Blood Is Thicker Than Water (1986)

“Obviously your mum can’t love you as much as mine loves me”. A simultaneous slap in the face and punch in the guts. One of my best friends had casually destroyed me. Too angry to think, I blurt out “Why do you say that?” “Because there’s no blood connection he simply replies as though it was the most obvious thing in the world”. Lost in fear and rage I ranted that he was talking bollocks. But the damage had been done.

I had grown up feeling proud and grateful to be adopted. I just couldn’t see any down sides. I was chosen by my family; I was adjudicated on by a proper judge; I was special. This was my belief, my mantra, my identity. In that one simple statement my friend had punctured the veneer. It was a slow puncture; at the time he said it I was way too defensive to be curious or open to the possibility. What I can see now, but was blind to then, is the kernel of truth contained within the case of a casual comment disguised as an insult.

The puncture was so slow that it has taken me thirty years to notice. But it’s impact subconsciously was much faster. Within one year I had found my name and my records and within three I had traced my birth mother.

“Obviously your mum can’t love you as much as mine loves me”. It still stings to remember that moment. My adoptive mum loved me with all her heart, to the extent that I could feel suffocated by that love. Whatever was missing was not her dedication and commitment to loving me. No, what hurts was that I hadn’t experienced what my friend was describing (and I still haven’t). How it feels to be able to say that statement confidently and casually as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. A connection formed in the womb, nurtured in the crib and somehow working at a different level to anything I could know.

No matter how much work I do on my healing, and how many stories I read of other adopted people I don’t feel able to describe what I’m missing. Sure, I can understand it intellectually, but I can’t feel it; can’t know it.

“Obviously your mum can’t love you as much as mine loves me”. Was this the day I first had an inkling that I might be damaged goods and not the hero I had created?