Over the past few days, two stories have emerged in the news about identical twins being separated at birth.

In a southern Ecuadorean town, it is claimed that a twin girl was stolen by one of the delivery doctors after a caesarian on an unsuspecting mother. The event took place fifteen years ago and would have remained hidden if not for the chance sighting of the second twin, Marielisa, at a restaurant. Marielisa’s appearance was identical to that of Andrea’s - the first twin - that the birth mother had no doubt they were related. When Marielisa was asked who her father was, she named one of the doctors who delivered Andrea.

On the other side of the world, a UK couple who adopted a Chinese baby from an orphanage were never told she had a twin sister. It was only when they proudly posted photos of their new daughter on the internet that a couple who had adopted her twin came forward, revealing the truth.

Both these stories have raised the emotionally charged question of whether twins who have been separated without consent through adoption, should be reunited.

In Marielisa’s case, the answer is not straightforward, as people might assume. Whilst her biological parents are pursuing a law suit to have their daughter returned to them and the doctors charged, Marielisa wants to stay where she is. She’s fifteen years old, has grown up within a loving adoptive family, and understandably, doesn’t want her life uprooted.
I can imagine the emotional turmoil Marielisa is experiencing. She suddenly finds out she has an identical twin sister, and that her parents are not her biological parents. Perhaps she was told she was adopted, so this might not be such an issue for her. But the mere fact of coming face to face with her biological parents would be enough to stir up feelings. There is also the assumption that because the girls are identical twins, that they will get on really well, despite having lived separate lives. Is this always the case with twins? Do they always share a strong bond? And how easy would it be to begin living with a family you don’t know, and be expected to slot into a firm relationship with a sister who looks just like you?

I also can imagine how terribly hard it would be for Marielisa’s biological parents to hold back, do nothing. From their viewpoint, they were wronged, had their baby stolen from them, had their daughter deprived of a sister. They want justice, and they want it now. And to hear that Marielisa wants them to stop the law suit, to leave well alone, would be very hurtful.

For the UK couple with the Chinese child, the same issue raises its head. They feel strongly that the girls should not be separated, that what happened was wrong. But they know they can’t just take the second twin off her adoptive parents. They can only hope that the two girls will form a relationship over time and maintain a connection. They were not allowed to visit the orphanage when they adopted their little girl, and now they know why, as they would have seen she had a twin.

This couple also lives in hope of having some contact with their daughter’s biological parents in the future. Whilst no records are kept for single children in orphanages, twins in China are seen as special. The UK couple hope this fact might lead to them tracking the biological parents one day, to let them know their girls are fine. You can read their story here

Both stories are very sad. The solution? With Marielisa’s adoptive parents claiming she was given away willingly by her biological mother, and her biological mother claiming she was stolen from her, there seems to be no chance for an amicable relationship. I can only hope that all parties get professional help from a counsellor in adoption, and from a mediator. In the UK couple’s case, there appears some hope that the twins will meet one another and have the chance to form a strong relationship with one another.

A recent comment from Kerri, aged 16 years, prompted me to raise two issues about adoption: firstly, the courage it takes to actually speak about thoughts and feelings related to adoption; and secondly, knowing where to find support from people who understand these issues.

Let me address the latter issue first. Kerri was surfing the net during school time, found one of my blogs on the difficulty of contacting birth parents, and had time to write just a few lines about her own adoption experience. What came through was her frustration in not being able to find places where she could share her thoughts and feelings with people in the same situation. She is only 16, has been contacted by and met her biological grandparents, but her birth mother is absent from the scene because she has schizophrenia. Dealing with all the emotions that come with meeting birth families is hard enough for anyone, let alone for someone as young as Kerri. And on top of that, she has to cope with having a birth mother who isn’t well.

It takes me back to the chapter in my book, ‘Beyond the Red Door’, where I tried to paint a picture of the incredible array of feelings I experienced when I met my birth mother - who made it clear she wanted no further contact - and then was contacted by my biological grandparents who were desperate to meet me. To someone who is not adopted, being accepted by your natural family shouldn’t cause any problems. But there is so much at stake. There is confusion about why one part of the family wants you while the other doesn’t, excitement at being accepted, disbelief that it will last, fear that your adoptive parents might feel rejected, and fear of being rejected because of course, it can’t be true.

