I am a Late Discovery Adoptee. I found out I was adopted when I was 42 years old.
I was adopted at birth.
My mother never had the chance to touch me (‚they‘ told her I died).
I never knew consciously. My origins were kept a secret from me. However, my body knew. My soul. My unconscious. My cells. My muscles. My marrow. My blood. My dna.
The relinquishment orchestrated my life as a phantom conductor might.
That tear, that loss, that irrevocable rupture reverberated. On every level.
So that when I found out, much became clear. The undiagnosed chronic psychological pain. The childhood depression. Marginalisation. Insecurity. Constant anxiety etc…sometimes there are no words to describe the tearing…(see what A for Adoption has to say about her poignant birth experience)
I was very grateful to find out, to be given the chance to understand what has been wrong all these years.
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