! I can hear it calling all the way from Tesco. Also, the great thing about being 50 is that I hardly ever have a hangover.
Back to the point Wallis!
The adoption files seem to suggest that I was in hospital for approximately 10 days before moving to a foster family. Does this mean I was alone in a cot for all that time? Nancy Verrier suggests in her book ‘Coming Home to Self’ that the separation trauma begins because a baby goes into shock after 45 minutes of being withdrawn from the mother and it's during this time that the mind starts to change its perception of the world.
No amount of nurturing from other ‘non-mirroring’ humans will be able to rewire an infant's brain now. Think about it, 9 months inside your mother, sharing DNA, sounds, and food. Hearing her voice, her environment. It's hardly surprising we need her on day one is it?
Back to my adoption files and it appears my mother had a new boyfriend during the time of my birth and that man brought and changed nappies and helped the birth mother out with the new arrival. So how long was baby Rice with his mum? The answer is, I don't know. The documents offer no clues, back in 2003 my birth mother said I was taken from her directly and she didn't see me after that, so I could have been alone in that hospital cot for 10 days. All this distress at such an early time in a child's life leaves traces, I mean it has to.
How can I possibly trust anything from now on? Is everyone I come close to going to leave me? Well, the short answer is no, obviously. But how come many of us adoptees still live by our infant brain rules? Sure it's not as if we consciously push people away to save us from more pain from separation, but, in my opinion, at least, it's completely obvious that that's exactly what I'm doing.
These are the key issues when I consider the way that I feel my adoption has affected my adult life, I shut down and get depressed. I don't want to see or hear from people, even via text. I delete messages and delay my replies for hours.
This of course causes much distress to others at times. However, my mixed-up mind sees nothing beyond myself. It hurts me to be doing it and yet so comforting that it's happening. I believe that trust is a concept that is alien to me. I don't even trust anyone to repair my car without me fully understanding the issues that need addressing.
I was recently told off by a garage owner for coming in and trying to tell him his job, I was mortified. The next time I went to see him I apologised and took him a box of chocolates to smooth the way. Expecting the worst and negative thinking by default is how I roll. Yet when I'm on the up and feeling good im the outspoken joker, making people laugh and saying the most outlandish things just for a reaction.
But underneath I'm, an introverted and negative-minded specimen, and im starting to really believe that the trauma of being relinquished from my mother at birth is the main culprit. Maybe I should have more trust in myself to accept that people in my life will not disappear. The confident me could be the real me and allowing those people close to me to feel my confidence may be all that matters.
Image: © Andy Wallis
