Transracial Adoption Tales
My Transracial Adoption Story: Losing Connection with My Korean Ethnicity and Culture
When I was just three years old, I was adopted from South Korea by a white family in Salt Lake City, Utah. I didn’t have any information about my background or birth family, not even if my name or birthdate were real or assigned. I arrived in America with a mysterious tattoo on my left forearm, which my adoptive parents had surgically removed because they were worried that other kids would make fun of it.
I was raised as if I were white, which meant that I was assimilated into the culture of my adoptive parents. Occasionally, we would go to a Korean restaurant or an Asian festival, but I didn’t identify with being Asian. Looking back now, having my tattoo removed was symbolic of losing a connection with my Korean ethnicity and culture. But I wasn’t the only one. Almost 200,000 Korean children have been adopted all over the world, and many of us experienced childhood trauma when we were separated from our families of origin.
I recently found out that my birth mother left my family shortly after I was born, and my birth father became injured and could not provide for my brothers and me. So, my two older brothers and I were sent to children welfare services, and someone decided that I was more adoptable because I was younger. I was sent to a separate orphanage, separated from my brothers who cared for me. My adoption records say that I wouldn’t play with any of the other children at the orphanage, and now I know why.
As a three-year-old child, I quickly figured out that no one spoke the Korean language that I spoke, and so I stopped speaking altogether for six months. And when I started speaking again, it was in full English. One of the first phrases I said as my parents showed me my orphanage photos was, “Sara sad.” Children who are adopted often put up emotional walls to protect themselves from being hurt again. I certainly did this, and like many transracially adopted children, there were many moments growing up where I wished that I was white like the other kids around me.
But as I grew older, I learned to smile without really smiling, burying my feelings. It wasn’t until later in life that I realized I’d never really grieved my own adoption. While many of us understand that adopting a child from a different race, culture, or country is never simple, we rarely acknowledge the complex emotions that children who are adopted can experience.
A healthy adoption ecosystem is one in which children, adoptive families, and birth families each own their unique stories. When these narratives are placed side by side, it creates better empathy and policies for the lives that adoption impacts. It’s natural to want to protect children from experiencing pain, but it’s important to acknowledge that every adoption starts with loss, and every child is affected differently.
My Story of Transracial Adoption and Losing Connection with my Korean Ethnicity and Culture
When I was three years old, I was adopted by a white family in Salt Lake City, Utah, and brought to America from South Korea. I had a mysterious tattoo on my left forearm, which my adoptive parents had surgically removed right away. They were worried that other kids would make fun of it, so they erased it. Today, there’s only a light scar where the tattoo once was, so I’ve redrawn it in a permanent marker so people can see what it looked like.
I grew up not knowing anything about my background or my birth family. Transracial adoption meant I was raised as if I were white, even though I am Korean. Occasionally my family would eat at a Korean restaurant or go to an Asian festival, but I did not identify with being Asian.
Looking back now, having my tattoo removed was symbolic of losing a connection with my Korean ethnicity and culture, and I am not alone. Since the 1950s, almost 200,000 Korean children have been adopted all over the world. A growing body of research shows that children experience trauma when they’re separated from their families of origin, just like I did.
I recently found out that my birth mother left my family shortly after I was born. When I was two years old, my birth father became injured and could not provide for my brothers and me, so my two older brothers and I were sent to children welfare services. Someone decided that because I was younger, I was more adoptable. So I was sent to a separate orphanage, separated from my brothers who cared for me.
As a three-year-old child, I quickly figured out that no one spoke the Korean language that I spoke, and so I stopped speaking altogether for six months. And when I started speaking again, it was in full English. Children who are adopted often put up emotional walls to protect themselves from being hurt again, and I certainly did this.
Children who are adopted can still love their adoptive parents at the same time as experiencing complex emotions. It’s important to give children safe emotional space to express their emotions, both positive and negative, and validate their adoption story. Every adoption starts with loss, and every child is affected differently. But as we accept and build upon this unique set of cards that we were dealt, children who are adopted can live full, rich lives.