If you don’t know where to go with all these feelings, who to talk to, you can feel very cut off from the world around you. There are support services out there, counselors and social workers who specialise in the field of adoption. Sometimes it may not be about how to find them as much as taking that step to trust another person with your deepest thoughts and fears.

Why is it so hard? Because you feel different. You feel as though you shouldn’t have the sort of feelings you do, that you shouldn’t want to know your natural family, know more about your background. You might feel disloyal and ungrateful to your adoptive parents. And if your adoptive parents have put up a barrier to you expressing your thoughts on adoption, it becomes even harder to talk about how you feel.

when you do find the right counselor or support group, the relief is enormous. That’s when you discover there is nothing wrong with how you are feeling, that it is perfectly natural.

I remember the day I finally got the courage to see an adoption counsellor because I could no longer handle being bombarded with images of my birth father in the media. At that stage, I hadn’t searched for him. I wanted the counsellor to give me some technique to stop the feelings I was having. I nearly fell off my chair when she said, “It’s perfectly natural for you to feel this way. Why don’t you consider contacting him?”. So I wasn’t some half crazed loser after all!

In thinking about where to find support, I’ve just stumbled across a new website that specialises in international and transracial adoptions for all sides of the adoption triangle. It looks pretty comprehensive and is promoting a documentary that is being made about the issues in transracial adoption. The film will follow American adoptive parents who go to China to meet their new daughter, and an adult Korean adoptee living with white parents whose adoptive mother is diagnosed with a brain tumour, which brings up new issues of abandonment. The film will also incorporate comments from professional counsellors and social workers on the issues brought up by all parties concerned.

You can view the site at Adopted, The Movie They are wanting more input from adoptees, have a blog and film clips to view.

Kerri’s comments have reminded me just how isolated adoptees can feel, especially during the teenage years when so many questions surface about who we are. I hope she finds someone to support her.

I just re-read my blog about Chapter 8 of ‘Beyond the Red Door’, and thought it might be useful to write about how hard it is to take the first step and contact a birth parent. More importantly, people outside of adoption may not understand why it is so difficult. And I invite your comments as well. This is just off the top of my head.

It takes a lot of courage to make that decision, the decision to search. What makes it a hard choice initially is society’s inherent attitude towards adoptees, that they should be grateful for being adopted. How could they possibly want more than what they had - loving parents who chose to take them on?

It’s not something I was ever openly told over and over, but it cropped up either as a direct comment, or as an implied one. It was enough to stop me from expressing my real feelings to my adoptive parents, even though they were not the instigators of these comments. I was lucky, then, that they were the ones to bring up the notion to find my roots when I turned eighteen.

But even with their blessing, their support and my need to discover who I was, reaching out to my birth parents was frightening. What if I was rejected again? Was I really not good enough? And what “right” did I have to “intrude” into their lives?

These words, “right” and “intrude” certainly plagued my life, tripping me up all the way along the search and reunion track. Again, I think the belief that I didn’t have the right to contact my natural family, that I mustn’t intrude and cause them any hurt, came from covert and overt messages all around me. It makes building and maintaining relationships in adoption very difficult.

I suppose it didn’t help that in both initial meetings with my birth parents, I got the “not interested” and “don’t believe we’re related” messages. If someone had asked me “what’s the worst thing that could happen?” when setting out to make contact, I think I would have given these answers. Not a good way to start a relationship, if given the choice, which I wasn’t by my natural mother.

Another barrier to making contact is the fear of an aggressive response by the natural parent about being “found”. And here I am reminded of the laws that unfairly prevent adoptees from discovering their true identities, that it is somehow the product of a “warped or crazed mind” to want to find our families of origin. Just as I am appalled that Aboriginal people weren’t granted citizenship in Australia until 1967, I shake my head in disbelief at the lack of human rights to people affected by adoption. But spare a thought for sperm donor children whose records don’t even exist, and who encounter the abrupt “no contact” response if they are lucky enough to have identifying information.

The reasons I’ve listed here relate to my experience. There are many more reasons why adoptees find it hard to make that first contact with a natural parent. I’d love to hear your own experiences, and I’m not forgetting the other parties to adoption either. Feel free to make your comments.

I said you’d need tissues for Chapter 7, and you’ll need them for Chapter 8 as well!

Get used to me saying that this was the hardest chapter to write, because I think the further I get into my story, the harder it was to write about things that happened to me.

