Eight Weeks Along
EIGHT WEEKS ALONG BY SUSANNA DRBAL Eight weeks. At eight weeks, in utero, I was…how big? I really don’t know. I do know that I didn’t yet have the gift of language. I didn’t yet have words to express myself; at that point, I couldn’t even kick so anyone would notice. I could cause nausea, I suppose. This particular eight weeks coincides with our collective rebirthing. We’re poking our heads
Losing and Gaining
LOSING AND GAINING BY WOO AE YI I am a forever searcher, so my journey is far from over. Just recently, I’ve experienced major revelations and cognitions about my own adoption story. Just today, I found the first person since 2001 who was genetically related enough to put on my birthfamily tree. But I’m still in mourning when I found out that the story I told myself of being unwanted
You’re Still You
YOU’RE STILL YOU BY ROXAN DRIMMER CHEN August 1973 Have you heard that song: “Ramblin Man”? – I heard it often during several unique summer nights. I recall that song singing about the greyhound bus where he was born. The Allman Brothers song would be gloriously blaring, only occasionally blurred by the soft and audible sensation of the swirling Summer wind, the scent of thick joints being passed by familiar
The Nothing Place
THE NOTHING PLACE BY JULIAN WASHIO-COLLETTE Recently my therapist, who is also an adoptee, and I made a breakthrough discovery. We discovered that we are nowhere, that we lack the most basic of attachment experiences that would tether us to this world. We call this The Nothing Place. This discovery is a lens that suddenly makes so much sense of my life. To exist in The Nothing Place is to
Buttercups and the Bear
BUTTERCUPS AND THE BEAR BY LORAH GERALD My husband and I rented a cabin in the mountains of North Carolina. I am familiar with these mountains. I grew up on the Tennessee side. I have noticed that when I am on the path that I am meant to take, abundances and synchronicities happen. This cabin was generously given to us to use for a visit to my birth father and
That Day in the Park
THAT DAY IN THE PARK BY CARMEN HINCKLEY During my adolescence, I did not give much thought to my adoption, how I became a part of my family, or whether I’d be interested in trying to find my birth family someday. My adoptive family was my entire world, or at least the lens through which I viewed the world, until I formed my own opinions as a young adult. I
LETTER FROM THE FACILITATORS
Featured in our inaugural issue of the Adoptee Voices Quarterly e-Zine, “In Between Places,” are those writers from the first session of the Adoptee Voices Writing Group who answered our call for submissions. Just as every adoptee experience is unique, so are these pieces, each one an eloquent expression of the writer’s journey toward healing and wholeness.
The first session of the Adoptees Voices Writing Group transcended all our expectations. We were humbled and honored at the commitment of the writers, their fearlessness in sharing their work, and their empathy and wisdom in giving feedback. We were awed by the power of their voices and the depth of commitment to the community.
In poetry, memoir, and creative nonfiction, the contributions unflinchingly explore the myriad facets of the adoptee experience. Above all, the pieces reflect resiliency: like the lotus, each one rises from the muck to blossom tall and proud.
We are proud to present these authentic, compelling stories that center the adoptee. Adoptee voices are on the rise. Let’s listen.
-Alice with Jennifer, Ridghaus, Sara