Today’s #flipthescript prompt was too succinct and meaty to pass up:

Are you happy you were adopted? Do you believe you ended up where you were meant to be? Why or why not?


I am not a big believer in the “happiness” movement. I firmly believe that if we were “happy” all the time, happy would be meaningless. Plus, it’s fake. My adoptive mother is a “look on the bright side! Chin up! Smile!” kind of person, and it is my least favorite thing about her. I’m not saying that one needs to throw doom and gloom out into the world. I’m good at it, and I enjoy it sometimes, but that’s beside the point. My point is that if you’re always up, then up is normal, and it no longer means much.

I am not happy I was adopted.

Adoption means that I was conceived in untenable circumstances. Adoption means that I was offered up to chance. Adoption means that the natural order of things was broken.

But I don’t see any other way for my life to have gone, either. Not most of the time. I’m not a huge fan of what if games. Not about my own life, at least. If I could time travel back and find a way to stay with my first family, would I do it? I don’t think I would. As much as I hate the confusion and anger and sadness and dislocation that adoption brings to my life, it is part of who I am.

If I went back and re-did things, who would I be? I might be happier. I might not. I didn’t have a better life than that one that didn’t happen. I had a different life. And this life is part of who I am. I can’t regret that; I had no part in that decision. I accept adoption as part of who I am today because I can’t be me without it.

Does that mean I never wonder who I might have been as HER, the baby who didn’t get adopted but was instead kept? I wonder a little bit every day.


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