I had a speaking engagement about a year ago that was a disaster the minute I walked into the room. I didn’t know it’d be a disaster until about five minutes in but I should have known because of the way the room was set up. I was behind a sizable barrier, which made it difficult to feel “in touch” with my audience and the attendees were wrung out from a long day and most of them sat in the back of the room adding more of a barrier. Because my presentation was more touchie-feelie than straight information, it made for a lousy dynamic. I heard nothing but crickets when I’d ask for audience participation and had to do more of a song and dance than usual to get people to talk. I remember midway through the presentation wanting to just STOP and give in.
“Forget it,” I imagined saying, unplugging my laptop. “I’m outta here.”
I’d escape. Run down the steps and to my car before anyone had time to stop me. I’d go home and climb into bed, pull my covers up over my head and tell my husband to hold my calls.
Of course you can’t run; you have to get through it. And so I waded through the morass that my talk had become, pumping as much cheer as I could into my delivery and by the end of the limping, tired workshop, I actually got some encouraging feedback from the audience.
I’ve had disastrous interviews. I’ve gotten rejected by editors. I’ve stood alone, petrified by nerves at networking events. I’ve put myself out there and then, defeated, reeled myself back in. I’ve stood in front of audiences, mind blank and wondering what I was going to say before my memory kicked in. I’ve cracked jokes that fell flat to a room full of expectant faces. I’ve watched people’s eyes glaze over and scrambled to bring them back.
Oh I’ve failed, yes I have. But the more you fail, the easier failure gets. It’s true.
That disastrous speaking engagement, it was an hour in purgatory. As soon as I realized that it was not going to go well I thought of all the stand-up comedians who bomb. And most of them do indeed bomb. Even the great ones have off nights. I knew that the price of speaking in public, which I like to do, means sometimes having it go really really poorly. My stomach dropped into my shoes and my sense of time stalled and drew the hour out like taffy and I felt slightly outside of myself the way you do when you realize you’re falling or the car is crashing or some other disaster is impending. It was a nightmare happening in real time and for a second or two I lost my nerve and fought back tears. But at the same time I had some presence of mind behind my eyes that very calmly said, “Well, there’s no way to get to the end of it but to get through it.” Which is when I gave up my fright to flight instinct and settled down to trudge through the rest of my talk.
When it was over I felt exhausted and relieved. It was over. I had bombed and I was on the other side.
The next time (and thank goodness there’s been only one more time and that was a tech disaster that wasn’t of my own doing) a talk went poorly, I felt that same sinking then lifting and again I knew that the other side was right there if I’d just swim to it.
It’s just like the first time an editor said no. And the first time I got a terrible, nasty email from someone who read one of my essays and hated it.
It’s like the first time getting dumped or having a friend blow you off. It happens and you survive. But meanwhile you have whatever happened before. You have that first kiss. You have that heart-to-heart with a friend who gets you. You have that hope when you hit “send” on a submission. And then, too, you have those great times when it goes well.
I’m telling you this to say that if you’re thinking about trying something (writing, submitting, networking, etc.) but are feeling too scared to take that leap, leap anyway. It’s all right to be terrified but make the leap anyway. You might fail. You might bomb. But you also might have a really great time and you will definitely learn something about yourself.
A version of this post originally appeared on my now defunct personal blog, this woman’s work.
I wanted to write a little bit about the process of writing that Brain Child disruption article. It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve written something this reported that wasn’t straight service and I loved writing it even though it was hard and I had a lot of adoption-related nightmares while I was writing it. This is very long so I’m putting it all below the cut (I also don’t have time to edit so forgive any stupidity on my part) but I thought other writers might be interested in this. This was my query letter, which I pitched in December:
By now you’ve surely heard about Anita Teldadi who wrote a Motherlode blog about giving up her adopted son away after failing to bond with him. The letters section, naturally, exploded. Was Anita a brave mother willing to face up to her limitations and give her son a better life? Or was she a selfish woman who threw away a baby for not fitting in to her family? Anita has since appeared on Today defending her decision while in the background her essays about adoption (including one critical of another disrupted family and another celebrating her son’s arrival) have been quietly scrubbed off the internet.
Disrupted adoptions are the dirty underbelly of adoption. According to a 2004 article published by the Child Welfare Information Gateway, disruptions may end up to 25% of adoptions but these numbers are hard to come by. International adoptions sometimes disrupt before the child ever leaves his or her home country and some disrupt before the adoption is finalized back at home. There are agencies that specialize in “re-placing” adopted children into new families and an underground network of desperate parents sometimes move children into new families on their own.
