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The Most Unethical Adoption Agency in the State of Ohio


This is a very valuable blog post on the actions of the Director of Adoption By Gentle Care Agency, Trina Saunders, in her treatment of the natural mother, Carrie Stearns, and her son, Camden. Read on about an unethical adoption.

Originally posted on Musings of a Birthmom:

I am continually baffled by how the director of an adoption agency can get away with behaving herself in the manner of a 12 year old school yard bully and still keep her job. Yes, we’re back to Trina Saunders and Adoption by Gentle Care and how they are handling Carri Stearn’s case in regards to her son, Camden. Trina has, once again, taken it upon herself to “make fun” of Carri in regards to future court hearings by changing her name on Twitter to “Flip Flops!”


At first glance one may not know what she is referring to or what it is about. Trina has continually brought up Claudia D’Arcy Corrigan  in court proceedings and Carri’s relationship with her. In particular, Trina takes issue with Claudia’s blog, Musings of the Lame, and how she has publicly exposed the agency for what they are. (It is this very reason that…

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“Adoption—the Santa Claus Syndrome”


As I reflect on my childhood, I now am uncomfortable with the concept of Santa Claus.

Today, I would not intentionally lie to my children, but I did, because their father and I went through our children’s early childhoods taking them to see Santa in the Mall and we dutifully laid out cookies and milk and hid presents under the tree.

I now see that I was guilty of imposing the Santa Claus Syndrome on my children. As an adoptee, I should have known better. But I fell for the cultural bias of the times. And I now despise what I did, and I despise the way I was raised, too, with lies of all sorts.

Sure, as a young child I was delighted, but when I realized that the wonder of Santa was a lie, I felt deceived.

Just as my childhood was ending, at 18, I got the biggest shock of my life. That’s when I was found by siblings I was never supposed to know. That’s when all the lies told to me by my adoptive parents began to unravel. That’s when I saw, for the first time in my life, that I had a birth certificate in the name of Joan Wheeler, but I also had one in the name of Doris Michol Sippel. And, like Judith Land, I also had two baptismal certificates, each handwritten and certified by the Catholic priest at our parish, the parish of my birth and baptism. So many lies. As Judith says, this lying and perjury “is not acceptable behavior”.

Originally posted on Adoption Detective | A True Story by Judith Land:

“You don’t have to be a child to be a victim of Santa Claus syndrome. Anyone who has ever been intentionally lied to, is aware of the hurtful feelings of deceit. Santa Claus syndrome is the intentional deceit of others with the rationalized ideal that tarradiddles, falsehoods, untruths, lying, fair tales and perjury are acceptable behavior.” —Judith Land, Adoptee

Santa Claus Syndrome

There are things in this life that we must come to terms with at some point in our lives. Some childhood awakenings are quite simple, while others become quite traumatic.

The threat of being judged and exiled has a strong effect on the human soul and the fragile psyche and the spirit of an adoptee. “Santa Claus only brings presents to good little boys and girls. If your behavior doesn’t improve, we’ll send you back to where you came from.” I know these feelings from firsthand experience. I had never had an honest or open conversation…

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When Adoption Takes A Life


When I first decided to reblog this post, I thought I wouldn’t have words to write as an introduction. Then it occurred to me that I read about a group of mothers who lost their babies to adoption, and two adoptees, all who are a generation younger than I am. I look at the photos on the blog’s page, faces of young children, faces of young parents. Yes, I was there once. And I teetered on the brink of suicide for most of my adult life . I am currently about a month and a half away from my 59th birthday. Forty years ago, almost 41 years ago, when I was 18, I was found by natural family I was never supposed to know. Then turmoil ensued in my adoptive homelike and in my inner self as I numbly went through meeting natural family, beginning at my age then and continued for the next few years. I felt the wrath and disgust of extended family from both sides berate me, pick on me, while only a handful were actually, lovingly, my true family. Through it all, I have been suicidal for most of the past 40 years. Nightmares began that very first night. Sweats, shaking, sobbing alone and in public, fear, anxiety, panic, feeling as though I didn’t know my surroundings, feeling confused, feeling angry that it all was happening — I thought I was alone. Twenty years into reunion, a few years after my divorce, I tried to kill myself in front of my children. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was in psychological pain from constant attacks invading my personal life. I was in psychological pain from the condition of being adopted. Now, as I grow older, my anxiety is somewhat controlled; but it is still there. Adoption is loss, adoption is pain. And now, I see another generation suffer in similar ways that I did. I read about a younger adoptee who completed suicide. And his friends are left in tears.

Originally posted on Another Version of Mother:

I thrashed around in my bed, the heavy blanket twisting around my legs, confining me, making me feel trapped. As the light from the street snuck in through an uncurtained corner, I pulled myself up, heaving. My eyes and cheeks were wet from the nightmare I’d just woken up from.

“You weren’t alone. You know that now, right?” I demanded into the still room.

There was no answer, of course. How could there have been? He wasn’t there. He isn’t here. We are left to tell ourselves oversimplified cliches to make ourselves feel better, but my heart yearned to have one more chance. What I would give to be able to see him, take his hand, look into his eyes and say, “You are worth every breath you have taken, every breath you are taking right this moment, and every single breath that you will take in the future.”


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Don’t Take Them Away


That’s right. This blog post is about the conversations people in the adoption industry don’t know about. These are the sad conversations between family members who suffer at the hands of the industry. Many of these are conversations that might not be heard. Here is a glimpse into those seldom heard exchanges.

Originally posted on Another Version of Mother:

“Mama, your friend is real nice,” he said as we walked toward the car, the heavy snow falling fast, the wind blowing just enough to make you walk a little faster.

“Yes, she really is,” I responded, smiling. We had just been in the grocery store grabbing a couple of essentials to get us through the weekend. A friend of mine lined up right behind us, one I hadn’t seen since the night of Sean’s funeral where we cried and drank wine together. We chatted about the weather as my groceries were scanned up. When it was time to pay, I realized I had left my debit card at home, and had only change on me. In a moment, she was right beside me, offering to pay, telling me not to worry about it,  as I stuttered through my embarrassment.

“I’ve just been so disorganized this week. You didn’t have…

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Killing Me Softly With No Words


I’ve felt like a “trapped animal” so many times in my lifetime. I’ve been suicidal, many times. Being adopted is like being totally alone. And I am a domestically-born adoptee. Here are thoughts from “an Asian face in a predominantly white world…” ….

Originally posted on Korean Adoptee Blues:

In honor of National Adoption Awareness Month, oh, sing me those blues, Ms. Holiday!

“Them that’s got shall have,

Them that’s not shall lose.

So the Bible said and it still is news.

Mama may have, Papa may have

But God bless the child that’s got his own…”

I’m looking out of our kitchen window at the first major snowfall of the season as I’m writing, and though it’s visually beautiful, there’s something about the muffled quiet and the bitter cold of a snowy winter that puts my mind in a state of solitude and melancholic introspection.

This particular day, it reminds me of how alone I am…

Alone, because odds are good that I will never know my original family.

Alone, because my adoptive family does not get me.  At all.

Alone, because I’m an Asian face in a predominantly white world, and I’m reminded of that every day.

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