Please join me and other presenters at the conference October 17th – 19th, 2021:

https://for-ny.org/2021-nys-recovery-conference/

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Sure, I threw parties and did a few things outside of the law (nothing serious), and I drove drunk and partook in soft drugs – but everybody did those things.  There was nothing about it that would warrant an intervention. As for my identity, I accepted the one of gregarious, friendly David, and I used alcohol to keep at it as I grew older. It eventually caught up with me. I suffered from a sort of a cognitive dissonance – not exactly agreeing with what I was doing, but also having no idea how to get to the place that would align with my actual perceptions and reality. I was always at war with myself. Even at my most cheerful, carefree, I was suffering inside and fighting my own mind.

I like to look at a particular photograph of myself on the trading floor, the shock of my red hair visible like fire even though I am surrounded by dozens of scrambling people. Everyone is yelling and throwing papers in the air, everyone is excited, the numbers are flying on the boards above, you can practically hear the noise, the screeching printers. And then there’s me, somewhat somber, very tall, that red hair, on my face an expression that tells me I’d rather be… sailing. I remember wanting to be there very much at that time, but my face showed something else. Fortunately, I did get my wish and went sailing, but that’s a story for another time.

Fast forward to now, years into my recovery and into recognizing myself as someone who is complex and interesting with an identity that aligns with my reality and perceptions. It took me some time to get here, and it wasn’t an easy road. The double heartache I talk about had to do with having to leave the old David behind. As relieved as I was to never see him in the mirror again, I had a moment here and there where I missed the abandon and the false freedom that alcohol and drugs allowed me to experience. I missed being spontaneous and doing things that I would never think of doing sober because of embarrassment or upsetting a loved one. But we look back on our past with sentimentality, and I am no different. I, too, look back and see pictures of myself young and wild and I don’t entirely hate that period.

Of course, I don’t stay in the land of the past for too long because my future is far more interesting and my present is far more rewarding. I have my loving family with me, I live in a beautiful place, I do meaningful work. I wouldn’t trade one day today for a month of fun back in my 30s. Maybe for an hour – I mean, who wouldn’t want to be able to party with impunity and need no sleep and ski drunk and full of mirth? I’m just kidding, the idea appeals to me for exactly a split second, and then I remember the day after an excursion like that, and it’s a headache that is much worse than this temporary heartache I’m feeling!

Chicago Board Options Exchange

S & P 100 Options (OEX) Pit

Circa 1987

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I’ve written here before about research that shows that a newborn bonds with his mother in-utero, reacting to her voice, her anxieties, and her overall state of being. A mother who is stressed (for example, by having to give up her child) passes that on to the fetus but it is not until the actual birth that the reality affects the baby who is taken away from his life giver. And when that reality is being taken away from this person, that reality turns into trauma.

Knowing that is perhaps enough to understand how a relinquishee is in the world. They are different from the way other people, unaffected by adoption, might be.

Are we more sensitive, more anxious, more self-soothing than others? You bet. Do we need special treatment? Well, that depends on how much you care about our comfort. There are many resources out there for parents of children who have been relinquished and I encourage you to pursue them to get some perspective and some information – whether the relinquishee in your life is your child or a new friend.

From personal blogs (like mine, but there are many others), to verified sites dealing with support for adoptees to reading the latest research, there are lots of materials to educate yourself on how to best talk and treat the relinquishee in your life.

From my own experience, I can tell you that although my adoption was never a dirty secret, it was also never discussed in the way that would make my trauma a bit smaller. Had my parents been educated on how I was affected by what happened to me shortly after birth, perhaps I wouldn’t have struggled with substance abuse and with interpersonal relationships. I don’t know. I prefer to live in reality and not spend too much time with what-ifs, but I always willingly share my experience to help others.

The most I can tell you is that I was ashamed of not fitting in. I was confused about what my societal roles were, and I became shamed when I shared my adoption story with some other kids. I wish I had an adult in my life who would talk to me about what was happening – the expectation that I will succeed and do well just because I was rescued was way too great to handle for a small boy. If your relinquishee is your child, it is my utmost hope you’re working with the right therapist or counselor and have supports that my parents didn’t have and didn’t seek out.

