Adoptee Birthdays
When we are babies our age is measured, first in days, then months, and at some point the measurement switches to years. As children, it’s important to us to specify our age as “and a quarter” or “and a half” or “and three quarters”; we can’t wait to grow up and be big girls or boys.
At some point in our life, perhaps around forty, we realize that time is passing quickly. Some embrace a “thirty-nine and holding” attitude and refuse to think of themselves as growing older. Some take extraordinary measures to try and hold on to their fleeting youth, while others walk gracefully into their advancing years, pleased with the wisdom and sense of self that growing older brings
I’m fifty-three. In two more years I will be eligible to retire; that’s how I am marking the years now. Sometimes I wish for the years to pass by faster so I can get to the day I can retire from corporate life, other times I want it to slow down so my grandchildren don’t grow up too quickly. Most of the time, I try to take it as it comes.
For a number of years a sense of melancholy has fallen over me on my birthday. I insist on minimal celebration: phone calls from my children, the special gift bag from my best friend, and a card and flowers from my husband has been enough.
“It’s just another day,” I insist.
Yet every year, at some point on the day of my birthday I am overtaken with sadness. I’ve only recently understood the reason for the melancholy.
When I was born there was no celebration. There was, I imagine, only tears and sorrow. It grieves me when I think of the joy I experienced at the births of my children and grandchildren, and consider that there was no joy in the delivery room on the day I was born.
Despite the Chosen Baby story (I am not a fan of this story) I was told by my adoptive parents, the concept of being chosen, has always been overshadowed by a sense of rejection. I can’t explain it. It’s just the way it is. Every year on my birthday the underlying sense of sorrow, and my desire for the day to pass by mostly unnoticed, is coupled with a sense of wanting to be special; of wishing I was special.
If you’re an adoptee, it may help you to know that you are not the only one who experiences sadness on your birthday. If you are not an adoptee, chances are you know someone who is, and this might help you to understand her better. The more we understand, the more we can learn to love and accept ourselves. As we find that peace we will be able to walk forward with grace, and with empathy toward those around us.
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August 25, 2012 at 8:47 am
Hi Linda:
I would love to hear your recommendations on handling birthday celebrations with adopted children. We tell our children that their birthday is the day they were born onto this earth by their biological mother…..that we wish we could tell them all about it, but that we weren’t there. We talk about their original mothers, their names, how incredibly beautiful and smart they must’ve been to create such remarkable children….but honestly we’re wondering how to navigate these unfamiliar waters. I read so many things about adopted children feeling so lost on their birthday. If there’s a way to ease that despair, I’d love to hear your views.
August 31, 2012 at 3:35 pm
Barbara, the fact that you openly talk about your children’s original mothers in such a positive light is a huge step forward from the secrecy of the past. I don’t know that it’s possible to completely erase the grief but I believe you’re on the right path in helping your children deal with it in a healthy manner. Acknowledging that there is grief is the first step.
November 22, 2012 at 12:39 am
I have just read your story about the sadness of adoptee birthdays. I am an adoptee and for 13 years my adoptive family and I celebrated my birthday on the 29th of November. Imagine my shock and distress when my adoptive parents applied for my ‘long’ birth certificate for a passport, they only had the ‘short’ version until then, and we discovered that my birthday was in fact on the 28th of November The ‘short’ version also showed my birth date as 28th November but noone had thought to check it when I was a baby. How could they get it so wrong . It was all brushed over with a laugh by them but I was really upset. I thought to myself that if I had been my adoptive mothers natural child she would never have made that mistake and just further proved to me that being adopted was a ‘second’ best situation. I also had to explain it to my friends at school, teenagers are so competitive with birthdays,’i'm older than you by 2 days’ etc. I didn;t want to have to tell everyone at school that I was adopted as I felt it was a private thing and I hated the silly questions people used to say.So I had to lamely say that my parents had made a mistake and gloss over it with a laugh, but I was dying inside.For years after relations would still send birthday cards on the wrong date and i ofeten received cards for both days. It wasn’t considered to be a big deal by anyone. So I don’t look forward to my birthday for many reasons.
August 25, 2012 at 1:07 pm
Dear Linda,
I understand the feelings that you have concering your birthday. I am on the opposite side of that birthday cake. As a birth mother whenever the month of my sons’ birth would arrive an overpowering saddness would come over me, placing me in a deep depression. It didn’t even stop at the birth month, it showed up on major holidays and especially on Mother’s Day. Although I went on to have other children, and now grandchildren my heart had a hole that all all the happiness from my life could not fill.