So in this chapter, I take the big plunge and contact my natural father through a mediation agency. Straightforward? No, quite the opposite. Again with the tangle of emotions that I was carrying, together with a lack of understanding of the complex issues for all parties in the adoption triangle, I stumble into a reunion that just about knocks me out. I’d been blind (excuse the pun) to any signs that my natural father doubted our relationship, so when he threw me this curved ball, I wasn’t ready for it.

Months go by with very little communication, letters that go unanswered, questions hanging. Finally, the DNA tests are done, and our relationship is proven. In all this, my adoptive parents stood by me, as solid as rocks.

Does it get easier then, yu ask? No, it doesn’t. And you’ll have to read the chapter to find out what happens.

Well, this is one of the most emotional chapters. It’s where adoption and its tangled web finally surface.

The chapter starts with my parents revealing the names of my natural parents to me on my 18th birthday. I am shocked by who my natural father is, because he’s well-known for one thing, and because I’ve always been fascinated by him, following him through the media, wanting to know all about him and the family. But he’s out of reach, and I have to stuff down my feelings yet again.

During my search and reunion with my natural mother, I discover a multitude of issues related to adoption that I’d never considered, and I’m exposed to a myriad of emotions and feelings. It was a reunion I’ll never forget, because it didn’t go the way I’d expected. It is the one and only reunion I would have with my natural mother.

The secrecy behind adoption crops up again and again, causing me so much hurt and pain.

After the painful meeting with my natural mother and a long period of struggling with my feelings, I decide to search for my natural father, because I’ll go crazy if I don’t fill in the whole picture.

You might need tissues to read this chapter.

When I look back on this chapter, I can see I was on the verge of the adoption identity crisis.

In my early twenties, I had moved out of home, found a great job and friends, and gone to university. But underneath it all, I was very very lonely. And I didn’t understand why.

Things were starting to go wrong, and the feeling that I was running out of time was very strong. With deteriorating eye sight and a grandmother very ill in hospital, I decided it was time to travel by myself before it was too late.

You can find out what happened in my book.

I’ve given Chapter Four of ‘Beyond the Red Door’ the title of Invisible Scars. In this chapter, I describe my struggles with that difficult time we all go through - adolescence.
Just being a teenager is hard enough to survive with the emphasis on fitting in, looking good, and knowing yourself. Add to that the extra pressures of having a disability, which immediately sets you apart from the rest, and being adopted and without a solid foundation to fall back on.
These were the issues I had to deal with as a teenager going through high school. In my transition to high school, I lost the strong and confident qualities I had as a child. It was as though they had been sucked away from me. I was left with low self-esteem, no confidence and no idea of who I really was. My adoption issues came to the fore without any prompting, making me feel different because I didn’t know anything about my past. And this was on top of feeling different because I was vision impaired.
At this time, too, the long term effects of the radiotherapy I had as a baby started to show themselves. This meant frightening vision changes, many treatments and surgery with an uncertain result.
How do kids ride the rough times in adolescence? The answer to this depends on a lot of things. Read how I survived the bullying and teasing and depression I suffered in my teenage years.
Looking back now, I can see how I built my resilience. With this knowledge, I hope to help teenagers today to build their own resilience and survive adolescence.

I promised I’d give an outline of each chapter in the book, so let’s continue.
You find out about the red door in chapter three of ‘Beyond the Red Door’.
I met the red door when I was about eight years old. I’d just been transferred to a school for the blind to learn braille, because the doctors thought I’d go blind very early on in my life. The first thing I saw at the school was this red door. It spoke of a warning to me, indicated somehow that the route I wanted to take in life was barred. It was a challenge.
And I took up the challenge. That’s where the rebel in me came out, where I learned to stand up for myself and maintain my identity. I wasn’t about to change who I was and no-one could tell me otherwise.
It was during this time that I discovered that I could only see out of one eye. Before that, nothing had fazed me. But realising that half my world was ‘missing’ came as a huge shock. Why did this happen? Purely because I was at this school and had been told that I was there because I couldn’t see very well, that I was legally blind.
It’s one of those sad ‘we know best’ stories that are dotted throughout history, the well-meaning experts who actually can cause more harm than good. As a child, I could only do what was within my powers to survive. What lay ahead was beyond my control.