Those of us who have grown up in safe homes, have no concept of what happens behind closed doors in many homes around Australia.
I have a great adoptive family and grew up feeling sorry for anyone who wasn’t adopted. My mother told me honestly that my birth mother loved me but for reasons we didn’t know, she had to place me for adoption. I would learn years later that my adoptive mum would often pray for my original mum, and hoped that she was somehow finding peace with the tough choice she had to make.
My childhood was a happy one growing up in suburban Brisbane. With a different set of genetics, I was the curly haired chatterbox in a somewhat more reserved family. I adored my brothers and always felt like the family favourite, although my middle brother will sometimes disagree!
Like many adoptees, I had moments of genetic ‘bewilderment.’ I had a curious longing to know if I looked like anyone else on the planet and would often notice how much my friends hands and faces reflected those of a parent or sibling. Adoptees are often hesitant to share these thoughts, in case we are deemed to be ungrateful to our parents. But my parents certainly saw this as a natural curiousity and I didn’t feel bad for harbouring these thoughts.
I remember when my mum was tirelessly working on the family tree and I felt a strange emptiness looking at the charts in front of me. Whilst I was proud to be her daughter and part of the family, I felt really disconnected to 500 years of people that weren’t a blood connection to me. I remember thinking, “Well I’ve got a whole other tree that I’m probably dragging to my adopted tree.” I’ve since heard it described as such by Trevor Jordan, the president of Jigsaw Queensland, “Adoptees don’t have trees, they have orchards.”
'Adoptees don’t have [family] trees, they have orchards.'
It was January 1st, 1992 and at ‘high noon’ under the Sydney Harbour Bridge I met *Ellen, wearing a bright green dress. I don’t really remember much because I was too busy trying to comprehend that the thirty-nine-year-old standing in front of me looked like she could have been my sister! We looked alike, talked alike, laughed alike, and in every way she was mirroring back at me, ‘me’.
In the eight years that followed, we had some memorable times. She visited my family home and slept in my childhood bed while I camped out on a sleeping bag on the floor. She had a few different vices than myself and a wicked sense of humour. I remember her being surprised I’d never been into a TAB, so she took me to one and showed me how to fill out the forms. She also tried one night to give advice on how to deal with our ever challenging curly and frizzy hair, until we both ended up on the floor laughing at the hopelessness of it.
She had told me the day we met that my birth father was a boy she knew from school. A few years later she recanted that story and it created a temporary rift between us. She quietly and firmly stated that she could not reveal my birth fathers name. I no longer trusted her and when a boy contacted me to say he was another biological child she’d placed for adoption, I went into shutdown.
Eighteen months later upon being told she had an aggressive cancer, I put the disappointment of the secret behind me and we reconciled. By 2000, she had passed away.
In 2012, twenty years after I first met Ellen, trauma paid me a visit. Still determined to find out the identity of my biological father, I contacted Ellen’s youngest sibling and asked if I could please be told the truth. Over the course of eight hours one Friday night, the truth and trauma of Ellen’s childhood was bared open to me. What followed in the days and weeks after was a series of stories from another sibling that gave me more detail into what exactly happened in this family’s home. Even now four years later, I freeze when I recall the stories that took me to a place I had no idea existed. That a father, or any man, could systematically rape his daughter over many years until she’s conditioned to it, just leaves me numb.
Over the course of eight hours one Friday night, the truth and trauma of Ellen’s childhood was bared open to me.
My grief was intense in the early days. My doctor myth busted and said I had no health problems as many children of incest come from two healthy parents. A visit to a psychologist was not so successful. I presented well, but I was in deep shock. She pointed out that my mother was my sister and gave me a brochure on “Being Happy”.
At my absolute wit’s end I googled, “Adoption support Queensland” and found myself on the phone to a counsellor at PASQ (Post Adoption Support Queensland) and that was the starting place of my journey to recovery. To say my counsellor has grounded me is an understatement. She has built me up and given me the space to just cry and be myself as I’ve worked through the feelings of grief associated with my conception. But through all this, I learned this one undeniable fact: I am not defined by my DNA. I was a child, born of a child, and my biological grandfather simply doesn’t count.
The Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse has made school and religious organisations accountable for crimes of the past. But did you know, according to Bravehearts Inc, approximately 95 per cent of sexual abuse is perpetrated by a relative or trusted family friend? If you or anyone among your family and friends, whether children or adults, has ever suffered this abuse and still don't have a voice, then support them and each other, speak up and get some support and aim for justice. People should not be living in silence with these secrets and children need to be believed! Secrecy fosters distrust and leaves a lifelong feeling of shame with the victim. The victim!
My birth mother Ellen was both resilient and courageous. If it was good enough for her to have to suffer through a lifetime of silence, then it's good enough for me to stand up for her.
Lois Buch is a member of Jigsaw Queensland; a peer support network for those affected by adoption. Anyone seeking adoption support in their state or territory can call Forced Adoption Support Services on 1800 21 03 13.
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*Pseudonym used