I am sorry that you feel a sense of rejection, as a birth mother, that certainly was not a wish one would have for their child. You are right that there was no celebration on our part for the birth of our relinguished children. However, there was a whole new family who was celebrating their arrival. There was a sense of happiness that our children were born healthy. There were many birthday wishes for them that day also. Wishes that they would grow up happy, healthy and very much loved, and that some of that love would remain in their hearts from us as the gift of life.
Happy Birthday dear Linda.
August 31, 2012 at 3:38 pm
My heart goes out to you, Patricia. That you still grieve on the anniversary of your son’s birth is evidence of your love for him. You’re right, some holes can never be filled.
November 10, 2012 at 7:01 pm
Interesting you note that Liz. I had a long conversation with a frneid (easter house adoptee/in reunion) the other day about the acceptance that comes with years of well, this stuff. frneid also has an less than ideal reunion and she stated she has gotten to a point where she hardly thinks about it or her mother. I could relate and we then talked about whether this was a good or bad sign. I know my frneid Psychobabbler will say it is acceptance and healthy but I must admit there is a part of me that feels bad that I well, feel less. Not sure that makes sense.
August 27, 2012 at 9:54 am
Linda,
Thanks for bring this to light. I just had a birthday, and after writing my memoir and later connecting with other adoptees, I’m finally understanding the sadness I felt for so many years on my birthday. It was not a happy day when I was born. That’s not to say that I ‘rue the day I was born,” but there were no celebrations, excited phone calls. My birth was a secret, and I am tired of pretending I should be happy on my birthday. I feel the same, and I thank you for sharing your experience as well.
Laura
August 31, 2012 at 3:42 pm
Laura, It took me fifty years, and being there when my granddaughter was born, for me to understand the reason for my birthday blues. I write about it to help others in the same situation who may feel the same. Good luck with your memoir. Adoptee voices need to be heard.
September 10, 2012 at 10:13 pm
You and I have discussed this, Linda. And it is poignant for me reading this article just days before my sweet daughter ventures into teendom. I ache with sadness and concern for her, especially during the days leading up to and on her birthday, her major trigger. I prepare as much as I can to be supportive for her. Some years are just awful. Her grief overwhelms her to the point that it overflows for hours, and I quietly hold her, allowing her to vent and feel what she feels. She has every right to feel what she does. Eventually she is spent and then she slumbers, and I hope with every fiber of who I am that somewhere in the recesses of that deep dark raw she has tumbled into that she comes back. She has, and she grows stronger every passing year. She talks more and analyzes her life story with me. As you wisely point out, “some holes can never be filled.” Such wisdom. So true, my friend. And oh, how I wish I could do that for her. We strive to keep that communication open. Always. “The more we understand, the more we can learn to love and accept ourselves. As we find that peace we will be able to walk forward with grace, and with empathy toward those around us.” Thank you for always sharing.
January 26, 2013 at 4:44 pm
[...] item on the list that came up was a link to an article I had written that had been published in Adoption Voices Magazine last year talking about this very topic. Oh yes, I’ve been here [...]
March 27, 2013 at 1:30 pm
My 45th birthday just came and went with the usual feelings of gloominess that I never understood until I read this. There is an elephant in the room or the sleeping giant has woken. Not sure which or if it even matters. With my children being 17 and 20, I now have time to think about things/thoughts/feelings that I’ve suppressed from my youth.
I too have minimized the celebration of me for as long as I can remember. The only birthday’s that felt special were 16, 18 and 21 but that was because of what those years signified, and that was not because of me. Unlike you however, what I got out of that day has never felt like “enough”. Your comment about “wanting the day to pass by mostly unnoticed” but being “coupled with the sense of wanting to be special” is a dead ringer for how I’ve felt most of my adult life.
I found my birth mother in 1995 and I get a personal note from her every year on my birthday, which is nice, but hasn’t made the blues go away. I also always wondered what happened to me between my birth and day four when my parents took possession of me. What I do know is that my birth mom never saw or touched me until 1995 and that she was sad, and that my mom and dad were happy when I was born.
I have a friendly but reserved personality. It’s my one significant trait (reserved) that my mom struggles with and has always struggled with. Having said that, it’s mine, I own it and nobody can take that away unless I allow it, which I do – what I have learned to do as I’ve married, had children, and aged.
It does help to know I am not alone in the birthday blues! This gives it a voice though and for that I am grateful. I believe I am ready to address this issue (not just the birthday) and that perhaps I can transform my future to be at peace with the feelings that being adopted invoke in me.
Thank you for sharing!
March 27, 2013 at 6:08 pm
Hi Beth, thank you for your thoughtful comment. I love that your birth mother sends you a note on your birthday. That said, it doesn’t quite make up for the loss, does it? I wish you the best on your journey toward being at peace with your adoptee experience. It can be a long, winding, and complicated road but there is peace out there, I promise.