Transracial Adoption and the Loss of Connection to My Korean Culture
When I was just three years old, I was adopted from South Korea by a white family in Salt Lake City, Utah. At that young age, I arrived in America with a mysterious tattoo on my left forearm. However, my adoptive parents had the tattoo surgically removed shortly after my arrival, as they were worried that other kids would make fun of it.
Growing up, I was raised as if I were white, even though I was of Korean ethnicity. Although my family would occasionally expose me to Korean culture, such as going to Korean restaurants or festivals, I never truly identified with being Asian. I now realize that having my tattoo removed was symbolic of losing a connection to my Korean culture and ethnicity, which is a common experience among transracial adoptees.
My adoption story involved childhood trauma, including being separated from my brothers and sent to an orphanage. Unfortunately, Korean adoption records from 1976 were notoriously incomplete, so I had no information about my background or birth family. As a result, I struggled with feelings of loss, rejection, and grief throughout my childhood and into adulthood.
It wasn’t until later in life that I was able to reconnect with my Korean birth family and learn about my true background and culture. But many transracial adoptees still struggle with these complex emotions, even as adults.
It’s important for adoptive parents to create safe emotional spaces for their children to express their emotions and validate their adoption stories. Adopted children can still love their adoptive parents while experiencing these complex emotions, and it’s crucial for parents to acknowledge and support their children through this process.
Adoption involves loss, and it’s important to acknowledge and process these emotions in order to fully hug and celebrate one’s unique identity and cultural heritage. As we continue to learn from the experiences of transracial adoptees, we can work towards creating a healthier adoption ecosystem that supports the well-being of all those involved.
The Emotional Impact of Transracial Adoption
Being transracially adopted at the age of three by a white family in Utah was the beginning of my personal struggle to understand my Korean ethnicity and culture. My adoption story started with a mystery tattoo on my left forearm that was surgically removed by my adoptive parents. The tattoo’s meaning was unknown, and I had no information about my background or birth family. My assimilation into my adoptive parents’ culture made me feel disconnected from my Korean heritage.
I felt like an outsider, not fitting in with other Asian kids and struggling to identify with being Asian. My childhood trauma involved being separated from my brothers and placed in an orphanage, where I felt alone and neglected. When I arrived in America at the age of three, I experienced a cultural shock and stopped speaking Korean altogether for six months.
As a child, I put up emotional walls to protect myself from feeling hurt and different from other kids. This led to a sense of loss, rejection, grief, shame, guilt, and difficulty with intimacy and identity. I resented being reminded that I was adopted and constantly told to be grateful for my adoptive parents’ generosity.
It wasn’t until later in life that I realized that I never fully grieved my adoption and struggled to come to terms with it. Many adopted children experience the same complex emotions and need safe emotional spaces to express themselves. Adoptive parents can help by granting emotional oxygen to their children and validating their stories as valid and essential.
Transracial adoption is a complex issue that requires empathy and understanding from all parties involved. It’s time to reframe our views on adoption and create a healthy adoption ecosystem where every child’s story is essential and unique.
Coming to Terms with My Adoption as a Transracial Adoptee
When I was three years old, I was adopted from South Korea by a white family in Salt Lake City, Utah. As a transracial adoptee, I was raised as if I were white and assimilated into the culture of my adoptive parents. However, as I grew up, I started to realize that I was different from the other kids around me. I didn’t identify with being Asian and often wished that I were white like my peers.
My adoption story was always told with love and excitement, but as I got older, I started to realize that it was more complex than that. Every adoption starts with loss, and for transracial adoptees, that loss includes a disconnection from their birth culture and ethnicity. I had no information about my background or birth family, and the mysterious tattoo on my left forearm was surgically removed by my adoptive parents as soon as I arrived in America.
As I grew older, I began to experience the complex emotions that many transracial adoptees face, such as feelings of loss, rejection, and shame. I put up emotional walls to protect myself from being hurt again, and even as an adult, I struggled to come to terms with my adoption. It wasn’t until later in life that I realized I had never really grieved my own adoption.
While many people may not understand my adoption grief, it is a very real and valid experience for many transracial adoptees. It is important for adoptive parents to create a safe emotional space for their children to express their emotions, both positive and negative. Validating a child’s adoption story is crucial to helping them come to terms with their unique experiences and emotions.
