Growing Up Adopted: What People Get Wrong

I was adopted in 1984. I’m 45 now, and I’ve had a lifetime to sit with what that really means. The story most people imagine about adoption is simple: a child needed a home, a family stepped in, and everything worked out. I understand why people like that version. It’s neat. It’s comforting. It’s just not the full picture.

For me, adoption didn’t start with joy—it started with loss. I was too young to remember it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t shape me. People often assume that if you’re raised in a loving home, that loss disappears. It doesn’t. It just becomes something you learn to carry, sometimes quietly, sometimes not.

Growing up, I was often told—sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly—that I should feel lucky. And I do feel grateful for the life I had. But gratitude and complexity can exist at the same time. Being adopted isn’t a transaction where I owe the world a lifetime of thankfulness. It’s an identity that comes with questions, and those questions don’t always have easy answers.

There were moments, even in a good home, where I felt different. Not necessarily unloved—just aware that my story didn’t quite match everyone else’s. Whether it was looking in the mirror and not seeing shared features, or realizing I didn’t have access to my full history, there was always a layer of distance I couldn’t fully explain.

People also tend to think adoption is something that happened once, back in 1984, and that was the end of it. But for me, it’s been an ongoing experience. What it meant to me as a kid isn’t what it means now. At 45, I think about identity, family, and where I come from in ways I couldn’t have understood growing up. Those thoughts evolve, and so does the way I see my own story.

None of this takes away from the good. I had stability. I had care. I had people who showed up for me. But adoption isn’t just one thing—it’s a mix of gratitude, curiosity, loss, and growth.

What people often get wrong is thinking it’s a simple, feel-good story. It’s not. It’s a lifelong experience, and for people like me, it’s something we’re still figuring out, even decades later.