When I discovered my birth sign as a child, every lonely, identity-starved part of my brain buzzed with joy. It was no wonder. I was unable to look at any biological relatives for clues to my nature and what I might become. My birth story was hearsay. To eight-year-old me, my sign was something concrete.
Instead of the beamed-down-from-Mars feeling being a source of grief, I could wear it as a badge of honor. My astrological sign served as my security blanket. Blocked from knowing anyone with traits like my own, I took comfort in the fact that there were other Aquarians.
It didn’t dawn on me that my wacky astrology interest had anything to do with being adopted until I became involved with the adoption reform community. I noticed that many of us knew, took pride in, and described ourselves by our astrological signs. I don’t believe this was a coincidence. It seemed that many of us used surrogate guideposts in our identity formation.
Through my volunteer work I became painfully aware of what the world expected of adoptees, and how ignorance led to deplorable public policy- namely closed records and profit-driven practices.
After my tumultuous reunion with my biological mother, my connections with other “out-of-the-fog” adoptees were invaluable in processing my experience. I hope to pay that forward through this blog.