Birthdays

I was born on October 26, 1991, in Tula, Russia. I was adopted in the summer of 1997 with my brother at the age of 5.

Birthdays: they happen every year. For the adoptee, this could be a celebration or it could be traumatic. I first recognized the parallel between celebration and painful trauma when I was 18 years old, turning 19, and a freshman in college. That was a pivotal year for me in shaping my identity and deciding to become a Christian (yes, God chose me). The celebration is being surrounded by friends and family for the year that I was born. The trauma is thinking about my biological mother, my birth country, and my strained relationship with my brother.

Fast-forward several years later, probably after I graduated; I received a book called 20 Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew.

The first chapter that I read was titled “Birthdays May Be Difficult For Me.” I went to a park and bawled my eyes out because it was the first time that, in this situation, I felt understood and validated.

Excerpt from 20 Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew:

Let’s back up for a moment and think about the concept of birthdays. What does a birthday represent for the non-adopted person? For most, it’s a happy time, built on the foundation of being welcomed into the world. A time for birthday cakes, parties and balloons.

Now consider an adoptee’s birthday. What does a birthday represent for him? It represents the day of his greatest loss, the day he lost his birth mother and all that was familiar. It was not only his birthday but his loss-day. For the child who was adopted later in childhood, it reminds him of the wrenching apart day — the day that the past as he knew it was to be no longer. For the baby adopted as an infant, the loss happened before he had words to describe it, but it was real nonetheless. The present-day birthday serves as a trigger reminding him of past loss.

Nancy Verrier says in The Primal Wound of the child adopted at birth, “There seems to be an anniversary reaction (also felt by the birth mother) which sends many adoptees into despair around their birthdays…is it any wonder that many adoptees sabotage their birthday parties? Why would one want to celebrate the day they were separated from their birth mothers? The adoptees, of course, have probably never really understood themselves why they do this.” With the best of intentions, those who love the adoptee celebrate the day as if she were a non-adopted person. However, in the midst of the parties, in the midst of the celebration, many adoptees feel churned up inside. They know they are supposed to be happy, but a nagging thought plagues them: “I wonder if she [the birth mother] is thinking about me today. If she does on any day of the year, certainly it would be today.”

Weighing heavily upon the adoptee as well are society’s romanticized views of adoption. Be happy. Be grateful you have a family. Don’t disappoint your parents. The adoptee’s response to all of the above? More often than not, he slips into the role of the “good adoptee,” following through with what others expect. Shoved aside is his true self, sometimes wanting only to cry and be comforted. Or he does what I did by acting out my chaotic feelings and sabotaging everyone’s effort to show me love. I don’t know about this, you may be thinking. I have never witnessed these behaviors in my child. Maybe not, but before you reach any conclusions listen to the experts — adoptees themselves — and hear what they have to say. 

Recently I did family therapy with my adoptive father when I was in a treatment center. I encouraged him to read this chapter and he ended up reading the whole book! I haven’t finished reading the book, as it is emotionally exhausting to process the information in one sitting. One thing that I learned from him and my life as an adoptee is that if we know in advance the calling and plans that God has for us, we would likely not want it. If my father had read this book prior to adopting my brother and I, he would not have adopted. If I had known the pain and hardship that I would face in mentoring a teenage adoptee, I would have never met or lived with the family. God is good by only telling us “part” of our story.

This past year hit me hard as I turned 29; I visited my parents in the mountains and picked up their car that they were giving to me for my birthday. I felt ungrateful because I did not care about the car. That is one thing that I have come to terms with, no amount of material possessions can fill the hole in my heart. The problem was that my dad now knew that my birthday was difficult and that was the double-edged sword. This year, instead of opening up to him and being vulnerable, I pretended that I was okay.

I see this difficulty in processing my adoption and my birthday as spiritual warfare. I believe that God wants me to celebrate my life with others in fellowship, but sometimes the pain has been so great that I have not wanted to live. God sees the hardship and the grief and wants me to submit that to Him. I have to trust that He created and formed me in my mother’s womb and that He knew me before the foundation of the world. I have to trust that there was a reason that I was born in Russia. I have to trust that one day I shall return to my land of birth.

I have to trust that He is preparing me for such a time as this.

Katya