Cecilia C.

I was born on January 11^th., 1985, but my story began before, when Elsa and Juan Carlos decided to start their family and found out that they couldn’t and, when at the same time, someone else decided that she couldn’t raise me.

I was born on a Saturday, at the Moreno Hospital, and two days after I was born I was already at home with my Dad, my Mom and my sister Analía.

Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve known I’m an adoptee. My parents always told me how much they wanted me and how they went to get me after I was born, from another woman’s belly.

Throughout my childhood, I had serious health problems. I had heart surgery several times, and my attention was always on those matters, which were the priority.

But that didn’t take away, as it is said, the ‘stone in my shoe’ that wouldn’t let me walk, that bothered me and hurt me with every step I took. I lived in constant distress and fear.

I kept asking myself: “If the woman who gave birth to me didn’t want me, how will someone else ever love me? How did she know if I was well and if she left me with good people?”. I had only feelings of contempt and hatred because I thought these were the feelings she had felt for me as a newborn.

I was sure that due to these negative feelings she had abandoned me.

During my adolescence, my doubts increased. My desire to know what happened to my biological family sprouted through my pores. I couldn’t handle it. I began having panic attacks, a lot of anxiety and fears that even prevented me from leaving my home alone.

So, I decided to share with my mom my wish to look for the woman who gave birth to me. Her comment on the matter was that yes, I should definitely search, and if I wanted to go with my biological mother, she wouldn’t be angry.

Her words caused me a lot of pain. My desire was only to know and to acquaint.

I never, ever doubted about my love for my parents. I never thought of leaving them. My mother’s comment distressed me so much that I decided to postpone my search. I decided to wait because I considered that it was not the right time.

Time went by and when I was 18 years old, my mother Elsa died of breast cancer. This was extremely hard for me. I was hers. I was my mother’s girl, always under her wing. All my life I tried to do things the way she wanted. Suddenly, I felt very lonely.

After several years of mourning and therapy I was able to understand that my fears and anxieties were not due to the loss of my mother, but about something much deeper. So again, I decided to search.

On my adoption papers there was a name, a surname and an ID number, so with that information I began my quest. And to tell you the truth my search was very quick.