How does this happen? Whose fault is it?
I’m proposing an article digging deeper into adoption disruptions to get a better understanding of how they come about, how they can be prevented and what happens to those re-homed children. I will speak with Adam Pertman, author of Adoption Nation and head of Evan B. Donaldson adoption institute think tank as well as Sharon Roszia director of the kinship center in LA. I will also talk to adult adoptee activists like Jae Ran Kim, a social worker as well as a contributor to Outsiders Within: Writers on Transracial Adoption and an adult international adoptee. I will also speak with parents who have disrupted their children’s adoptions and those parents who have adopted “re-placed” children. While I will use Anita’s story to introduce the topic, I will look beyond one family’s story to get a better understanding disruption in general and what it has to say about our cultural experience of adoption.
I will write this from the point of view of an adoptive mother who is willing to confront the “as if born to” myth. Can we love adopted children “just the same” as our bio kids? Do these heavy expectations make it harder when the going gets tough? How can we better serve the kids we take into our collective homes?
Note that I did NOT end up talking to Adam Pertman or Sharon Roszia. Usually I put “experts like” to give me an out but I didn’t this time although I did with Jae Ran because I was less sure if I’d be able to interview her. I knew I could interview Sharon because I have before and I figured I’d be able to interview Adam because the Evan B. Donaldson people have actual paid PR workers to make sure that he gets interviewed. The reason I didn’t speak with them is that the more I thought about what I wanted to do, the more I wanted to talk to other people. I also ended up not writing as much about what happens to kids AFTER. But the gist of it — the “as if born to” myth and how it might contribute to disruption — stayed in the piece. I also ended up writing a piece that was less judgmental than I thought it would be because when I talked to families who disrupted, I understood their decision.
At first I wanted to talk to families locally because I hoped to visit them. I imagined sitting with them on their couches and maybe even looking at pictures of the children they had adopted and then surrendered. But the people I spoke with here were very very wary. They were in a lot of pain and understandably defensive. I clung to the idea of getting someone local for way too long and then I ended up kind of scrambling. Carol agreed to talk with me right away but then our emails crossed or I mislabeled one so I thought I wasn’t hearing from her and I put her aside as an interviewee. I found someone else willing to be interviewed, which was a relief but I was getting worried. I knew I needed a strong central story that would humanize the issues and I knew I needed it soon because I couldn’t really do my expert interviews without some of what would end up in print in mind. I also reached out to Anita Teldadi herself through several avenues because it’s clear she wasn’t telling the whole story and I thought what the heck, why not see if she’d talk to me. (She never responded to any of my pleas.) Then I connected with Tiruba and started interviewing experts so then I had a sort of weak disruption story (the mother willing to speak with me was very very very guarded and after our initial phone call, it was hard to get more info) and Tiruba’s story and some ideas but it wasn’t going to be that great. I tried to make it work as a post-disruption piece but my editor (rightly) said no, that would undermine the central thesis (the “as if born to” myth) so I reached out to Carol again hoping she wasn’t blowing me off. And she wasn’t. Oh my how she wasn’t.
You can see how much Carol’s sharing shaped the whole article and you can also see how brave her sharing was. Some of you will recognize her because you already follow her story (she’s ok with that — she just didn’t want to be all that google-able). Carol knows what people have said about her and she doesn’t care really (or if she cares, she doesn’t let that stop her). She sees herself as an advocate for parents and for kids who need more than their parents can give them. There is SO MUCH she shared that didn’t end up in the article but that is extremely important like how she went back to the agency to try to get them to see what they needed to do to better serve those children and their wannabe adoptive parents. Like reaching out to other families using the agency, like her willingness to criticize her own decisions so that she can help other parents learn from her mistakes.
Carol’s voice was a huge, huge benefit to the article and to me not just because she was willing to talk about her son’s adoption and dissolution. Her interview also highlighted so much of what Tiruba was saying to me and I felt incredibly lucky to have their complementary stories. Then Patty (who my editor found for me) gave me a wonderful interview that really showed someone in the thick of it and spoke compellingly of the difference post-adoption support could make for a threatened family. She was also the one who really helped me understand how flexible parents need to be in their definition of what it means to be a parent. When she talked about not being able to cuddle on the couch to read to her son, I GOT it. I got how much missing those small rewards could chip away at a parent’s ability to stay committed. And it fit my thesis, too, because it spoke to the need for preparation and it also, I felt, highlighted why some parents whose children aren’t struggling as much as Carol’s and Patty’s and Tiruba’s might want to re-home them.
