Relinquishment Changes You Forever

Adoptee grief, relinquishment trauma, and the truth about healing

Some losses change your life forever.

Honestly, I almost began this piece by saying all losses change your life forever, but that wouldn’t quite be accurate.

It did not permanently alter my life when a restaurant I didn’t even like closed down.

I have lost earrings and random objects over the years that I barely think about now because they weren’t the ones I loved most.

Some losses are inconvenient.

Some are disappointing.

Some barely register at all.

But then there are other losses.

The kind that divide your life into “before” and “after.”

The kind that alter your nervous system, your sense of safety, your relationships and your identity.

And once those losses happen, you do not simply “go back” to who you were before.

How could you?

People sometimes speak about healing as though it means becoming untouched by what happened to you. But I do not think healing means pretending profound loss had no profound effect. I believe healing often means learning how to live honestly and tenderly with the reality that some things changed you forever.

Most adoptees understand that relinquishment changes you forever. When I say this, there are always people (mostly the non-adopted) who rise up and strongly disagree, sometimes even becoming angry. Over time, I have realized many of them assume I mean something I do not mean at all.

They hear:

“Relinquishment means your life is ruined forever.”

“Relinquishment means you will never be happy.”

“Relinquishment means you are doomed.”

That is not what I said.

I said it changes you forever.

Acknowledging that truth is not self-pity or victimhood. It is emotional honesty. Some losses are simply too life-altering to leave us unchanged.

I think one of the loneliest parts of grief is realizing how uncomfortable many people are with that truth. There is often this unspoken expectation that eventually we should “get over it.” That we should stop talking about it this far into our lives. That enough time should erase the ache. That healing should look like becoming untouched.

But some losses are not small interruptions to a person’s life.

They are seismic.

They alter the landscape of who we are. How could they not?

Loss changes the nervous system. It changes our ability to trust, our ability to attach, and how safe we feel in the world. It changes the stories we tell ourselves. It changes what holidays feel like.

What belonging feels like.

What love feels like.

What home feels like.

Relinquishment, separation, identity disruption, rejection, infertility trauma, foster care experiences, family estrangement, reunion loss, secondary rejection, the death of biological relatives before answers could come... these things do not simply pass through a person without leaving a mark.

Healing does not always mean returning to who you were before the loss. In fact, I seriously question the belief that a person could endure all of that and somehow remain untouched. That is not strength. It is denial.

Sometimes healing means learning how to carry what happened to you with tenderness instead of shame.

And it means understanding that grief may revisit you throughout your life in different ways, and that this does not mean you are failing. It means you are human.

There are losses that forever divide life into “before” and “after.”

If you are an adoptee who has been feeling any sort of guilt for struggling, I gently invite you to stop criticizing yourself for being changed by things that were, in fact, life-changing.

As for me, I have had to minimize my time, or sometimes step away altogether, from people who seem determined to insist I should be unscathed by all of this. After everything I have lived through, I simply do not have the bandwidth for that anymore.

And honestly, there are too many people in this world who do understand, who do make space for truth, and who do know how to love without demanding silence first.

Going where you are understood is vital to your health and well being. Go there, without apology.

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If you choose to comment, I welcome thoughtful conversation. Adoption is deeply personal, and people come here from many different experiences. My hope is that we speak with kindness and respect, remembering there are real people behind every story, many carrying deep wounds. Healing conversations are possible when compassion leads the way.