“Love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever.”

This photo was taken November 16th, the day my little nephew Noah was born. I remember holding him for the first time and being so careful to protect his neck and his head. He was so tiny and fragile, I didn’t dare do anything that might cause him harm. As I held him that first day, all I could think of was newborn Pranali. I must have been born premature, because at 23 weeks when I was admitted to the orphanage, I was only 4 lbs. In this photo, Noah was about 6 lbs. On my first day of life, I must have been extremely fragile and tiny. All I could think of was how at his age, I’d already been abandoned by the only people who were supposed to love me and protect me. It was a very sobering thought. I was so very thankful that Noah had two loving parents and a room full of people who already loved him more than anything.

This second photo was 3 days after Noah’s birth. As I took this photo, I remember thinking that at 3 days old, I’d already spent the first days of my life completely alone on the streets. I’ve known this my entire life, but having a newborn to hold and care for made this a tangible reality. At 3 days old, Noah was getting all of the snuggles and all the love he could possibly take. He cried if he was put down for too long because he would get either hungry or lonely. At 3 days old, I didn’t know what a mother’s loving touch was. I didn’t have a source of nutrition. I was sick, malnourished, and alone. At 3 days old I’d just been found by the Ahmednagar police and was in the hospital getting the medical care that I needed. The beginnings of our lives had been so very different, and it was a very sobering thought.

Watching my nephew grow has given me so much joy my heart can hardly handle it! But it is bittersweet to compare my own journey through early life with his. I can’t imagine abandoning a human so tiny, fragile, and innocent. If I could tell newborn me anything, it would be that the journey without familial and cultural connection will be long and difficult, but if I can survive the first few days of life alone then I can survive anything life throws at me.

I know that my precious nephew Noah will NEVER run out of people who love him and care for him and protect him. He will never have to wonder what a mother’s touch is and he will never have to be alone. He will never have to experience the pain of severed connection. I’m so very thankful that the love he’s already experienced this far in his early life will truly give him some protection forever.

Someone get me a Xanax

I’ve been trying to string together words that make sense into a post for several months now. It’s been a busy few months, but every so often I will sit down and pull my thoughts together until I feel I have a coherent idea. My train of thought has a different agenda, however, and after several different tangents and deleting and overthinking and rewriting and self doubt I will finally just save the damn post as a draft, forget about it, and then come back to it days later and realize how awfully disorganized and stupid it is and delete the whole thing.

This is how my adoptee brain works.

Some days I wish I could just take a break from my brain and sit inside someone else’s head. A non-adoptee.

Not another adoptee’s brain, because we all seem to think the same way. The more adoptees I connect with, the more I realize we are all the same. Something in our brains were rewired the moment we were left by our blood and abandoned to our own devices. Some as infants, some as children, some even as teenagers.

That damn fight, flight, or freeze reaction that was permanently wired into my brain the moment I was abandoned as a newborn.

That damn overactive stress response that my subconscious alerts to every stressor and every change no matter how minute.

These I know too well. The stress and fear of change and failure that have accompanied me every moment of every day since Day 1. They in turn summon my good ole friend, Anxiety.

Just for a day I would like to know what it is to be relaxed. To be normal. To see what a normal functioning mind looks like.

I need to understand what it is like to be able to fly by the seat of your pants. To be able to change plans last minute and not panic about every small detail that could possibly go wrong.

What is it like to get ready to go out and be rushed and not have an elevated heart rate? To not snap at someone who rushes you or mentions the time because you’re so anxious about it you’re raging inside?

I would love to understand what it’s like to go to a family reunion and not feel like a stranger among them. I’ve known them my entire life—yet it still feels like something is missing. What is it like to be among family and feel whole?

What is it like to not be N E R V O U S all the damn time? Sometimes I don’t even know what I feel nervous about.

