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MOUNTAINS AND MOLEHILLS
BROOKE'S STORY |
About Brooke
My story starts with a young teenager becoming a mom at the age of 15, welcoming me to the world on a fall October morning. She tried to take care of me, but the mix of motherhood and school quickly became too much for her. She ended up dropping me off at an acquaintance’s house, abandoning me to strangers when I was only a few months old. It was then that my grandparents took over guardianship.
My grandparents took care of me for the next three years. When I became preschool age, however, I started to understand that I was different. The kids at preschool would often tease me because a mom and dad never picked me up. My grandparents could see the negative effect my peers’ words had on me and naively asked me what I wanted. I told them I wanted a mom and a dad, the magnitude of the request, my little brain unable to comprehend.
The adoption process then began. I lived in a foster home for a short period of time, ending up back at my grandparents after the family threatened to cut off all contact with them. Then I was sent to a different family, and by the age of four, they were officially my mom and dad.
I didn’t understand adoption. I thought it was a long vacation and I would eventually end up with my grandparents again; I couldn’t grasp the permanency of the decision. I found myself in a new house, new family, new cousins, aunts and uncles. I was scared, anxious and confused.
I struggled to connect with my family, I couldn’t understand what it meant to attach and trust. We started going to therapy almost immediately and my parents worked with me to establish a basis of trust. I dealt with extreme anxiety, to the point where going to the grocery store was terrifying because I thought I would be taken away. I cried to go anywhere. It was a difficult transition, full of confusion, tears and a lot of patience.
When I was seven, my parents adopted again. This time, though, they didn’t adopt a four year old. They brought home a newborn baby girl. That’s when everything changed.
I was getting in trouble a lot, a mix of being the eldest child and the strictness of my mom and dad’s parenting style. I lived in fear and constantly yearned for approval. My parents controlled everything; what I ate, what I wore, who I hung out with. She counted fruit snacks and locked the pantry door. If I said something in the wrong tone, I would be lectured for longer than I could listen, expected to sit in silence and take my mom’s barraging comments. My dad didn’t stand up for me, even if my mom was in the wrong, calling me “girl” and telling me to listen to her. There was an expectation of perfection I could never meet. It was always, “you should have studied more, practiced longer, and tried harder." I wanted the “I’m proud of you” but it rarely seemed to come.
I started to realize things weren’t normal in high school. I noticed differences in the way my friends were treated and the freedoms they were granted. In conversations with them, one difference stuck out the most; I had been to the doctor more times than any of them combined. Both my sister and I had been to countless appointments, succumbing to various tests and procedures, the results being that we were healthy children. We were being used as pawns for my mom to gain sympathy from her friends and family.
College only increased the tension between my family and I. They threatened control with paying for tuition payments, telling me to give them my social media passwords or they would come and pack my dorm up and bring me home. They told me I had to go to counseling or they would not help pay for tuition. The threats were a stretch to try and maintain control.
We had an agreement that I would live on campus freshman and sophomore year and then live at home to save money, but after coming home for winter break during sophomore year, I knew I couldn’t hold onto that arrangement. I told my parents that my home environment was unhealthy and living there would not be good for anyone involved. I explained I would take out extra loans to help pay for school and continue to help out as much as possible to ease the burden of college costs.
They responded by completely cutting me off. They stopped helping financially, they called relatives and told them not to help me. They stopped letting me come home over breaks, and wouldn’t let me join in on family holidays. During my senior year, my dad came to my apartment and handed me a letter. The letter was devastating to me, it stated that I was to never contact them, see them, or interact with them again. They claimed they had no other choice, that I was toxic to their family. Their family.
I haven’t seen my mom in 10 years. I have seen my dad a handful of times at extended family events, but he rarely acknowledges my presence.
My experience with adoption wasn’t the best. I have more of a relationship with my birth family today than I do my adoptive one. I struggle with belonging and acceptance. I fight with trust and anxiety on a daily basis.
But, my story has given me the ability to understand and relate to so many emotions. I have chosen to use my story to help others and in the process I am able to heal as well. Each season of life brings its own challenges, but if adoption has taught me one thing, it’s that I am a fighter, and I never ever give up.
