open adoption roundtable #34 • whose story is it, anyway?

2012 7 February

by bflomama

The Open Adoption Roundtable, a series of occasional writing prompts about open adoption sponsored by Heather of Production, Not Reproduction, is designed to showcase of the diversity of thought and experience in the open adoption community. Bloggers from all sides of the triad regularly participate, offering incredible insight into the myriad complex issues surrounding this new territory of open adoption.

This roundtable prompt comes from a first mom in an open adoption who no longer blogs but wanted to hear what others had to say on the topic.

She was thinking about her reasons for placing her daughter and how she handles sharing (or not) that information with the people in her life. She realized that her daughter’s adoptive parents were often asked that same question by people (i.e. why she chose to place) and she wondered how they answered. This started her thinking about how others handle that choice of what to share and whom to share it with, especially when they are asked to speak on behalf of another party in their open adoptions.

It is likely that we’ve all had that experience at some time: someone asking us to speak to the choices or feelings of others in our adoption constellation. Perhaps it is someone asking a first parent how their child feels about being in an open adoption. Or someone asking an adoptee why their adoptive parents chose to adopt. You get the idea.

How do you handle such questions when they are asked of you? How would you want the other parties in your open adoption to handle those questions when they are about you?

The short answer to this question is: D’s story is hers, not for public consumption, full stop, end of. George and I know some of it—the parts she has chosen to share with us—and we haven’t asked for any parts of it she hasn’t chosen to share with us because, really, it’s none of our business. One day it will be our children’s business—because it is a large part of the story of how they came to be, and how they came to be here instead of there—and the three of us can fill in whatever blanks they might want filled in, but beyond that the details are personal, and they are D’s to share as she wishes, not mine.

The long answer is, of course, more complicated.

After Julia was born I shared more detail with some of the people closest to me than I think, in hindsight, I should have. Nothing terribly personal, really—nothing that feels like a betrayal of D’s confidence—but still, more than I wish I had, now, with the benefit of hindsight. I shared partly because I didn’t know any better. Partly because, on the surface, the basics of Julia’s story invite certain conclusions to be drawn, and I was anxious to protect D from the judgment I knew was inevitable if they were drawn, and just one or two details explained them away. And partly because I didn’t yet know that—even when you make it very clear that what you are sharing is private and not for public consumption—sometimes even those closest to you can’t stop themselves from using it as fodder for gossip and idle chatter.

What I want to say, when such questions are asked of me, is simply: That is private information that we don’t share. The problem—or what I once thought of as a problem—is that you can almost literally see the wheels turning in the questioner’s head, trying to figure out just what it is that is so awful that it can’t be shared. And none of it is, really—there’s no scandal here, not much to support even the tamest of first-parent-stereotypes and certainly nothing Lifetime-movie-worthy—it’s simply none of anyone’s business.

I’ve read comparisons—trying to explain just why these things are private by way of simile—to asking someone about a spouse’s infidelity, or a parent’s abuse, but I don’t like those. “Is it true that your husband cheated on you/your father beat you?” isn’t comparable to “Why did your child’s first mother place her?” because cheating on a spouse and beating a child are actions that are shameful and reprehensible, and placing a child is neither. It’s just…private.

At the risk of being a bit crass here—but sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, don’t you?—I sometimes wish I had the nerve to respond to prying questions about my children’s placement and their mother’s personal situation with some prying, personal questions of my own. Like: Where did you conceive your children? What position did you use? (You can’t say I didn’t warn you…)

Those questions, I think, are a more accurate comparison with questions about an adopted child’s origins and history. You probably aren’t ashamed about the conception of your children—it isn’t anything to be ashamed of, after all—but you would likely be taken aback somewhat if I asked you about the details. If for some reason you decided to share those details with me, I imagine you wouldn’t be very happy if I shared them with others—because they are the details of your personal life, and they really aren’t the business of anyone who wasn’t directly involved. (It’s not a perfect comparison, of course, because I don’t think very many people tell their children the details of their conception, but still, I think it works…)

I think people don’t understand, when they ask about a child’s placement, that what they are asking about are the intimate details of someone else’s personal life—details they have no business knowing and should, if they really think about it and if they aren’t just rude people in general, know better than to ask about.

(And this isn’t even touching on the fact that these are also the details of the adopted child’s life, and if they are going to be shared among that child’s family/social circle the only person who has the right to do that is the child, when he or she is old enough both to understand them and to be judicious in deciding what and with whom to share.)

What I’ve found over the last few years is that any answer—even one that doesn’t give away terribly private information—opens the door to further inquiry, and that once you’ve started answering questions it’s difficult to shift gears toward maintaining privacy. Usually the person asking isn’t meaning to pry into someone else’s personal business. And it’s really hard, sometimes, to figure out the line between not terribly private and private.

-Is she young?

She’s my age.

-Does she have other children?

Yes, J has three older brothers.

-Oh…why did she keep them and not J?

There’s the line. The questioner doesn’t likely see it; he or she is making conversation, curious, yes, but not thinking of it as a nosy or prying question. It isn’t intended that way. In a conversation like this I don’t want to shut down the questioner with a snappy comeback, because the question wasn’t meant to be rude & answering that way…would be. (Also, I’m don’t do rude well. I’m too polite, even to people who aren’t.)

Her circumstances changed; this is what she thought was best for J and for her other children. I heard that question often enough, early on, that a stock answer proved useful to have on hand.

Asher’s arrival brought with it entirely new lines of questioning—again, I really believe usually not intended to be nosy or prying, just curious, but nonetheless inappropriate.

Well, sometimes these things do happen, you know…

In the end, while protecting D’s privacy is important to me, my children’s privacy is paramount. The private details of how they came to be, and why they came to be with us, are no one’s business but theirs. And sometimes that means I have to be a bit more abrupt, more blunt, less polite than I am accustomed to being.

That is private information that we don’t share.

And if those wheels start spinning, so be it.

Other responses to this installment of the Open Adoption Roundtable can be found here.