For now, just a short reminder: What happened to us affects both our psychological and physical health. Research shows that stress (such as being taken away from biological parent) causes heightened levels of cortisol and adrenaline and lowers the levels of serotonin. High cortisol and adrenaline lead to anxiety, hypervigilance, future problems with substance use and other self-soothing mechanisms (many relinquishees suffer from love addiction). Low serotonin, on the other hand, leads to depression and shame – both of which have been shown to have a high correlation with future substance use. In other words, what you’re getting with a relinquishee is someone who does indeed need to be treated a little differently.

What works with me? Many things. Honesty, kindness, curiosity, open-mindedness. I love genuine people and I try to be as authentic as I can be. I am an open and honest individual, and I am rigorous in my search for reality and not giving into things that have no bearing on my life (I don’t fantasize, I don’t dwell too much). I like people and people like me – but it takes me a while (so don’t be discouraged if the relinquishee in your life doesn’t spill the beans first thing you meet them). I can be cautious at first, but once you gain my trust, I am a friend for life. I like things to be in order and I don’t thrive in chaos at all, although I love a challenge and I’m a bit of an adrenaline seeker (no surprise, many relinquishees have been found to pursue adrenaline-pumping experiences). I write this blog to connect with others, so as you can see, I am happy to share my story, and I bet your relinquishee will do that too with you as long as you’re patient, informed, and loving.

Photo by Zach Lucero on Unsplash

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As someone who was relinquished, I feel that I’ve lived a lot of my life as if directed by various slogans and clichés. I had to be Grateful. I had to be Polite. I had to Fit In. I had to Be Happy. I was a child who was given up by his biological mother and my luck changed overnight after I was adopted into a loving family that would make most kids feel safe and secure and worry-free. I was not like most kids, although I did keep my feelings to myself. I didn’t understand why I didn’t feel safe and secure and why I worried so much. The message I kept getting was that my adoption was something that was very special and that I was especially chosen. Imagine how much pressure – again – it is for a child to feel that they are chosen and special. The moment you find the evidence that you’re not, your whole identity might crumble.

That was the case with me, when I confessed about being adopted to friends who recoiled and reacted with disgust. In moments, I went from feeling special to feeling that I should be ashamed of myself. I was a victim of deception, but it was the kind of a deception everyone participated in because we didn’t know any better. My parents had to also play Happy, and I know that I wanted to make them feel proud and feel good about their choice – me. But, again, as it is with slogans, they ring false when the evidence shows things are not how they seem.

Can I really make it happen if I dream it? Wouldn’t that be getting out of touch with Reality a bit? I know that manifestation and creating your own reality is a virtual tornado on social media (TikTok gurus and Instagram saints) lately, but I am cautious about telling my clients to believe or do something that they might not be able or are ready to do it (like stay abstinent from tobacco). I am also not the type of a consultant who says you need to stand in the mirror and tell yourself that you are good enough in order to believe it. I think that working up to feel good enough and then occasionally winking at yourself in the mirror is probably the extent of how to balance self-belief and that pressure to be more than just what we are at the moment. I’m not telling anybody to limit themselves, but I urge you to stay close to Reality and find contentment where you are – otherwise you might end up wondering if there’s something wrong with you and why you don’t deserve to have your dreams come true, or whatever other manifestation you’re after. Stay realistic, stay balanced, stay focused and success will come in one form or another!

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I think it’s also a large burden. Dealing with trauma and healing from it is exhausting enough. Many of us don’t feel particularly resilient, and many of us are unable to recover. I was lucky to recover from drugs and alcohol, but I know there were times where I was exhausted, not resilient. Some days my resilience was all about stopping myself from screaming. Please know that if anyone in your life tells you that you are resilient or that you must be resilient because of negative things that happened to you—that is none of their business. Your healing and what it takes to do it properly is entirely private.  And if resilience does come, that’s great.  And if it doesn’t, if you feel weakened and in need of support, that’s fine too.