As a transracial adoptee, I understand the importance of reframing our views on adoption and creating a healthy adoption ecosystem where children, adoptive families, and birth families can each own their unique stories. This will create better empathy and policies for the lives that adoption impacts.
Reconnecting with My Korean Roots
As I grew older, I began to feel a sense of loss and disconnection from my Korean heritage. I realized that I had missed out on so many experiences and opportunities to learn more about my culture and language.
So, I decided to take action and started to actively seek out ways to reconnect with my Korean roots. I began by studying the Korean language, and while it was challenging at first, it was also incredibly rewarding. It felt like a part of me was coming back to life.
I also started to explore Korean food and culture more deeply. I attended Korean cultural events and festivals, and even traveled to Korea to immerse myself in the culture firsthand.
But it wasn’t just about experiencing the culture for myself. I also wanted to connect with other Koreans and adoptees like me. Through social media and adoption organizations, I was able to find a community of people who shared my experiences and understood the unique challenges that come with being a transracial adoptee.
Through all of these experiences, I’ve come to realize that reconnecting with my Korean roots is not just about rediscovering a lost part of myself, but it’s also about hugging who I am as a whole. I am proud to be Korean and American, and I’m grateful for the journey that has brought me to where I am today.
Discovering my Korean Roots: Reconnecting with my Heritage
Growing up in a white family in a predominantly white community, I never felt like I fit in. As a transracial adoptee, I was aware from a young age that I looked different from my parents and siblings. But it wasn’t until I was older that I began to realize the extent to which I had lost touch with my Korean heritage.
It wasn’t until I was in college that I started to explore my Korean identity. I began to take Korean language classes and learn about the culture and history of Korea. Through this process, I started to gain a better understanding of myself and my place in the world.
One of the most impactful experiences in my journey was traveling to Korea for the first time. It was an emotional and eye-opening experience to see the country where I was born and to connect with people who looked like me and shared my cultural background.
Through my travels and studies, I began to develop a deeper appreciation and love for Korean culture. I started cooking Korean food, listening to K-pop, and reading Korean literature. It was a way for me to reconnect with my heritage and feel more connected to my identity.
Reconnecting with my Korean roots has been a long and ongoing process, but it has been a journey filled with growth, self-discovery, and connection. I now feel proud to be Korean-American and to share my unique perspective and experiences with others.
Rediscovering My Korean Identity
As I entered my late twenties, I started to feel a pull towards my Korean roots. I began to explore Korean cuisine, music, and entertainment, which allowed me to reconnect with my culture and heritage.
I also made a conscious effort to learn the Korean language. I started taking classes and practicing with Korean friends, which was a challenging yet rewarding experience. Learning the language not only helped me communicate with my Korean family members, but it also allowed me to appreciate the nuances and beauty of the Korean language.
Another important step in my journey of rediscovery was reconnecting with my birth family. It was a difficult and emotional process, but it ultimately brought me a sense of closure and a deeper understanding of my identity.
Through these experiences, I realized that my identity is not limited to my adoptive or birth culture, but rather a unique blend of both. I am a product of my past and present, and hugging all aspects of my identity has allowed me to feel more whole and authentic.
While the journey of rediscovering my Korean identity has not been easy, it has been a meaningful and fulfilling experience that has improved my life in countless ways.
Conclusion
In conclusion, the story of losing connection with one’s ethnic identity and culture is a common experience for many transracial adoptees. It is a complex issue that requires a deeper understanding of the challenges and struggles that these individuals face in their everyday lives.
Transracial adoption can bring immense joy and love to both adoptive parents and children, but it also has its difficulties, particularly in maintaining the connection to one’s birth culture and community. The loss of identity and culture can result in feelings of isolation, loneliness, and confusion, which can have long-lasting effects on a person’s mental health and well-being.
It is essential for adoptive parents to support their children in learning about their heritage and culture, as well as provide them with opportunities to connect with their birth families and communities. This support can help transracial adoptees build a sense of belonging and pride in their cultural identity.
Overall, the importance of maintaining a connection with one’s ethnic identity and culture cannot be overstated. It is a fundamental aspect of a person’s identity, and every effort should be made to ensure that it is respected, valued, and celebrated.
