I recently came across a Japanese tradition in which cracks in broken pottery are filled with gold to repair them. Instead of tossing aside broken dishes, they are celebrated for their unique cracks, a representation of their individual journeys. Instead of discarding them for being different, they are embraced and seen as beautiful. Wouldn’t the world be a much better place if we took this view with our neighbors? Not just those who were adopted, but all of our children. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if they were accepted, flaws and all? If they were appreciated for their differences and their journeys.
Over the past seven years of raising our oldest daughter, we have worked incredibly hard to help her celebrate her differences and embrace the uniqueness of her adoption. The glistening gold that fills those cracks is made up of hours of research and thousands of dollars on specialty therapists to help our daughter process the loss and joy that is her story.
While we celebrate the fact that we found our missing piece, and we try our hardest to instill that mentality in our daughter, the immense loss of losing her birth family isn’t lost on us. Despite being only 10 years old she has had to learn how to come to peace with inner turmoil and conflicting emotions that even I, as an adult, have difficulty processing. She has cried on my lap countless times as she tells me she wishes her birth mom “didn’t have a sad heart” and could keep her. How she wishes she didn’t have to be adopted. In those moments my heart aches for her. As much as I couldn’t fathom a world where she isn’t part of our family, I wish she didn’t have to experience any of the trauma from her past.
Each time she tells me these things, in a complete state of devastation and grief, she feels bad. She feels like she is hurting me, betraying me. She apologizes and says she doesn’t want to go back to her birth family and she wants to stay with us and she loves us and we are her family. Those cracks run deep, almost causing her to shatter into a million pieces.
How could she possibly feel all of these opposing emotions? We tell her that all of these feelings are okay. We tell her not to apologize, we are here to talk openly about everything. We put on a brave face and rock her, soothe her, comfort her, reassure her….and then when we get a few seconds to ourselves, we fall apart.
We grieve for the life she lost.
We grieve for the scars abandonment has left on her.
We grieve for her having to face a world where “different” isn’t always seen as equal.
We grieve for the questions that only grow as she matures.
We grieve for the hurt in her eyes as she watches others say how much her younger siblings look alike.
We grieve as she searches desperately to find some piece of herself in her father and me.
We grieve that she has had to experience cracks at all, and lost some childhood innocence in the process.
Despite all of the turmoil going on in her head, she manages to show pride in her differences. She shows strength. She shows immense empathy. She shows compassion for others. She shows maturity beyond her years, after all, she has had to conquer mature topics at such a young age. Despite how well she seems to grasp her history, with each stage of mental development she needs to reprocess her story on a new, deeper level.
Recently, this has meant identifying with songs that focus on being a “misfit” or “outcast”. She says that the songs describe her because she is the one who is different from the family. With her long golden hair and bright blue eyes, her features don’t match the rest of our family’s brown eyes and dark hair. We focus on the similarities between her and her siblings, how much she has a fire in her like her father. We focus on how advanced she is in math and science just like her dad and how she has the same taste in music as me. She says that she is Panamanian, French Canadian and Italian just like her siblings are. She takes pride in family history, culture, food, music and traditions.
Then she heads to school.
She is told that she isn’t those nationalities because she doesn’t share our DNA.
She is told that we aren’t her “real parents” and her siblings aren’t her “real siblings”.
She is told that she wasn’t wanted by her birth family and that is why we took her.
She is told that she doesn’t belong.
You see, I don’t think that *most* of these kids are trying to be hurtful. I don’t expect them to understand. I think, that they have been taught that so much of who they are is based on DNA, that DNA and blood defines them and their family. I don’t think most of their parents would encourage this thought process if they knew the potential it had to hurt others like my sweet girl. However, most families don’t realize the important conversations they should be having with their kids that they are missing.
Many families don’t teach their kids that families come in all different types. From two dads or moms. Single parents. Living with grandparents. Adoption. Foster Care. Divorced. Separated. Half siblings. Full siblings. Or siblings that share no blood at all. Families come in infinite configurations and it is time to have those open conversations.
Let’s teach our children that not every child grows in their mommy’s bellies. Some grow in their mommy’s hearts.
Let’s teach our children that different does not mean less.
Let’s teach our children that not understanding a family unit does not mean they should look down on it.
Let’s teach our children that adopted children were wanted. They were chosen. They were the missing piece a family was desperately searching for.
Let’s teach our children that adopted children are with their “real family”. They may have a birth family, but the family who loves them, provides for them, fights for them, cheers for them every day…that is their REAL family.
Let’s teach our children that not every adopted family looks the same. There are open adoptions on great terms, closed adoptions and so many more. No single type is better than others and all of them present unique benefits and challenges.
Let’s teach our children that it is okay to ask questions, but take no for an answer if the subject is too personal. I know our girl LOVES educating others on adoption. She loves sharing how unique and special it is that her family is different. However, she doesn’t like to go into details of why her situation is the way it is. She doesn’t like to share the trauma and that is why I won’t share those details here either; it is her story to tell.
She will gladly explain that her siblings are her “real siblings”. They fight with and for each other. They love each other deeply. They play together and know every little detail about each other. They share cherished memories of childhood.
She will explain how we are her “real parents”. We love her unconditionally. We cheer her on. We are always honest. We discipline her. We give her chores. We provide financially, physically and emotionally.
She will explain how yes, she doesn’t share our nationalities by blood but she shares the love of the culture. She listens to stories from our family histories, her family histories. She dances to Spanish music with her dad. She is learning the family meatball and sauce recipe from me that has been passed down for generations. She knows our traditions like our Sicilian seafood feast on Christmas Eve. She appreciates the languages, the foods, the music, the history. She is as much a muddled mix of cultures as our other children.
When I look at her face, I don’t see myself as a child. I don’t see dark hair and dark eyes, but I see so much more. I see her soul. I see the strength, determination, intelligence, curiosity, passion, fire, empathy, compassion, morals, sass, work ethic, sense of humor, strong will, thick-hardheadedness, and quick wit that is very much a mixture of her father and me.
So I beg you, have these conversations with your children. I can promise you they won’t be as difficult as you may think. In fact, I can promise you they will be far easier than it is for parents like me, who must attempt to put the pieces back together after their child has been shattered by hurtful comments. As we attempt to use gold to mend their broken hearts and help them see their unique beauty.
We seek to raise our daughter with peace and acceptance from her past, and my biggest wish for her is that she is able to hold onto that when the world tries to take it away. I pray that she is able to remember each and every crack and appreciate the beauty and journey that they represent.
“Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone, but still miraculously my own. Never forget for a single minute, you didn’t grow under my heart but in it.”
– Fleur Conkling Heyliger