Children of people with substance use disorder are often said to be resilient. They are because they have to be. They have to protect themselves in situations that are dangerous and not conducive to their development. The children who suffer and aren’t “resilient”—they ran away, they try to take their own life—are in no way worse than the ones who manage to survive. The narrative that it takes guts and some kind of special bravery to get over your trauma has to stop. Gentleness, support, kindness from strangers and family, and having a good community—those are just some of the pillars of recovery. It does take a community to support a human being (not just a child). And we’re all in the same community just trying to do the best we can.

As a young person who was grappling with his identity, I didn’t particularly see myself as strong. I saw that I had challenges and that I needed to learn to overcome them, but I was overwhelmed by the idea of having to stop doing what I was doing to make myself feel better. Quitting drinking would mean having to face the reality, having to deal with all the demons from my past, having to find out if I was indeed resilient enough to withstand it all.

It took a long time for me to fully recover. And it took friends and family and a community to help me with my recovery. My particular strength lies in checking in with my reality, making sure I was no longer a slave to delusions that told me alcohol or tobacco would fix me feeling uncomfortable. I had to face the reality of having been adopted and the fact that I suffered trauma as a very young child (a baby), and chronic stress from not connecting with family and others as a  result. I had to reframe what happened to me in order to give language to the event—I decided that “relinquished” sounded most true. I was (and am) a relinquishee, not an adoptee. What happened to me had nothing to do with me, there was nothing wrong with me; other people were deciding my fate. Was I a resilient baby? I suppose I had to be. My adopted mother says I was happy and had a happy childhood. I know that I wasn’t always happy and that I didn’t feel particularly strong or brave or even able to go on some of the darker days. But I kept living, unable to let go of the beauty and the potential I sensed around me. And once I got sober, once I got back into reality, I started living fully. I don’t know that resilience had a lot to do with it. Perseverance, perhaps, and a lot of love and support. I wish you the same.

The author as a young boy struggling with … identity?  Life?  Connection?

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Sharing my experience is part of my service – it’s a part of me giving back when I share my stories with strangers and when I talk about things that are painful. I don’t have a wild desire to confess everything; I keep my private life private and choose what gets published and what is known about me. I don’t write about my wife or my children, as they have their own stories to tell and I have mine.

I know that for people who have been relinquished trust is a very powerful and complicated emotion. It doesn’t come to us naturally. After all, our lives started with a betrayal—we were removed from the very person who was supposed to protect us. It’s no wonder that everyone seems dangerous and strange, even our adoptive families often struggle with how a relinquished and adopted baby adjusts to its new environment. There’s still a lot of misconception about adoption and what it does to people and how the lasting effects of adoption trauma stay with many of us throughout our lives.

So my hope is that by sharing my knowledge and experience, and you reading about it here, you will be able to see your own experience somewhat normalized or at least you won’t feel so alone and isolated with your pain. That was the worst of all feelings, being surrounded by people and feeling like no one understood. And on top of that, thinking that there’s something defective with me and that everyone but me can see it? It was truly maddening. But thanks to my recovery and healing, I’ve overcome many of those feelings of mistrust and came back to be able to be of service to those of us in the community who often don’t have a voice.

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I hear back from readers frequently, and it’s always rewarding when someone tells me I’ve helped them either through one of my talks or simply by reading what I write here. It’s enormously gratifying because knowing that I am read and knowing that there are others who relate to my story makes me anything but alone. I am surrounded by people and connected to strangers miles away, people who look at the screen perusing these words. It’s a gift to be able to reach out and it’s a gift that gives back tremendously as I assess my audience or talk to someone who is familiar with my material.

I’ve written almost 200 blogs here, and I’m proud of that work. My chosen audience is other relinquishees and people who struggle with addiction, as well as their families and friends (and colleagues).  Sometimes people end up here looking for some spiritual advice (I don’t give it, but I talk about spirituality relationality and addiction). Sometimes it’s a mix of all, sometimes it’s a clinician trying to find resources for their clients. I am grateful to have found my readers and I thank you for sticking with me through this process and I look forward to connecting with you more!

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Jigsaw Queensland|6/16/2021

In the second episode of our two-part adoption and addiction series, Jane speaks to David Bohl about the relationship between adoption and addiction.

Listen to the podcast here.