Also, can we talk about the stress of meeting new people? Someone please explain to me what it is like to not absolutely DREAD meeting new people. And when I say dread, I mean I would rather take a razor blade to my tongue and chug some whiskey than meet new people. Since Day 1, I have been hard wired to remain self-reliant. If there is anything I’ve learned from my experiences, it is that people lie and people change and people leave, even the ones we call family. I don’t say this for your pity or concern, I say it because it’s just true. I don’t need people, and the ones I choose to remain in my life are the ones who I know, I KNOW they won’t be leaving. The honest and the genuine. So when I meet new people, I begin the process of figuring out which kind of people they are—the changing kind or the staying kind. It’s an exhausting process and one that I would rather avoid.

You’re probably stressed by now just reading this. Exhausting huh? Chances are, if you know an adoptee they struggle with these issues as well. Some hide it, others embrace it. Some still live in what we call a “fog” and have absolutely no idea these feelings of grief and anxiety and depression even exist. Maybe they are aware and struggle but don’t know why. I have struggled with these issues all my life and I never realized until recently how it all ties back to my abandonment/adoption.

Don’t get me wrong—adoption can be great. CAN be. But it always always begins with trauma for the adoptee. Somewhere along the line, someone decided to abandon/give away/leave and even if it isn’t meant to, it hurts. Being given up or abandoned will fuck someone up for life. Over the past year I have been meeting more and more adoptees who share these same experiences and subconscious responses that abandonment has hard wired into our brains. It has been refreshing to know that what I experience is normal for adoptees because they experience it too. I’m growing ever more thankful for these connections that validate my existence. Despite our different beginnings and backgrounds and different upbringings, we function the same way because of the burden we all carry. It can get to be exhausting.

So just for a day, I would like to experience what it is to be a normal, non-dysfunctional, non-adopted human. Sometimes this anxious brain just needs a break.

To my Indian mom on Mother’s Day…

Dear mom,

Happy Mother’s Day, wherever you are. I may not be with you, but you are with me. I see you everyday. I see you in my tiny hands. I see you in my small wrists and my funny looking feet. I see you in my knobby knees and my monkey toes. I see you in my unbearably frizzy Indian hair, in my smile, and maybe even my laugh. Wherever I go, I know you’re a part of me. I’m truly thankful for that. Thank you for giving me life. I think of you always mom. ♥
-pranali

“I don’t know my birth family.”

Just this morning, someone at work asked me where I am from originally. I immediately knew how this conversation was going to play out because I’d had this conversation countless times, and it is every bit as awkward as the first time. 

I responded by saying I was from India. When I mentioned that I grew up in the states, the response from this person was, “I can tell!” Wanting to prevent any misunderstanding about my “authenticity”, I decided to add that I was born in India, but then came to America and was raised here. This took him by surprise and I was then bombarded with questions about where I am from in India, where my family is, and do I go visit them often. 

It’s been 23 years and I still don’t know how to approach this. I don’t mind telling people that I’m adopted, but I am never prepared for the questions. Or the looks I get when I explain that I don’t know who my family is nor will I ever probably know. If you’re a fellow adoptee and you have an answer let me know because I stumble over my words every time. 

How do you explain to someone that void?

Letter to my birthmother

When I was young, I used to write letters to my birthmother on my birthday and on Mothers Day. Over the years I’ve lost some of them, but I wrote this one last year after receiving an email from my adoption agency letting me know that a search for my birthmother would not be possible. The heartache that ensued will never go away, and writing this letter helped me to process that hurt.

 

Dear mom,

I’m not really sure what to say. I used to write to you all the time as a kid. Back when the thought of you was exciting and mysterious, as if you were a puzzle I was going to figure out and solve. Now, the thought of you is just plain heartbreaking. Just a far off dream. The email from Holt telling me that there was no chance of ever finding you felt like the last door of any kind of hope slamming in my face. I used to dream of someday meeting you. Not knowing was so much easier. It gave me a sliver of hope – that maybe the police missed something, some piece of information and there’s something or someone out there who knows about you and could lead me to you. Ignorance made me feel better. But now that I know, the mystery is gone. There’s no puzzle, and there will be no solving or discovering.

