Originally published in The New Yorker in April, the extraordinary piece profiles three adoptees who have come out of “the fog,” or the denial of the trauma of being adopted. Not all adoptees have mixed or negative emotions, but many do.
They seek their birth parents but are lied to; they can’t obtain their original birth certificates; they’re told they should be happy they’re adopted when their feelings are complicated; they find the adoption system corrupt; they feel like they’re living a double life, estranged from the person they really are.
By focusing on the lives of Deanna, Joy, and Angela, the article also discusses the history and problems of three categories of adoption: invisible (or closed) adoptions, transracial adoptions, and international adoptions.
Author Larissa MacFarquhar writes:
“Coming out of the fog” means different things to different adoptees. It can mean realizing that the obscure, intermittent unhappiness or bewilderment you have felt since childhood is not a personality trait but something shared by others who are adopted. It can mean realizing that you were a good, hardworking child partly out of a need to prove that your parents were right to choose you, or a sense that it was your job to make your parents happy, or a fear that if you weren’t good your parents would give you away, like the first ones did. It can mean coming to feel that not knowing anything about the people whose bodies made yours is strange and disturbing. It can mean seeing that you and your parents were brought together not only by choice or Providence but by a vast, powerful, opaque system with its own history and purposes. Those who have come out of the fog say that doing so is not just disorienting but painful, and many think back longingly to the time before they had such thoughts.
Some adoptees dislike the idea of the fog, because it suggests that an adoptee who doesn’t feel the way that out-of-the-fog adoptees do must be deluded. And it’s true; many out-of-the-fog adoptees do believe that. They point out that a person can feel fine about their adoption for most of their life and then some event—pregnancy, the death of a parent—will reveal to them that they were not fine at all. But there are many others who reject this—who aren’t interested in searching for their birth parents, and think about their adoption only rarely in the course of their life.
I loved this article for many reasons. One was how much I learned. Though I have many friends who are adoptees and adoptive parents, and though I have tried to understand their experiences, I’ve remained fairly ignorant of the pain that some of them have suffered. Another reason was Ms. MacFarquhar’s compelling prose. The piece is long, but I was riveted from beginning to end because the author holds Deanna, Joy, and Angela with compassion and tells their stories directly. There’s no fluff. Every sentence is about honoring their lives and experiences.
By Larissa MacFarquhar • The New Yorker • 71 mins
Our interview with Larissa MacFarquhar
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“The human brain,” Phyllis Beckman writes, “weighs approximately three pounds, resembles nothing so much as a shelled walnut, and is the texture, one neurosurgeon tells us, of soft tofu.” Yet our brains hold our memories, they direct our activities, they tell us when when to eat and sleep, they help us dream.
The love we experience in our lives, as well as the pain and sorrow, comes not from our hearts, Ms. Beckman reminds us, but rather from our brains.
This exquisitely written piece, a moving braided essay, explores the meaning of consciousness, the question of free will, and the mystery of chance.
One moment, Ms. Beckman and her husband, the love of her life, are enjoying a summer meal together — beef kabobs on the grill, yellow bell peppers, cherry tomatoes. The next moment, she notices something off. She says to her husband, “Your left pupil is dilated.”
By Phyllis Beckman • True Story • 31 min
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