Making Skeletons Dance

We all have a “ Story “, certain events and experiences that shape our future, define our present and help anchor us to the world in which we live. Our past is the foundation upon which we build our future and we cannot escape our past just as we cannot escape our shadow on a sunny day.  As a social work student who is developing into a social worker, I am beginning to find my inner strength and my voice and it is time to begin the process of sharing my story, with the sincere hope that in the end it can help other people.

I was adopted when I was 1 day old. My childhood can best be described as “ The little shop of horrors “. I have the name of my birth mother and some of her story. She was a young college co-ed who decided adoption was a better alternative than abortion. I have never met this woman nor have I had a sincere desire to. My adoptive family had a natural son who was seven years my senior. My adoptive Mother was a very caring woman who tried to nurture me. My adoptive Father was emotionally distant and unapproachable. I knew growing up that I was different and didn’t fit in with this family. At age nine they sat me down and told me I was adopted. I began to act out and display a lot of behavioral issues. I remember trying to reconcile two opposing thoughts: on one side, I kept thinking “ What could possibly be wrong with me that my own birth Mother could give me away for adoption? And on the other side of my developing mind I thought that my adoptive family had taken me away from my birth mother….

Full Story @


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