I couldn’t find any parent who didn’t have truly compelling reasons for disruption. Every single parent I spoke to whether they ended up letting me interview them or not told me about extreme violence towards themselves or other children in the family that preceded the adoption. I asked every expert I spoke with about the idea of a parent who disrupted an adoption because they were simply tired of the kid and none of them had a story that matched this although some had stories (Arleta and Katie) that were less extreme. I tried to contact some of the “therapy” camps (the ones that purport to treat kids with horseback riding and camping trips) but I’d reach out and then not hear back. I also got some very few quotes from the woman who works for a law practice that disrupts adoptions and does re-adoptions. I was really really really annoyed that she wouldn’t let me use her name because it’s not like they operate anonymously and also because if I could have used her name, I could have added some backstory but without her name, the backstory would have potentially taken up too much time in the piece. (I can tell you this without threatening her anonymity: She used to be involved with an adoption agency. This agency did the kinds of things the article criticizes. So as happy as she is to condemn parents who disrupt, she does not seem willing to consider her own complicity in this. Argh.)
Anyway. I felt good. I turned in the piece for edits. Note: I also did something I never ever ever do. I gave the unedited but mostly finished piece to the families I interviewed. I never do this for obvious reasons — sources don’t get to dictate how the story goes. But I did it this time because the people I interviewed were putting so much trust in me to tell their very sensitive stories. I wanted to be sure I was doing right by them. I wanted them to understand how much I was sharing so they could revisit their decision. I also wanted them to fact check. A big magazine like Parenting does their own fact checking (usually with an intern) and it’s great because you know if you missed a word in an interview or misunderstood (“Oh you said your daughter was TURNING seven? But she’s actually six?”) or the person misspoke, they can fix it. But Brain Child doesn’t have interns or editorial assistants — they’re a small, diligent magazine operating on a pretty small budget — so I tried doing my own fact checking. And I got some minor details wrong so the families were able to fix them. So they all signed off except one who asked that I pull her story entirely, which left an ENORMOUS gaping hole in the piece. It was a nightmare. I tried pleading with her and she stopped returning my emails. I totally get her decision (her story was very recent and still raw and painful) but it created a mess for me and a little tiny party of me was wishing I hadn’t given her an out. Although I think it was the right thing to do.
At this point, too, the woman in Tennessee put her son on the plane. Argh. I knew this meant yet more rewrites and I also knew it meant there’d be scads of information coming out in the media and I’d have to figure out how much of what I wanted to say would be redundant to readers by the time the article came out. Truthfully I wanted to crawl under my bed and not come out for awhile. But then I read two posts from John Raible. This one and this one. And I went — doh! Like Homer. I slapped my head. Because where did my good intentions go about interviewing any adult adoptees? THAT was the voice so clearly missing! I knew I wanted to interview Astrid and Jae Ran and there were some other adult adopted people I reached out to, too, but it was around the time of a big conference so I knew it was pushing it.
Astrid and Jae Ran were INCREDIBLE. They both talked to me for a long, long time. They suffered my naive questions with grace. Astrid read the piece as it was and gave me feedback in several places including reminding me that RAD kids should be kids with RAD. Most importantly they spoke to the fact that these kids are survivors because they’ve HAD to be and that their dysfunction makes sense in the context of their circumstances prior to adoption. If I hadn’t read John’s piece and if I hadn’t reached out to Astrid and Jae Ran, the piece would have been much less than it turned out to be; an important reminder to me of how VITAL adoptee voices are in any adoption discussion.
HUGE thank yous to John and Astrid and Jae Ran!!!!!!
My back up plan if I didn’t get into school was to pitch a book about disruption because there is SO MUCH that still needs to be said. Like I would have loved to have been able to speak with adults whose adoptions as children were disrupted. I would have liked to visit a residential treatment center and talked to the therapists there. I would have tried to find a way to travel so I COULD sit on the couch of an adoptive parent who disrupted and see their pictures and see their faces when they talk about their kids. I mean, there is A LOT still to be said.
Anyway, that’s my anatomy of that article.
If you have questions from a writer-ly or an adoption point of view, let me know. I’m happy to answer them.