Adoption, belonging and acceptance: Life as an adoptee

Adoption is often described as an act of love and hope - a fresh start, a family made whole. And while it can certainly be all of those things, my experience as both an adoptee and a psychotherapist has shown me that the emotional reality is far more complex. 

If you were adopted as a child and have ever struggled with feelings of rejection, abandonment, or simply not fitting in, please know you’re not alone. These emotions are valid, and there is a way through them. For many of us, these feelings come and go, shifting as we move through the different chapters of our lives.

I’d like to share a little of my own journey - not as a guidebook, but as an invitation to approach your own story with openness and self-acceptance, two qualities that have been essential in helping me find peace with mine.

The early years: Questions without answers

Growing up, I always knew I was adopted, but there was an underlying sense that something was missing - a quiet feeling of not quite belonging. At school, the differences between my sister and me were often pointed out by others; she was tall and blonde, while I was short and dark. It made me wonder: Who did I really look like? Did my birth mother ever think of me? Why was I given up?

These questions didn’t come with easy answers. Sometimes, they’d surface as sadness or a sense of being different. Other times, I’d feel guilty for even thinking about my birth family, as if my curiosity was a betrayal of the parents who raised me. If you’re reading this and recognising yourself in these words, please know: you’re not alone, and there’s nothing wrong with you for wondering.

Teenage years: The search for identity

Adolescence is a time when everyone is trying to figure out who they are, but for adoptees, that search can feel especially tangled. I remember feeling as though there was a missing piece to my puzzle - a part of my story I simply couldn’t reach. I often felt self-conscious about the way I looked, and it was deeply uncomfortable whenever someone pointed out how little I resembled my adopted sister or parents. There were times when I felt angry or lost, particularly when I couldn’t see myself reflected in my family or when I felt misunderstood.

Now, as a psychotherapist, I see just how common these feelings are. The teenage years are full of questioning and comparison for everyone, but for adoptees, the lack of information about our origins can make those questions feel even heavier. The good news is that these feelings aren’t set in stone - they can soften and shift as we grow and gain new perspectives.

Adulthood: New perspectives and renewed curiosity

As I moved into adulthood, my feelings about adoption evolved. I began to see my story in a broader context. The anger and sadness of my teenage years gave way to empathy - for myself, for my birth mother, and for my adoptive family. Life is complicated, and the decisions that lead to adoption are rarely simple.

But it wasn’t until I became a mother myself that my curiosity about my birth mother intensified. Holding my own child, I was struck by the depth of love I felt – and by a sudden, aching need to know more about where I came from. I wanted to understand my own beginnings, not just for myself, but for my child too.

Making contact: A complex, changing landscape

Reaching out to my birth mother was both exhilarating and terrifying. I was hopeful, but also scared of rejection or disappointment. The process was not straightforward, and it brought up a mix of emotions – joy at learning more about my origins, sadness at the losses we’d both experienced, and relief at finally having some answers.

Contact didn’t magically erase the old feelings of abandonment or difference, but it did shift them. I felt more grounded, more whole, and better able to accept my story in all its complexity.

Acceptance: Focusing on what you can control

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned – both personally and professionally – is the power of acceptance. There’s a lot about adoption that we can’t change: the circumstances of our birth, the decisions made by others, the gaps in our story. It’s natural to grieve these things, to wish they were different. But at some point, I realised that fighting against what I couldn’t control was only making me more unhappy.

Acceptance doesn’t mean giving up or pretending everything is fine. It means acknowledging the reality of your situation, with all its joys and sorrows, and allowing yourself to feel whatever comes up. It means being gentle with yourself on the hard days and celebrating the small moments of peace or connection.

As a psychotherapist, I often encourage clients to focus on what they can control: their own responses, their curiosity, their willingness to seek support. We can’t change the past, but we can choose how we relate to it. We can give ourselves permission to ask questions, to feel sad or angry or grateful, and to reach out for help when we need it.

Curiosity: An invitation to explore

Curiosity has been a guiding light for me. Instead of judging my feelings or trying to force them into neat boxes, I’ve learned to approach them with gentle interest. Why am I feeling this way today? What might this sadness or longing be trying to tell me? Is there something I need, or a question I want to explore?

Sometimes, curiosity leads to action, like searching for my birth mother or starting therapy. Other times, it’s simply about noticing and naming what’s there. Either way, it’s a way of staying open to myself and of honouring my own experience.

The ongoing journey

Adoption is not a single event – it’s a lifelong process, with ups and downs, twists and turns. My journey is still unfolding, and I know my feelings will continue to change as I move through different stages of life. What I’ve learned, and what I hope you’ll take from this, is that it’s okay for your feelings to change. It’s okay to be curious, to grieve, to celebrate, and to accept the situation you find yourself in.

You may not have chosen every part of your story, but you do have control over how you relate to it. With curiosity, acceptance, and support, it is possible to find peace, connection, and even joy – right where you are.

If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone. There are people who understand, and help is available. Your story matters, and so do you.