The Anniversary of Loss: Moving Through the Weight of Adoptee Birthdays

Soon after my first birthday

It has taken me two months to find the courage to write these words. 

My birthday passed recently, at the beginning of January. It was a very hard day; as most of my birthdays have been for as long as I can remember. Few people in my life know this truth, but there has always been a heaviness to these days of ‘celebration’ for me. When I was younger, I didn’t have the words or understanding to express or process why the marking of a new year of life was filled with so many conflicting emotions. I would often think that I didn’t like my birthday because it was frequently the first day back to school after winter break. Or that it was because I felt nobody wanted to celebrate a birthday at this time of year, because they were all tired, celebrated-out after the holidays and New Year’s Eve. In my own family my birthdays often felt like an afterthought: sometimes forgotten, or underwhelmingly noted with little fanfare.

I didn’t acknowledge that it was much deeper than an inconvenient time of year. Even when I did receive a lot of attention or celebration to mark my life, there remained a persistent sadness underneath it all. I didn’t fully understand the source of this sadness, but I know I felt bad about feeling bad on a day that everyone around me expected would be a ‘happy’ moment. 

Understanding the Adoptee Birthdays and Grief Connection

I know now that birthdays causing upset for adoptees is about as common as fire causing smoke. The word that best describes it for me these days is grief. Grief deeply felt in my body, and hard to process in my mind. And the experience is evolving, as my body and my mind also evolve, along this path through my adoption experience. At its core, I believe the grief of birthdays for adoptees is actually quite simple to understand. It is an annual reminder of the moment we entered this world, after being carried, nurtured, protected and birthed into this existence by the mothers we’ve lost. It is, for many of us, also the moment that first and most foundational relationship was taken from us. So of course, subconsciously or consciously,

birthdays are inevitably a reminder that the beginning of our existence is painfully and temporarily connected with the most profound of losses.

And all too often, we know very few details of the circumstances of this moment. So the pain of processing this loss is commonly exacerbated by the unknown. Questions we may never answer. Mysteries we may never solve. Is it any wonder, then, that we struggle to find balance and peace on this day? Doesn’t it actually make a lot of sense that singing a song, opening presents, eating cake at this moment — with everyone watching you and expecting your smile, your joy — might feel…really shitty? Or at least deeply confusing. 

Navigating Adoption Reunion and Physical Health

I want to feel joy on my birthday. I truly wish I could. But in recent years, I think my birthdays are actually getting harder. And it isn’t just emotional; it is also manifesting physically. Last year, for example, while on a wonderful getaway, I got flu-like symptoms – high fever, exhaustion etc. – on the eve of my birthday. Twenty four hours later, I was 100% fine again. I remember laying in bed that day, feeling mad at myself. People I loved had crafted a lovely weekend away for me. I was with dear family and friends, in a beautiful place, surrounded by nature, good food, great music. I knew it was going to be a hard emotional day, but why was my body falling apart? It felt unfair, and I was a little ashamed that I couldn’t ‘handle’ it. Then I opened a card from my sister, and read, 

“I wonder what it’s like for you to have a birthday now that you know your mamá?” 

I started weeping big, ugly tears. It was my first birthday since finding my birth mother in Colombia. It had been an immensely deep and challenging year. It was the first birthday since I knew my mother’s face. The sound of her voice. The first birthday since she told me that when I was born, she did not hold me in her arms because she felt that if she did, she would never have let me go. So she let me go. I am still carrying the weight of that truth. Knowing that the moment I was born was, in fact, the moment I lost her; lost my lineage, my culture, my language, my home, my family. She gave birth to me, but I had to wait more than 40 years to know what it feels like to be held by her. Recognizing this, and more importantly, having someone else recognize the significance of this on my birthday meant everything to me. 

Finding Healing Through Community and Connection

Another wonderful thing happened that day. I wrote to a group of adoptee friends, seeking community, commiseration, connection. I told them about feeling ill, my sister’s card, and asked for guidance. Here are some of the messages I received in response:

“Wow! How beautiful that your sister wrote you that…  ♥️I am available this afternoon if you want to talk, my sweet friend.♥️”

“Sending a big hug. Reunion was an emotional rollercoaster for me too…I can't predict what the process will be like for you…I’m glad you were born. I respect and admire how you have grown to be such a reflective, sensitive, lovely human.”

“[When] surrounded by people who want to celebrate how great you are, how happy they are to know you and be part of your life - especially if you lived as a compliant people pleaser - the dissonance is overwhelming.”

“Birthdays after reunion have been super hard…I’ve spent every birthday since with illness issues...The biggest suggestion I have is to walk towards the grief. The more you allow yourself to sink in and roll with the undertow, the more likely you are to find your footing.”

“I decided that my birthday will be whatever I want it to be. I get to be sad and mopey if I need to be…I’ve been in reunion since 2012 and am just now coming to a place of peace…”

These messages, filled with love, understanding, wisdom, and compassion have changed my life. I share them now, in the hopes that the insight I found in them may be of value to you too, in some way. 

This year, my birthday felt hard again. I experienced a deeply paradoxical longing for messages of love and acknowledgement from loved ones, and a powerful urge to avoid talking to or engaging with anyone. A simultaneous desire to be celebrated and disappear…My family was incredibly warm and understanding. They let me be, tears and all, and asked me what I wanted for my day. I just wanted to be sad. And to wrap my arms around my two kids. To be honest, I’ve felt a little messed up ever since. But when I think about it, I am reminded of a message I received this year from someone I love:

“I know this day comes with mixed feelings but I hope you can really land on the parts that are filled with joy, connection, and love.” 

This is what I hope for all adoptees on our birthdays. That our loved ones will:

1. Give us the space to go through whatever we need to go through on this day.

2. Express awareness of our grief, or understanding that our birthdays are connected to complex, confusing experiences.

3. Connect with us in ways that honor this complexity without expectation.

4. Provide gentle reminders of why our lives deserve to be celebrated.

5. Truly wish the best for us; even when things are hard.

Feeling seen and understood in this way without having to perform can feel so relieving. And then maybe, when we are ready, we can step back into the light of celebration on our own terms; ready to say ‘yes’ when a loved one offers a seat at the table, a shared song, or a favorite dessert.

If this reflection resonated with you, and you would like to talk or need any support. Please know I would be happy to hear from you. We heal through community. You can find me here or @shadesofbelonging on Instagram.