Every ounce of my being wonders why. What would’ve become of me had you not given me up? Would it really be so bad? I try to convince myself that it’s better off this way. But I can’t help but wonder. What kind of family would we be? Would people tell me I look like you? My father? Whose eyes do I have? And whose smile? People always comment on my smile and strangers have asked if I get it from my mother. It saddens me that I’ll never know.

I’m sad you’ll never know my adoptive mother. If only I could tell you all the adventures she and I had when she came to get me from my orphanage in Pune. You would think this American lady is crazy. And she is! Who else would fly across the world just to bring home a little orphan baby? She is so strong. And she gives great advice. We’ve had our share of ups and downs, but I don’t think there was ever a time where she gave up on me. Thank you for giving her the chance to be my mom. She poured her whole heart and soul into it. 

I’m sad you’ll never know the love of my life. I met so many bad ones along the way, but they led me to him. He’s wonderful. He makes me smile and laugh like no one else can, and he is the best part of every single day. I wish you would have had the chance to meet him…I know you would love him.

The last time you saw me, you changed my life forever. I like to think that maybe you were saving me. India does not always love its daughters the way it should, and I choose to believe that’s the reason we were separated. So, mama, thank you. It was very brave of you to carry me for so long and then give me up. I don’t think I would have that kind of strength in me to do the same. 

I’m very happy. My life here in America has been so good to me. I hope to spend some of my life back in India, helping other orphans like me who have a whole life of wonder and opportunity ahead of them. Maybe I can help them find it. I still have so much life ahead of me, in part thanks to you. My prayer is that you’ve found peace in letting me go. I pray you’ve found happiness. You gave me life, and I’m going to do the best that I can with it for you. 

-Your baby girl, Pranali ♥

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“They sent us that first picture of you from the orphanage, and it was so weird because you can’t touch your baby or hold your baby, but you just know that’s YOUR baby.”

Words from my mother, during a conversation where I told her I was searching for information from my adoption agency about my birthmother. Words I will cherish forever and never forget.

7 months ago I received my adoption file from Holt International, which contained monthly updates given to them while I was under the care of BSSK Pune. I never knew what happened to me during the first year of my life, and after 23 years of uncertainty, here it is unfolding before my eyes in 35 pages. It’s an indescribable feeling.

I am so unbelievably blessed.

Lion

Last week I saw the movie Lion. I’d been dying to see this movie, ever since I learned of it. I waited for it to make its way to the States, as it was playing in other countries first. Recently I learned that it was playing in theaters, and a few friends had offered to go see it with me. To be honest, I would have loved to go see this movie with them, but I really wanted to see it by myself first. I knew there would be ugly crying, and every girl knows what I’m talking about when I say I needed to get the ugly crying out of the way first!

I was absolutely floored by how well this movie was made. It was honest. At times it was brutally honest. It showed the good, the bad, and the ugly parts of India. The good, the bad, and the ugly parts of adoption. The good, the bad, and the ugly parts of a blended family.

I can’t tell you how many times there was ugly crying coming from my seat because I lost count. It was so absolutely refreshing to see another adoptee going through the same emotions I’d been going through since coming to terms with my adoption loss. Dev Patel gave an astounding performance. The awkward responses when asked about adoption (“I’m not really Indian”). The sadness knowing that there was a family of his somewhere out there. The pain of a family torn apart from another adoption gone wrong in the family and being stuck in the middle.

Watching this movie I was overcome with so many emotions, but one of them was jealousy. I was jealous of this man who had actually gotten to experience India before his adoption. He had memories to hold on to. He KNEW he had a family there and had known them, if even for a short time.

I have nothing. No memories, no known family, not even a name.

Knowing that this adoption story had the rare ending of the adoptee finding and meeting his birthfamily fueled this jealousy, and by the end of this movie my happy tears turned to tears of heartache. Oh how I longed for this kind of reunion. Some adoptees like Saroo are lucky enough to receive one. I never will.

A film that can bring about such deep emotions as heartache, anguish, happiness, and relief all at the same time deserves recognition. If you’re a fellow adoptee, I recommend this movie. If you’re not, I would still recommend it. It just might open your eyes.