Tackling the equation
Lois, now 14, describes how she was helped to acknowledge her feelings about being adopted.
I was adopted from Columbus, Ohio, USA, when I was three weeks old. I have known this since I can remember and I never had a problem with it until I was about nine. Then things started going downhill. I guess it was because I couldn't understand this huge cloud of emotion that hung over me. I knew what being adopted meant, but couldn't get my head around why what had happened to me had happened. The endless documentation that I had accumulated certainly shed no light on the matter. Every night I would cry my heart out achieving nothing and driving my parents to the point of desperation with worry.
I remember countless nights sitting huddled on my parents' bed trying to explain to them all the thoughts that were whizzing round my head. At school I felt that I was different. With the friends on my road I felt that I was different. It seemed I was the only one who hadn't popped out of my mummy's tummy. One day at lunch in school, all my friends were discussing which features had come from their mum and which from their dad. That was just one of many conversations that I couldn't take part in.
Someone even once said to me that if I hadn't been adopted, I would be dead. I have also been told that my (adoptive) parents don't love me as much because I am adopted and not their birth child. I now know that I should take comments like this with a pinch of salt, but at the time, they really hurt. But at that age I was finding it difficult to turn my thoughts into words. My parents were very distressed, as they knew something was wrong but I couldn't explain what. It was like algebra, when you have an extremely difficult equation and you don't know where to begin. The logical thing to do is break it down and deal with it in bits, except you don't know how to. That’s when you stick up your hand and ask your teacher for help.
My teacher was Franca, a counsellor at the Post-Adoption Centre. Once a week, Zsuzsi, my wonderful nanny and I would travel on the train from Acton and arrive at Kentish Town station, which was a short walk from the Post- Adoption Centre. We would meet my mum and dad there as they came from work. My parents had a separate counsellor and we would split up for the session and meet up again to discuss things at the end.
My sessions would usually start with me talking about something that was bothering me, then I would use felt tips and crayons to write or draw my feelings on to a piece of A3 sugar paper. It was strange that I could express my thoughts much more easily with Franca than with my own parents. I think the fact that she was an outsider helped.
During the time that I attended the centre, I produced some truly atrocious drawings. But I also wrote a letter to my birth mother, which I never sent. After we had finished going to counselling I rewrote the letter to my birth mother properly, with every intention of sending it. But when it came to the crunch something just didn't feel right, and the unsent letter is still sitting in my drawer, gathering dust. I'm not quite sure why I didn't send it; it may have been a combination of worrying about the effect it would have on my parents, and the huge can of worms that would beopened by my putting it in a postbox and sending it. In hindsight, I am pleased that I didn't send it, because at 10 years old I am sure I was far too young to cope with such a massive step.
Before visiting the Post-Adoption Centre, I felt that adoption should not be a big problem in my life. But I have learned that it is a huge deal, and one that will never go away. I also learned that I didn't need to be ashamed of my hurt and anger, and that adoption was, and is, a part of me that I may never understand. My feelings about adoption since then have been everchanging. Immediately after counselling I was fine for a long time – Franca had helped me immensely. Since then there have been more downs, but not as intense. I am quite aware that another rollercoaster ride may be just round the corner, but now, at the age of 14, I am wiser and more emotionally equipped to deal with it.
Recently I rewrote the letter to my birth mother again. I don't know if I will send it, but I know that I have all the time I need and will only take that step when I feel ready – if, indeed, that moment ever comes. I know that I am loved and wanted now, but the ordeal I went through when I was three weeks old will never leave me. The equation will always be there, and perhaps will never be solved, but at least I have started to tackle it.
Lois Fort is the adopted daughter of journalist Matthew Fort. Her article, I wrote a letter to my birth mother, but never sent it, was first published in The Guardian on 4 February 2004, and is reproduced here with their kind permission.
Post-Adoption Centre (offers support to adoptive parents and children, as well as birth families).
Originally published in the Be My Parent newspaper in September 2004.
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Last updated: 04 December 07
