Where Weakness Becomes Strength

Years ago, somewhere in the back of my digital attic, I left a small part of myself behind. Today I stumbled upon the login details of my old WordPress blog. I had honestly forgotten that I used to write there, posting short reflections every now and then. Reading them felt like opening a time capsule. So much has happened since.

When I started blogging in 2009, I was moving through a downward spiral, even if I refused to admit it. The topics I wrote about mattered to me, but I never truly dared to show myself. I stayed at a safe distance from my own story. I want that to change.

Earlier today I visited my friend, whom I had only recently met by phone. She is an African adoptee and a mutual friend brought us into contact. From the first moment we spoke, there was recognition. In the way we survived. In how we look at the world. In the practical, no-nonsense tone many adoptees seem to develop. But also in the loneliness that sits underneath it all.

Meeting her, and others like her, made something clear: I need to start writing again. Short pieces. Honest ones. A place to breathe. I have always been good at helping other people untangle their lives; my own thoughts become clearer once I put them on paper. I am not someone who usually makes resolutions, but this time I will make an exception. I want to be more truthful with myself.

For most of my life I have behaved like a chameleon. I could adapt anywhere, slip into any layer, become what was needed. It kept me safe. It also cost an enormous amount of energy. In recent years I simply cannot keep it up anymore. I want to try to be more myself and allow others to see who that is. I have long felt the obligation to appear cheerful and social to the outside world, while inside I was crying. I do not want to hide any longer.

There is also a darker, more pessimistic side of me, with frequent shifts in mood. This version of me sometimes has to negotiate with herself just to get out of bed, to go and do “nice things,” to participate in life. She deserves space too. I understand that many of my wounds and struggles are connected to adoption. The feeling of being uprooted runs like a thread through everything. Yet listening to other adoptees has shown me that something is changing. We are beginning to speak. I want to stop playing hide and seek. It is time to fight. To fight for an ordinary, humane life. To question intercountry adoption, because too much has gone wrong and still does. To challenge the naïveté around what uprooting really means and turn it into awareness.

My friend and I talked about how, in the Netherlands, people tend to share success while hiding vulnerability. Weakness is often revealed only after victory has already been secured. But life is not built from success alone. I am starting to believe that showing the fragile parts might actually make us stronger. When we stand together, what looks like weakness can transform into power.

So I am opening this space again. Not because I have everything figured out, but because I no longer want to disappear.