The Song that Opened the Wound

Every journey has a soundtrack, and for me, that song is What Was I Made For? by Billie Eilish. I’m not typically emotional, but the first time I heard the opening line that mentions floating and falling—something in me cracked open. That one lyric pulled me back to the womb, to the time before loss, before abandonment. I think we all “floated” there, safe and connected. And then we “fell”—into adoption, into confusion, into longing.

Another line from the song that mentions something you paid for—captures the surreal, commercialized element of the adoption experience. It reminded me of the stories I hear on my podcast: being “chosen” like a Cabbage Patch doll from the shelf. That image stuck with me because, in a way, it was true for me, too.

A Baby Scoop Era Beginning

I was born in 1968 during the Baby Scoop Era, a time when adoption was hush-hush and shame-laden. My birth mother tried to keep me, delaying signing the papers for ten weeks. But ultimately, I was placed. My adoptive parents were kind, stable people, and from the outside, I had a wonderful life. But underneath, there was a gnawing sadness I couldn’t name.

Through my teen years, I experienced suicidal ideation. I never connected it to adoption. I chalked it up to “normal” teenage stuff, but now I see it differently. There was a fracture in me I couldn’t articulate, a loss that lived in my bones.

Reunion and the Double Rejection

In my early twenties, as I prepared to start a family, I began the search for my birth mother. It was the early ’90s, and I ended up hiring someone who somehow got me my original birth certificate—an unheard-of feat in California.

When we met, things started beautifully. I almost moved to Oregon to be near her. But then, without warning, she wrote me a letter ending the relationship. Her words were clear: “I can’t do this.” It was another loss, another rejection. The honeymoon was over, and I was left wondering where I stood.

I met my birth father once. He was cordial but distant, emotionally closed off. After a few letters, he disappeared from my life too. He passed away in 2016. My birth mother is still alive, but unresponsive. I’ve tried to reconnect, but silence is what I receive.

Finding Compassion in the Silence

Through somatic therapy, I’ve gained insight into the trauma my birth mother likely experienced. Her own mother died when she was six months pregnant with me. Her father quickly remarried and offered no support. My father had left for Vietnam and wrote her saying, “How do I even know this is my child?”

She was alone.

She visited me in foster care before the adoption was finalized. I often wonder what effect those brief visits—and the subsequent disappearances—had on me. When I later learned I had congenital hip dysplasia that went undiagnosed until after the adoption, it made me question the ethics of the agency. My adoptive mother believes the agency deliberately withheld that information to ensure I’d still be “chosen.” It was another layer of betrayal.

The Podcast and the Purpose

These experiences led me to create Mind Your Own Karma – The Adoption Chronicles. It started as a general podcast but naturally evolved into an adoption-focused platform. I’ve interviewed adoptees, birth parents, adoptive parents, and foster parents because the adoption story doesn’t start—or end—with the adoptee. It’s a whole web of intergenerational impact. Melissa recently pivoted her podcast in Season 4 to unique and out of the box healing modalities, since these types of modalities seem to be what adoptees resonate with the most. After hearing so many stories of the pain adoptees go through, I thought it was time to bring some hope to the community with what is possible in the healing space. 

Education is the first step to change. We need to understand the full picture of adoption, including the unseen trauma and the societal systems that uphold secrecy and shame.

Healing, Not Heroics

I spent most of my life waiting for someone to come and save me—a therapist, a reunion, a parent, a partner. But here’s what I know now: I am the hero. Healing is a self-led journey. Others can walk beside us, but we have to choose to step forward.

At 40, after a divorce, years of pretending, and mental health struggles, I was forced to confront the real me. I didn’t even know my favorite color. I began asking: What do I like? What do I want? Who am I really? I took one small step after another—therapy, meditation, somatic work—and I found doors opening I never expected.

That led me to Somatic Mindful Guided Imagery®, a modality that finally helped me access the pre-verbal trauma that so many adoptees carry. I had a journey where I felt myself in the womb, heard my mother’s voice, felt the adrenaline and grief coursing through her—coursing through me. That journey gave me peace. It helped me understand. It helped me forgive.

Generations and Grief

My children were deeply affected by my transformation. My son, now 32, is still distant. My daughter, almost 30, and I have done more healing. But I wasn’t authentic when I was raising them. I played a role. I wore a mask. When I took it off, they didn’t recognize me.

Their grief and trauma matter, too. And as much as I wish I could rewrite the past, all I can do is show up with honesty now.

No Mistakes, Just Directions

One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned is this: There are no wrong turns. Every experience, even the painful ones, pointed me toward my authentic self. You don’t need to know your destination to begin. Just start walking.

If you're an adoptee reading this, know that you are not broken. You are a survivor. You are resilient. And you are capable of healing.

There’s no magic wand. But there is you. And you are enough.

The Gift of Giving Back

Every adoptee I meet who is healing wants to help someone else. That’s why I became a somatic practitioner. That’s why I do the podcast. The pain I’ve lived through—every moment of it—means something if I can help the next person heal faster, more deeply, with more grace.

So this is my message: You are the hero. Start your journey. Heal your story. Then pass the torch. The world needs your light.

Floating Again

I used to fall. Now, I’m learning to float again—not in the womb, but in the truth of who I am.

And that, finally, feels like home.