The Greater Sacrifice

People often say with their words that grief cannot be measured… and yet, they say otherwise with the words they dare not speak aloud, except, sometimes, while in company of similar thoughts. Sacrifice is another one of those “things” that ought not to be measure or compared, and yet so often is. It is evaluated, applauded, criticized and compared more often than we care to admit. Of course, one must judge motivations behind the subject sacrifice so as to be wary of ill-intent… or, should we? Cannot motivations be layered so deeply that the truth is hidden even from the one sacrificing? How then, are we to say, as observers, that our judgment is fair? And what of a circumstance in which there have been two sacrifices… are we to hold one up to another to judge and analyze motivations, means and outcome? Would not that spread hesitation on further “selfless acts” as the those who gave up come under fire of scrutiny? I suppose some sacrifices can be viewed in that manner without too harsh repercussions…. but others are more complex, especially when they involve the sacrifice of people. And the repercussions strike not only those who made rhetorical sacrifices but the one they sacrificed for.

The meaning of my adoption was always like a straight and clear road for me coming out of the unknown. I walked towards my future full of hope, gratitude and direction. I had left behind the unknown I was trapped in, my story having been redeemed and given new life. People sacrificed a lot for me, I always knew that to be true… especially my adoptive parents. They sacrificed time, energy, and resources (yes, that includes money) to rescue me from the dangerous instability of being an orphaned girl in China and bring me to the land of opportunity and freedom. I was aware that in order for my family to bring me here, it meant someone had to let me go there… and that was my birth mother. I was made to understand giving up your own child is not an easy decision and I recognized the great sacrifice she made.

As I grew older and learned a bit more about China’s history, I became keenly aware of the favor of males over there and the effects of the One-Child Policy, during which I was born. It became second nature to assume my parents made the greater sacrifice since my birth family likely did not want me anyways. My parents never told me that, mind you, but it is what I believed after what I learned of the history, and I saw my adoptive parents as the main heroes. My view of my birth mother’s sacrifice would go on to shape the innate belief in me that I was not wanted, because even though my adoptive family chose me… the fact still remained to me that the woman who carried me in her womb, with whom my developing body bonded to and with, and the birth parents whose DNA, flesh and blood I was apart of did not want me. I viewed her sacrifice and self serving and the inferior to my adoptive parents for most of my childhood.

I remember my parents telling me that my birth mother might have wanted me but was too poor to support me; and so, giving me up for adoption was her ultimate act of love. But I always romanticized heart behind so many lifetime movies where keeping and preserving family was the absolute priority, no matter the cost. I judged my mother’s sacrifice as not good enough, wondering why she didn’t just try and work hard enough to keep and provide for me, as people in hard times did in movies and shows.

Then I became a teenager and soon young adult, and the flawless admiration of my parents turned sour quickly. I became keenly aware of many perceived flaws, faults and shortcomings. While many of these were mainly due to my selfishness, stubbornness and sudden mood changes, some were rooted in truth. And the truth was that my parents were raised in a generation obsessed with appearance. While I am not suggesting they adopted me to “look good” to others, I do believe they truly have that heart… however, the immense admiration and praise received from others subconsciously fed the need for more of it. I would come to feel like I was adopted partly for the positive attention it garnered and I had to reflect gratefulness to my parents every time my adoption was mentioned. In those moments, their sacrifices also felt self-serving and I would find myself asking if I would have been better off in China.

I weighed both sacrifices throughout those years often, resulting in varying opinions (both positive and negative) of both sets of parents, depending on how I felt. Either way, I would feed the subconscious belief that I was not truly wanted and my value was not in me as a person but what I could bring someone (or could not, for that matter). I would have moments of despising my birth mother and moments of despising my adoptive parents… but mostly, I despised myself for being who I was. In the end, no one came out on top as the winner, especially not me. I could not determine once and for all, who made the greater sacrifice. My birth mother’s original sacrifice of me started it all… one could argue I wouldn’t be where I am today without her, not to mention she is also the one who birthed me. But the truth also stands that I would be where I am now without the sacrifices of my adoptive parents. Their sacrifices took me away from my homeland and birth mother, but brought me so much joy and life that I likely wouldn’t have had otherwise. But I’ve always experienced so much pain and grief in this life, and sometimes, I wonder if I would have had the same pain and grief if I had not been adopted. In the last few years, I have discovered more truths about the reality of China’s one-child policy, including the fact that for many women, their “sacrifices” of baby girls for adoption was not willingly or due to poverty, but coerced and forced, often by family members. Some babies were even stolen and sold to orphanages. Often times, parents would make minor marks on their babies in hopes that they would be able to recognize them, should they meet again later in life.

As I sit here, stroking the mark on my cheek I have had as long as I can remember, not knowing if this was intentional or accidental, I have since shown away the scale altogether. I have decided to accept both sacrifices at face value, understanding no matter what the reason behind them might have been- whether raw and undefiled love and goodwill, or a complicated mixture of love, duty, and opportunity- I love the life I get to live now with my husband and baby and I wouldn’t be here without them. As for accepting myself as wanted for me just as I am and who I am, I have been working that out with myself and God… I’ve come a long way and look forward to the rocky path ahead. It might be full of twists, turns, ups and downs, but it is moving forward and that is the most important thing to me. I will be happy to wear the bruises and marks I gain along the way, just like the ones I already have.