The Prison Within: Understanding Adoption Trauma

Trauma comes in many forms, but adoption trauma is often complex and long-lasting. So how can adoptees break free from its bonds?

Photo credit:Ye Jinghan on Unsplash

My older brother Daniel recently invited me to dinner with him. We don’t get to see each other often, so I always prioritize spending time with him whenever he extends an invitation. I drove for an hour to our dinner location, but once I arrived there was no hostess to greet me, nor was I immediately seated. Instead, I checked in at the front desk with the receptionist, who checked my ID. I then passed through a security x-ray screening before standing in line with the other dinner guests. The “restaurant” was in fact the state penitentiary, where my brother Daniel has been incarcerated for the past eleven years. He is a member of the Asian Pacific Family Club (APFC), an organization formed within the prison for inmates of Asian and Pacific Islander heritage. Every few months or so, the club hosts dinners for inmates and their family or friends.

Along with the other dinner guests, I passed through a couple security gates before entering the dining area, the clang of the metal gates closing echoed behind me. The room resembles a cafeteria, with individual tables and chairs that are arranged around the room. I spotted Daniel amidst the crowd and we embraced in a long, warm hug. He is taller than the average Asian male and has a muscular build from his daily workouts, but his weary expression bears the years and toll of the harsh realities of prison life. Daniel is one of my four adopted siblings. He was adopted at age three from South Korea, and I was adopted at age five. Being just three years apart, we have always been close.

Thankfully, prison food is not on the menu at these APFC dinners, and meals are provided by local restaurants. Daniel and I waited our turn in line and were handed platters of barbecued ribs and chicken, rice, and a traditional pickled Korean dish called kimchi. We sat down at a table and began catching up on each other’s lives; he has been taking educational courses and wants to open a drug rehab and counseling facility after his release. Given his past heroin addiction and current eighteen-year sentence for drug dealing, his new aspirations and desire to learn are inspiring. Sometimes, Daniel and I have so much to talk about during our visits that I have to remind him to eat.

"There are many complex moments that arise from adoption, because adoption, at its core, begins with brokenness." (Source: adoption.net)

After dessert and a brief awards ceremony, Daniel introduced me to two fellow Korean adoptees in the room—an inmate named Bobby, who was also serving a sentence for drug dealing, and a woman named Raquel, who volunteered at the prison and was going through a divorce. As we chatted, I learned that Bobby’s birth father had been physically abusive, causing his birth mother and seven of his siblings to flee the home. He eventually ran away too, leaving his baby brother, who was still in diapers, behind. Bobby was later adopted when he was nine-years-old, but he admitted he still carries a profound sense of guilt for abandoning his brother.

As I looked around at our unexpected gathering of adoptees—a divorcee, two inmates with troubled pasts, and myself, a writer in the midst of publishing a book about my own adoption experiences—I couldn't help wondering how deeply adoption trauma had shaped the course of our lives. Although not the official definition, I describe adoption trauma as the lasting emotional distress one experiences after adoption, such as abandonment, grief and loss. The Miriam-Webster Dictionary states that "Trauma is the Greek word for ‘wound’. Although the Greeks used the term only for physical injuries, nowadays trauma is just as likely to refer to emotional wounds."(Source: Miriam-Webster.com)

I could relate to Bobby's story, having been adopted at an older age and sharing similar backgrounds of family abandonment and abuse. I also empathized with Raquel and her crumbling marriage. From my own personal experience, I understood all too well how the scars of our adoptions can affect our ability to maintain relationships. It wasn’t until years later that I came to realize how those early traumas manifested in my life in unexpected ways. In fact, I had recently learned there is even a term in the adoption community that describes this moment of awareness, known as “coming out of the fog.” 

It once again struck me how adoption trauma remains obscured, despite its profound influence on our identities and experiences. While there are many adoption books out there written by parents and professionals, stories from actual adoptees are far less common. Why is this? Perhaps it is because adoptees have historically been marginalized, conditioned to be grateful for our adoptions, and encouraged to suppress our roots and traumas. Many of us fear voicing our adoption experiences, due to the potential of further rejection or hurting our adoptive families. These are the very challenges I have faced when writing my book, and I still continue to suppress my fears of criticism and rejection.

However, I have also learned that acknowledging our trauma and understanding how it can sometimes confine us is the first step to casting off those bonds. This is not limited to adoptees, but anyone who has ever experienced trauma such as the death of a loved one, neglect or abuse, or even physical trauma. By openly discussing and sharing our feelings with others, we further liberate ourselves from the weight of our burdens, and can begin the path to healing. As our dinner group continued to discuss the complexities of our adoptions and identities, I recognized both brokenness and beauty in our shared experiences. Before we parted ways, Bobby announced to everyone he was set to be released in a month. I couldn’t be any happier for him, and his impending freedom served as a powerful reminder that it is never too late to break free from the past and begin anew.

Names have been changed to maintain individuals' privacy.

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