I live a beautiful life in a house that overlooks a lake. In the winter, I look out at a silent, white, vast surface that helps me quiet my own mind, and in the summer, the lake is full of life beckoning to be explored and enjoyed, which I often do when I take my boat out to fulfill my own brand of spirituality where I get to deeply connect to the water. As a long-time sailor I don’t limit my water connection just to this lake – as a younger man, I’ve traveled extensively to partake in competitions, and even today I occasionally get to sail with family and friends, including a recent bareboat voyage in the Caribbean.
If I am now someone whose feet stand firmly on the ground, as I consider my special relationship with water as my second grounding. Having been intricately involved with it, I am also aware of the perils caused by changes in weather and I pay attention to all the incarnations a body of water goes through and what that means to a sailor like me. One of the most spectacular yet dangerous events on the water is fog. Like driving, sailing in fog requires special attention for sailors of all skill levels. When unexpected foggy conditions arise, boating safely becomes more challenging than it would normally be. The main danger is the reduced visibility. For the sailors, persistent fog means having to turn around – the most you can do in it is stand on the shore and hope for it to disperse. I personally love witnessing it diffuse – especially in the morning while I’m at home and watching the lake slowly reveal itself as the day wakes up and clears the obstruction. It’s not only a beautiful event, but one that I see as a metaphor in my own life, as I too came out of the fog in my quest for identity. As with the nature event, mine wasn’t an instant process; it took time before I could see my life as clear as day, the same way I see the lake once the sun comes out and scares away the final wisps of the fog.
I’ve been thinking about the acronym FOG (used by Fog Lift Chicago – an interactive event for adoptees, happening May 17-18, 2024, in Chicago, IL, USA with the intention to bring the community together). The acronym stands for Fear, Obligation, and Guilt, and I think that description encompasses the process that many of us go through when figuring our lives post-adoption. For me, navigating the fog of fear, obligation, and guilt within the realm of adoption has been a profoundly transformative journey, marked by both challenges and moments of self-discovery. Growing up as an adoptee, I often grappled with the uncertainty of my identity and the fear of rejection or abandonment. Despite the love and support of my adoptive family, there was a persistent sense of unease, a constant doubt about where I truly belonged.
As I entered adulthood, the weight of obligation became increasingly apparent. I felt a profound sense of gratitude towards my adoptive family for providing me with opportunities and a stable upbringing. However, this gratitude often morphed into a suffocating sense of indebtedness, as if I owed them something in return for the life they had given me. I couldn’t name it back then but looking back, I understand that the pressure to fulfill their expectations and live up to the narrative of being the “grateful” adoptee stifled my ability to assert some of my own desires and aspirations.
Guilt (and shame) was another emotion that plagued me. Guilt for wanting to explore my biological roots, for questioning my sense of belonging, for feeling disconnected from the family that had raised me with love and care. I wrestled with conflicting loyalties, torn between the desire to honor my adoptive family and the longing to understand my own identity and heritage.
These internal struggles often manifested in self-destructive behaviors, such as excessive drinking. I didn’t know why I drank but I knew that it was the only time when I didn’t feel all that pressure blocking my airways to the point of choking – I’m being intentionally dramatic, but some of you might know what I’m talking about when I talk about that pressure. For me, alcohol became a means of numbing the pain, of temporarily escaping the weight of fear, obligation, and guilt that choked me. (Yet, I know this now – with each sip, I found myself sinking deeper into despair, further away from the clarity and self-awareness I so desperately sought).
It wasn’t until I started to confront these personal obstacles that I began to understand the transformative nature of the process that was my own coming out of the fog. First, I learned how to deal with the cycle of self-harm – this was a long journey of self-discovery and healing, one that demanded courage, resilience, and introspection. And time – so much time! I would be lying if I told you that all of that happened instantly; most of it happened over more than a decade. Some of that coming out is still happening; as always, I believe that we are constantly evolving in our quest for healing. But the bottom line is, after quitting drinking and no longer having that dubious “safety net,” I had to confront the root causes of my pain, and unravel those layers of fear, obligation, and guilt that had obscured my sense of self.
Slowly but surely, I began to reclaim agency over my life. I sought out support, connecting with professionals and others who shared similar experiences and offering mutual encouragement and understanding. Through introspection and self-reflection, I learned to recognize and challenge the toxic narratives that had held me captive for so long.
Ultimately, for me, coming out of the fog was a liberating experience, a real road to and of self-discovery and empowerment that today allows me to live authentically, and free from the shackles of fear, obligation, and guilt. It was and still is a process of learning to embrace my true identity, to be able to assert my own values and boundaries, and to forge a path towards personal fulfillment and emotional well-being.
And, as it is with all things in life, that wasn’t a journey that was all smooth sailing – some of it has been fraught with obstacles and setbacks. But being able to see clearly – without my goal being obstructed by fog – and navigating the waters without having to turn around, I’ve been able to confront many of these challenges and I found the strength and resilience to emerge stronger and more empowered than ever before.
An awakening outside of my window.
