Packing as an adoptee

When it come to packing and moving for an adoptee.

Let’s just say? I used to pack like I would never come back because one never knows when ones assignment might change. Who knows? These lovely people might change their minds too? They might loose their minds too and send me to come one else?

It’s much like being a clean prostitute. People need my services evidently? I’ve always got to be ready to be left.

Somewhere? My adopted parents used to tease me about packing so much to go anywhere. They didn’t know why? I was so professional about it all? They thought us was just so cute. I knew it was an affect of adoption. WAs I gonna stop? Was I gonna be like the kept kids that always came and asked me what time it was? Or if they could have some toothpaste? Nope.

Adoption made me into some kind of mobile home base on steroids. Bandages. Blow dryers. Makeup. Lights camera actions! Welcome. To Bees empodium in a box called a suitcase. The one man show off no body know why? Cuz I did not know if I’d get left again. Just a little undercurrent flowing there. No worries. Mamas actions made me prepare for take off forever.





I was on high alert for being left again. All day. All night. High alerts were going on inside of me. That’s just how my world looked to me.

Belinda O time they called me at one camp. Because I had a watch and could tell time well. Time to eat. Time to sleep. Time to play the quiet game and Time to go. always. Prepared for the other shoe. To drop.

Adoptee learn early about these things and as a child I had to work it all out. But still stay prepared. I always had extra. And I always shared with the kept ones that didn’t need to be like me and who forgot stuff they needed cuz they did not worry about being left.

Yes. It’s a bit stressful. Being adopted. Growing up wondering about why your own Mama didn’t want you and also wondering why the new parents do and will they stay that way?

And as it turns out one did leave? My A father left us when I was 11. And then I was sent to camp. I’m pretty sure Mama Jean didn’t even consider that leaving me at camp would be a bit stressful? Would she come back for me? Or would this be a new beginning? Again for me?

It’s so weird looking back now? The last camp I went to was after the divorce. And at that last camp I had a good friend named Linda. You can maybe see how I can say me and Mama are connected? Even before I consciously knew her name? A person with her name befriended me at church camp? So strange. Yet comforting to me.

I wonder if Mama felt it? My turmoil? I’d lost uncle John to suicide, last my a father to Johns wife? Almost lost both my A parents in a plane accident? Then? Got sent to camp? That’s a lot of loss in a three years span? And then add to it the loss from birth. Such a lovely cocktail to grow up inside your head where no one seemed to see all the ingredients mixing together.

Obviously? I did not get left at camp. But At the time? In the back of my mind it was always a possibility. I was not going to be caught off guard. Again.

And this habit I guess people call it just kept going on. Adoption hid a lot of my habits. People could see why? And people just thought it was cute. But feeling unsettled was part of my life now. Thanks to adoption nothing felt permanent.

People leave. People die. People die and don’t die. People will change their minds. People. Are not stable. And I would be the therapist on duty helping myself work it all out to build trust again. Why? Would I trust people other then myself I ask? And why would I trust my own Mama? Ever. Again?

But I would try. If god gave me the chance to have her again in my life. But she would need to know all my buttons. And she would need to know my buttons are like her buttons. We would need to get to know each other’s buttons and what each buttons came from and was for.

Tearing down a fake construct is work. You’re already in but your mama thinks your out? It’s weird trying to conscience your own Mama it’s ok we will work it out when she’s been stuck like chuck with the bed she made and you’re bringing her a new one?


I am an Adapted, artist, Mother, a soul, a human, singer, writer, activist, minister and deprogrammer and reprogrammer of minds. And I am here because we need to change how you see it, a lot of things that is. For us Adoptees who have lived in the dark. We were cut off from our families. And that is sad people.

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