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Those things are impossible to imagine. It’s just as hard to imagine what a baby goes through when she’s relinquished by her biological parents. We are born into this world ready to receive all kinds of sensations – we are born with preference for our mother’s milk, we are born knowing the sound of her voices. Countless studies have shown that infants are quite aware of their surroundings, that they feel pain, distress, happiness just like any other person. Sure, no infant is able to name and identify those feelings, but every infant knows when there’s something wrong—that’s why babies cry, trying to get the world’s attention so that their needs are met.

Being taken away from your biological parents is trauma. There’s no doubt about it, and the idea that babies have no memory and therefore cannot really be affected by adoption is ludicrous. The memory lives in the body. It lives in all those losses that a baby experiences when she goes through relinquishment, and it lives on until it is recognized and properly addressed. Even the best adjusted relinquishee will have some form of trauma that will often result in coping mechanisms that are self-harming, such as addiction or failed relationships.

What happens to a child given up for adoption is the worst sort of betrayal. The guarantee of safety and love is snatched away in an instant and the world becomes a place that can’t be trusted. How could you possibly trust it when at your most vulnerable you were removed from the one person who was supposed to protect you and help you survive?

Photo by Mário Kravčák on Unsplash

It took me years to understand the complexity of my relinquishment. Early on in life, I’d felt misplaced and ashamed, but I didn’t know why I had those feelings, and I kept them hidden inside, practically choking on my emotions. I didn’t know why I felt as if I never belonged, why I couldn’t trust friends, or why I felt so desperately lonely even when surrounded by people who loved me. I didn’t know that what I was living was a result of having been given up for adoption as a newborn. Luckily for me, my adopted family loved and accepted me, and I had a great childhood, but it was years before I understood that what happened to me in infancy was the reason why I also struggled in life, why I sought solace in substances, and why I was at conflict with myself. It took me years to regain my identity and rebuild myself. Today, I understand feel compassion for what happened to me as a baby even though I cannot possibly imagine what that felt like, now.

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Why am I talking about this? I’m talking about this because in Canada the last residential school closed up in 1996; it is not ancient history, and the people affected by this trauma live amongst us. Many talk about loss of identity, having PTSD (addiction is rampant in Native communities), and numerous other negative consequences of their (Canadian) government. In the United States we had something called Indian Boarding Schools, which operated in a similar fashion—trying to integrate Native children into the society that was completely foreign to them, taking those kids away from parents and stripping them of their language and culture.

I know I am talking about extreme cases, but the trauma of early childhood years is as common a cause of those people as it is for anyone who had to go through the trauma of adoption. Loss of identity, problems with relationships, and just a life ridden with challenges is common among people who had to go through something referred to as Developmental Trauma. It’s not an official term yet, but it’s already being used in many clinical and therapy circles to describe and explain experiences of people who went through some adverse childhood experiences in the first few years of their life. Those first few years affect one’s brain in enormous ways—causing changes that can undermine healthy development and even be passed onto generations. That’s what happens to entire populations that had their culture and language wiped out—taking the Native children was a “smart” political move, the best way to erase identity of those who were the future culture keepers. Without language, without their community and customs, there was no way for majority of those people to preserve their individuality.

My experience is not, of course, of that nature. I am Caucasian, I was adopted into a Caucasian family. I was taught the language my biological mother spoke. I went through many common milestones of any American Caucasian child, and I passed on the legacy that was instilled in me by my adopted family to my folks. Yet, even with all of that, the sense of lost identity haunted me for so many years. Even with everything approximating my so-called normal life, I was still uncomfortable being where I was, still unsure about the people around me, and what they wanted with me. My trauma was still there, informing so much of my life. I was separated from my most primal attachment figure—my biological mother—the experience was intensely scary and disruptive even though I don’t have those emotions consciously. But I know as a baby, I would’ve probably interpreted the events around me as extremely dangerous, possibly deadly. It is no wonder that it took me a long time to unlearn mistrust and put my identity puzzle back together.

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I don’t know how many generations it will take to allow the Indigenous communities to recover and rebuild, but I know it is a great tragedy that continued in our lifetimes (still does, in Australia), and that we must all look at people around us who are misplaced and traumatized. And we must all try to help one another the best we can to become whole. I wish all healing and peace during this difficult time.

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