Where There Is Love
A blog by Shania for the LGBTQIA+ and Adopted series.
Trigger Warning: Eating Disorder
Growing up, I had a crush on pretty much every boy I encountered. They were all future husbands with whom I would have kids and live happily ever after.
That’s pretty much all I wanted, a husband and a baby. Looking back now, I realise that what I was truly searching for was a place to fit in.
My birth mother struggled with drug dependency, so I was fostered very young. At the start of my life, I went back and forth between my birth mother and the family that I would later call my own. I was adopted at the age of 4. I grew up in such a loving understanding family. My mum and dad were foster parents with the aim of family preservation. Their home was a safe space for children to go whilst their parents got themselves back on track. My mum and dad always believed that I should go back to my birth family, but when social workers told them that if they didn’t adopt me, no one probably would and I’d end up in a range of potentially dangerous children’s homes, they agreed. My parents, with no information about trauma, seemed to understand the effects of the trauma I had and would go through before I did.
I always knew I was adopted. My mum and dad made a huge effort to incorporate my birth family into our lives, telling me all they knew, sending them letters and showing me pictures. But even at such a young age, I was conflicted. Torn. It was so difficult. I had such an amazing family who were my own, however, I felt loyalty to a family that my mind couldn’t remember, but my body could. I subconsciously had to choose. I chose neither. I chose isolation, nothingness, numbness, and void. Throughout my childhood, I somehow found a way to be in my family, but emotionally exclude myself. Attachment was dangerous, it’s crazy how such a young child could feel this, but I did. No child or human for that matter can live without connection or comfort, so I found it in other ways.
Food and men. If I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’d still be alive if it wasn’t for either.
I remember being around 7 years old and feeling a wave of intense anger or loss if my plate of food felt “small”. I remember my first ever binge, the penguin biscuits, the comfort, the shame, the start of my eating disorder. For years food helped me cope with the intense emotions I was feeling. Or rather, I didn’t feel them, because I had my eating disorder. I strongly believe it saved me on many occasions, even though it killed my joy.
My other saviour was men. From a very early age, I used the validation of men as a coping mechanism. I thought I loved them. I thought I loved the idea of a husband and a baby. But looking back, I can’t remember any of them. I spent years thinking that they were using me, when in fact I was using them. From my pre-teens until around a year ago, I felt empty if I wasn’t talking to a man. They were my lifeline. Now that I understand what co-dependency is, it makes a lot of sense. I wasn’t myself without a man, but I’d never been without one, so I’d never truly found/developed myself. I was a void, well I thought I was a void.
I loved men, but I now realise I never liked them. Every single one of them had something wrong with them. He was too loud, but so and so was too quiet. Whatshisname had a weird walk and John Doe was too boring and “really needed a mother instead of a girlfriend”. I was so harsh on these men, but I WAS THE PROBLEM. (I mean some of them were the problem too, but hey…).
The reason I didn’t feel an emotional connection with any man I was with was because I’m queer.
Growing up, I was never attracted to women. This may have been one of the things that kept me in denial for so long. But looking back there were signs, they were small, but they were there. When I moved to London in 2018, I found myself in a multicultural environment for the first time and walking through the street it hit me.
I was definitely not straight.
I left it for a while and didn’t think about it. It didn’t bother me, I convinced myself that I’d probably marry a man, I couldn’t live without them after all. A year or so later I entered therapy for the trauma caused by my adoption. I found myself coming out of the fog a lot more, but I also came out of the fog in terms of men and male validation. I wasn’t fulfilled. I spent so much energy trying to maintain relationships and situationships I didn’t really want. I was spending so much time on everything but myself. So, I slowly built up the courage to go cold turkey. I was slowly recognising my worth, so the relationships being presented were less and less appealing. I focused on myself.
Honestly, it wasn’t beautiful. The world tells us to focus on ourselves and learn to love ourselves. It’s painted as a wonderful joyful thing, but I truly struggled. I was letting go of the two things I thought were keeping me alive: my eating disorder and men. I was dissociating a lot less and feeling my feelings a lot more, it felt terrible. I was shedding my skin and I didn’t like it. I felt so alone, but with the help and support of my therapist, I stuck with it. I’m so proud of that.
Decentring male validation from my life changed it completely. After a while, I tried texting with a guy, and I felt nothing. I didn’t need validation from anyone else, I was starting to find/create myself and I loved it. Dissociating less meant that I was feeling emotions so much more. I had lower lows and higher highs. I was still struggling, but I was more sure of myself. I didn’t really need a partner.
But then I fell in love.
She made me feel emotions I never knew existed. Weak and strong at the same time. I was petrified, out of control, my heart was hers to break. I’d never been in that position. I’d never been vulnerable. I’d never felt such a deep connection. Everything made sense.
Now when I look back, I realise that the trauma caused by my adoption made me focus so strongly on using male validation as a coping strategy, that I was blind to the fact that I’m not emotionally/spiritually attracted to them. I thought I loved them, but I was projecting, I was in control. I’ve learnt that where there is love there is no control.