For Adoptees. For Adoptive Parents. For Foster Parents.
And why burning bridges too soon may cost more than we realise.
I often meet adult adoptees who are still living with grief, anger and loss.
Some are surviving, not living.
They carry the weight of unanswered what ifs, buried rage, unresolved hatred, and the deep sense that an entire life was taken from them, a life that could have been better… or perhaps not.
The truth is this:
As adoptees, we can live good lives.
We can live extraordinary lives.
But only if we make the decision to do so.
That may sound harsh.
Who am I to say that?
Who am I to even suggest responsibility for happiness when grief and loss are real?
So let me tell you my story briefly, and honestly.
My Beginning
I was adopted as a baby.
My birth mother was still in school. Her mother made the decision to give me up.
My birth grandmother did not want the responsibility of raising a child when her own daughter was not ready to be a parent. There was no consent from both parents. Everyone was still a child themselves.
Was it the right decision?
Maybe for two of the three, yes.
For the child?
That question takes a lifetime to answer.
The First Adoption Where Life Became Survival
I was the second adopted child in a well‑known household in a small Karoo town where winters are brutal and snow is real. The first few years were likely fine, I do not remember much.
Then slowly, my life turned into hell.
I became the target not only of a woman who was supposed to love me, but also of a brother.
My father chose to look away. What started small escalated into horror.
I was starved.
Isolated.
Locked in dark containers outside in freezing weather.
No food. No water. No blankets.
I was physically abused.
Sexually abused.
Emotionally destroyed.
For years.
The world barely knew I existed.
My brother went to school. Had friends. Had birthday parties.
I had none. I didn’t even get a cake.
Until one day, I was discovered.
Removed by welfare.
Placed in a place of safety.
And just like that life continued for that family while a terrified child had to learn that she was adopted, and to trust strangers to keep her safe, how do you navigate this at age 8?
The System Failed Me (And Many Others)
The adoption should never have been approved. But it was, because they had already adopted a boy, and status helped.
After approval? Nothing.
No follow‑ups.
No check‑ins.
No protection.
Social workers are overworked, understaffed, overwhelmed & traumatised themselves, drowning in secondary trauma.
Who looks after them? Who protects their mental health?
Foster Care: Safety Without Understanding
Then came foster care.
Foster parents are asked to open their homes to broken souls while still raising their own children. The traumatised child is expected to adjust. To behave. To trust. To be “normal”.
How?
At eight years old, with years of abuse behind you.
No school. No social skills. Deep sexual trauma.
Now sharing rooms and bathrooms with other children.
The criteria for foster parents should be stricter.
Traumatised children need time, therapy, patience and emotional bandwidth, things not always available in busy households.
But children adapt.
We mask. We survive.
At least it is safer than where we came from.
A Second Adoption: And a Second Identity Loss
Then came my second adoption.
Wealthy parents.
Unable to have children.
Wanting a family.
With the adoption came an identity erasure:
New name. New town. New school. New expectations.
I was expected to fit in instantly as if I had always been there. No discussions of the past.
No therapy. No follow‑ups.
I behaved.
I performed.
I bottled everything up.
Emotional abuse replaced physical abuse.
I was told I was dirty.
Scrubbed with Handy Andy and a brush.
Fed Epsom salts because my “gut was rotten”.
My hair was cut short.
I was told what to wear.
I ate separately because I “made a mess”.
I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen except to serve guests and clean up.
I never invited friends over.
I stayed in my room.
One parent wanted me.
One wanted a baby, not a damaged child who reminded them daily of what they couldn’t have.
Life was difficult, navigating constant conflict, constantly hearing about the “bad” in you. Family saw it. They looked away. Years later, the admissions came.
And still, I am grateful.
They gave me safety.
Education.
Discipline.
Experiences.
They endured my rebellion when I had no other outlet.
In hindsight, I understand how hard it must have been to raise a child you didn’t choose, didn’t want, and were pressured into accepting.
Understanding does not erase the pain, but it allows compassion.
What I Needed vs What I Got
What I needed:
- Love
- Emotional safety
- Therapy
- Conversations
- Space to exist and become
What I got:
- Comfort
- Silence
- Education
- Limited support
Again, the system failed.
I was bullied at school.
I didn’t know how to hug people.
Love was not modelled.
I dreamed of my birth parents.
The fantasy was beautiful until reality shattered it.
My birth mother couldn’t connect. Couldn’t answer questions.
Chose blame over responsibility. Her other children suffered too.
The Choice
Life happened. Many lives, it feels. At some point, I had to choose: Stay trapped in anger or heal.
So, I worked on myself, in my 20’s, 30’s, 40’s. Therapy. Coaching. Learning how to allow human touch. Learning how to feel safe.
In my 50s, I chose to study and become a life coach.
Not just for adoptees, but for adoptive and foster parents.
Because adoption and fostering are not acts of charity. They are acts of courage.
Most adoptive and foster parents give everything they have, often without support, without guidance, figuring it out as they go.
They make mistakes.
Yes. So do we all.
But we can learn from those mistakes rather than burning bridges before understanding them.
To Adoptive & Foster Parents
Your role carries unseen weight.
Trauma often reveals itself years later during adolescence, identity formation, behavioural challenges, mental health struggles.
Have the conversations early.
Continuously.
Create safe spaces. You are shaping resilience.
To My Fellow Adoptees
I see you. I feel your pain.
Your past explains you: it does not define you.
Choose love. Choose yourself. Create a life that honours your survival.
And if you don’t know your roots yet, start where you can.
Health via DNA or blood tests. You can get indications of health threats this way.
Healing is not betrayal. It is freedom.