Ana G.

‘My name is Ana G. and I’m and adoptee’. This is how I have always defined myself because I feel that adoption has conditioned my life. I feel adopted.

I was born in Marbella and, my adoptive mother and father, adopted me because they could not have biological children. Ana and Paco were not young when they adopted me, as they were already 50 years old.

I was adopted when I was very young. I was three days old when I was picked up from the hospital.

My parents told me that they had been waiting for babies for many years. They had applied for adoption in many autonomous communities, but it never happened. Those closest to my parents knew of the need, especially my mother’s, to be a mother; she wanted it with all her might. And one day, a neighbor told my mother that she knew a lady who lived very close to her, who was pregnant and did not want to keep the baby. They made an appointment, got to know each other and decided that when I was born, my adoptive mother would come to the hospital to pick me up.

In the meantime my adoptive parents hired a lawyer, who guided them through the process and made a legal adoption. My birth certificate says so.

I know very little about my biological mother’s pregnancy and those three short days I spent with her, because even though I have met her, she does not want to tell me anything about her life, or how the process was for her, or anything related to her past.

The truth is that this fact has disturbed me for a long time. Through her I sought to know my origins, to know my family tree. It was the key that I longed for all my life, to be able to complete myself, or so I felt, since I was very young. But I had to accept it, and work in therapy as much as I can.

I searched for my origins when my adoptive father had already passed away and when my adoptive mother had Alzheimer’s disease. Before that, I felt as if I was betraying them. I felt guilty if I searched for them.

All my life I wanted to know. I remember from a very young age standing in front of a mirror and asking myself, ‘Who am I? Who do I look like?’ I have always grown up with that feeling of emptiness, of not belonging to any family, with a lot of pain.

First, when I was six years old, my adoptive parents told me that my mom had passed away and they took me out of her belly and gave me to them. I guess following the lawyer’s advice, because at the time it was recommended not to say anything.

I am grateful that they told me that I was adopted and that they never lied to me about the fact itself. When I was a teenager they told me another part of the story. My first mother’s economic and health situation was what led her to give me up for adoption. And they knew nothing about my first father. They did tell me that I have a brother, and that he stayed with her.

This was not entirely true, but they had no emotional resources to support the truth. Their fear of me suffering and their own life stories prevented them from going deeper.

One day, my biological brother called my house, as he had found out that he had a sister and wanted to meet me. My parents told me and “allowed” me to have contact. But my mother was always afraid and sad, and as a result I didn’t really feel free to have contact with him or my biological family. In fact, I felt guilty if I started having a relationship with them. I didn’t want to hurt my parents, especially my mother. I had a feeling that I was betraying them. So, I saw my biological brother only once, and I refused to see my mother and the rest of my biological family. I was only 18 years old, and I didn’t feel ready. Years later we have resumed contact, and I have met my mother, but the relationship has no fluidity or consistency.

For me, growing up as an adoptee and in the context that existed in Spain 42 years ago, which is something that cannot be forgotten, has been like growing up between two worlds but without roots in either of them.