When I knowingly muse or mutter on topics arousing a myriad of robust opinions, I like to give notice of intent at the beginning of my recounting rather than the end; to request readers keep in mind my words only reflect my own thoughts. I honor and respect all personal perspectives of others whose paths were different from mine and have arrived at different locations.

The road traveled by an adoptee is one such topic.

The day I left the orphanage at six years of age, with a different name than when I entered, for some unknown reason my young mind could understand, they handed me a red balloon on a long string while I waited to be picked up by the old couple I had met twice. Perhaps to mark the spot where they could fetch me, or I suppose they saw this event as a party. I did not. In time, the car with my new “parents” pulled up and I knew I must get in no matter how much it seemed wrong to me. Opening the car door, I simultaneously let go of the red party balloon and my own name.

Fast forward many years from that day, I still reflect on that red balloon. What thought process brought a person to think its presence would make an apprehensive little girl feel cheerful. Didn’t they know how ineffective and ridiculous it was to the circumstances. My young life was changing drastically again, and to add more confusion, with a name I did not embrace, chosen by people I did not know. No party prop would make those realities a celebration for me. It is only recently that I have come to a more charitable reason what that person could possibly have wanted to communicate with me.

Perhaps it was hope.

Maybe they perceived or wished for me the likelihood of a more positive outcome from where I was coming from. 1948 Indiana rural orphanages were not pleasant nor particularly loving environments. Placement in temporary foster homes positioned highest on staff’s duties for older residents. Younger ones were pretty much left to their own devices until they too were old enough to be farmed out. I was two when I entered the system, four years elapsed before I entered a whole new arrangement that I found unpleasant. Wonderful are the stories of adoption describing all the participants contented from the very beginning with each other. Of an unwanted or unfortunate child being given a second chance in life to be part of a loving family. Not so my adoptive bargain. I was 41 when I applied to the courts to be unadopted by the people who adopted me and to re-claim my birth name. So, I do believe I gave the situation a good long tryout.

After the legal process was completed, I began the period of my life devising methods on reversing the unhappiness I experienced living under the weight of those unseemly people. I don’t feel it necessary to relate in detail the destructive incidents bringing me to wanting to disengage but let going through a costly legal process to disentangle myself from them speak for me.

Reversing undesirable upbringing involves rewriting your life’s story, not erasing it. Understandable is the desire to delete the past you don’t like but simply not an attainable goal. Instead, energy must be directed to creating a new narrative based on what you know to be your inner strengths, values and resilience. Recognizing the road you have traveled was challenging but also to honor the fact you made it to an apex where only your choices matter where you go from this point on.

Healing and prospering from detrimental upbringings are not about expunging the past but converting how you relate to it. Self-awareness begins with praising yourself and applauding minor wins, when you choose to invalidate conditional love from others and convert it to unconditional love for yourself. When you replace pattens that bring you sadness to ones bringing you joy.

Caution is advised here to not embark on the path to self-awareness without being conscious. Sounds like unnecessary direction I know but it is true. So many, many times, I thought I was responsive to embracing new ways and had really got the hang of it. Just as numerous times I was pulled back into old themes of negativity because I wasn’t paying attention.

I’ve finally made my peace with red ballons…and converted my dubious views to seeking ways to be the optimistic ballon in my life, not the pin.

-Leika