My grandparents took care of me for the next three years. When I became preschool age, however, I started to understand that I was different. The kids at preschool would often tease me because a mom and dad never picked me up. My grandparents could see the negative effect my peers’ words had on me and naively asked me what I wanted. I told them I wanted a mom and a dad, the magnitude of the request, my little brain unable to comprehend.
The adoption process then began. I lived in a foster home for a short period of time, ending up back at my grandparents after the family threatened to cut off all contact with them. Then I was sent to a different family, and by the age of four, they were officially my mom and dad.
I didn’t understand adoption. I thought it was a long vacation and I would eventually end up with my grandparents again; I couldn’t grasp the permanency of the decision. I found myself in a new house, new family, new cousins, aunts and uncles. I was scared, anxious and confused.
I struggled to connect with my family, I couldn’t understand what it meant to attach and trust. We started going to therapy almost immediately and my parents worked with me to establish a basis of trust. I dealt with extreme anxiety, to the point where going to the grocery store was terrifying because I thought I would be taken away. I cried to go anywhere. It was a difficult transition, full of confusion, tears and a lot of patience.
When I was seven, my parents adopted again. This time, though, they didn’t adopt a four year old. They brought home a newborn baby girl. That’s when everything changed.
I was getting in trouble a lot, a mix of being the eldest child and the strictness of my mom and dad’s parenting style. I lived in fear and constantly yearned for approval. My parents controlled everything; what I ate, what I wore, who I hung out with. She counted fruit snacks and locked the pantry door. If I said something in the wrong tone, I would be lectured for longer than I could listen, expected to sit in silence and take my mom’s barraging comments. My dad didn’t stand up for me, even if my mom was in the wrong, calling me “girl” and telling me to listen to her. There was an expectation of perfection I could never meet. It was always, “you should have studied more, practiced longer, and tried harder." I wanted the “I’m proud of you” but it rarely seemed to come.
I started to realize things weren’t normal in high school. I noticed differences in the way my friends were treated and the freedoms they were granted. In conversations with them, one difference stuck out the most; I had been to the doctor more times than any of them combined. Both my sister and I had been to countless appointments, succumbing to various tests and procedures, the results being that we were healthy children. We were being used as pawns for my mom to gain sympathy from her friends and family.
College only increased the tension between my family and I. They threatened control with paying for tuition payments, telling me to give them my social media passwords or they would come and pack my dorm up and bring me home. They told me I had to go to counseling or they would not help pay for tuition. The threats were a stretch to try and maintain control.
We had an agreement that I would live on campus freshman and sophomore year and then live at home to save money, but after coming home for winter break during sophomore year, I knew I couldn’t hold onto that arrangement. I told my parents that my home environment was unhealthy and living there would not be good for anyone involved. I explained I would take out extra loans to help pay for school and continue to help out as much as possible to ease the burden of college costs.
They responded by completely cutting me off. They stopped helping financially, they called relatives and told them not to help me. They stopped letting me come home over breaks, and wouldn’t let me join in on family holidays. During my senior year, my dad came to my apartment and handed me a letter. The letter was devastating to me, it stated that I was to never contact them, see them, or interact with them again. They claimed they had no other choice, that I was toxic to their family. Their family.
I haven’t seen my mom in 10 years. I have seen my dad a handful of times at extended family events, but he rarely acknowledges my presence.
My experience with adoption wasn’t the best. I have more of a relationship with my birth family today than I do my adoptive one. I struggle with belonging and acceptance. I fight with trust and anxiety on a daily basis.
But, my story has given me the ability to understand and relate to so many emotions. I have chosen to use my story to help others and in the process I am able to heal as well. Each season of life brings its own challenges, but if adoption has taught me one thing, it’s that I am a fighter, and I never ever give up.
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I HIGHLY reccomend that you all check out this blog. Brooke's words are extremely powerful and insightful. As a fellow adoptee, I have to make it known and stated that I look up to Brooke for her bravery. Her writings and again- insight have been an extremely instrumental part in why I was able to find my own courage. When people are not treated well, and have been through an extremely bad life situation, all to come out of it to stand tall and speak up & out about it... That is a person to be respected. This is Brooke O'Neill to me.
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