A Glimpse of Victory

Birth Story – March 18, 2025

Prompt from You Between the Lines by Katie Naymon – “Explain your birth. The circumstances around it. The actual birth. The immediate aftermath. Whatever you want and feel is necessary.”

I don’t like to tell people I’m adopted. It’s not that I’m ashamed of it. It’s that I don’t like the way people tend to react. Sometimes people are fine and they just say something like “oh ok” or they ask how old I was when I was adopted (4 months). But sometimes they say weird things that make me uncomfortable. They ask if I feel lucky. One time a woman asked if I was in a slum. I’m not sure if people have said this or it’s something in my head but people asking if I feel grateful. I don’t like the way it makes me feel “other”. I like to think it was meant to be. My mom is my mom just like your mom is your mom, the circumstances are just slightly different.

For the longest time I didn’t think being adopted had affected me much because I was adopted at such a young age. I don’t remember any trauma. All I remember is my mom. But I think I do have a fear of abandonment. I worry I’m too much for people sometimes. I worry people will go away. I crave security and stability.

My mom told me not that long ago that she’s never prioritized security so it doesn’t make sense to her, my focus on it. But yeah, when you’re abandoned at birth I think it makes sense to prioritize security. I’m not trying to make her feel bad for me but I think that’s a pretty logical step.

I don’t know what the circumstances surrounding my birth were. My birth mother was listed as being young and unwed. I don’t even know her name. She was admitted to the hospital and I think I was born in the evening. I was premature and malnourished, that’s what I’ve been told. And I was admitted to the orphanage that night. I don’t know if I was born via C-section or vaginal birth, I’m assuming vaginal birth. I don’t know if my birth mother held me before I was taken away. I don’t know if I cried. I don’t know any of those details. I think I was around 4 lbs at birth. When I arrived in America I was four months old but I was developmentally like a two month old. I could barely raise my head. I arrived with my travel caretaker at SeaTac and was handed to my mom. She said I didn’t open my eyes until we were in PT. There’s a photo of her holding me where she is teary eyed. It’s hard to believe she was only two years older than Jon is now when she adopted me as a single mother.

I wonder sometimes what my biological parents look like. I wonder if I have my mother’s face or my father’s nose. I hope I was conceived with love. My mom always said that I was healthy even though I was premature so she must have taken good care of me when I was in her body. And in a society where girls aren’t always appreciated, I suppose it’s good I was given up for adoption instead of left for dead somewhere. I sometimes wonder if she would have kept me if I was a boy. It’s illegal to tell people the sex of their baby in India because people used to get rid of girl babies.

I wonder how long my birth mother was in labor for. I wonder if she cried when I was born. I wonder if she kissed my face before I was taken away. Or if she couldn’t bear to look at me. Or if she just didn’t feel it was a big deal either way. I wonder if I was her first child. I wonder if she had more kids after me. I wonder about some half sibling out in the world who has the same eyes as me. The same mouth. I did one of those DNA tests and sometimes I wonder if a relative will pop up. The closest that came through I think was a second cousin. I didn’t reach out or anything.

My mom tried to find my birth mother when I was around a year old but she couldn’t find any information about her. She wanted to hire a private investigator but my grandmother who would have been the one to pay for it, refused because she was worried my birth mother would try to take me back.

My mom wanted me to grow up knowing where I came from so I grew up spending time in India and I definitely feel it filled a hole that might have existed otherwise. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything. I don’t feel angry but I do think there’s some hurt. I do think I worry about being left. I remember sobbing when I was little because my mom went out to run errands and I was scared she wouldn’t come back. I had nightmares as a child that something bad happened to my mom and I would wake up crying. I suppose most people don’t think they could be left by their parents but I worried it would happen again. I may not have realized that’s what the fear was. But looking back, I think that’s what it was.

My family is so small – when my parents die I will only have Jon.
But sometimes I worry he will leave too.