Adoption: Nature or Nurture
During a visit to a colleague of mine, I spied a woeful-looking plant banished to the corner of the room with the appearance of a vintage floor mop. The soil was a dusty pile of desiccated crumbs and the droopy looking twig it housed was clinging to life in despair. Since my colleague seemed totally indifferent to it, I relieved her of said plant and relocated it to the safety of my home. In the spirit of instant damage control, I implemented “operation save the plant”. I replenished the pot with life-giving earth, sprayed its three-and-a-half leaves and gave him a nutritious dose of diluted fertilizer. I could swear he quivered with emotion, as I placed him in a delightful little setting, nestled between other plants by the window, before leaving him to cogitate on his good fortune. In the fullness of time, he recouped superbly, so that he actually outgrew his pot. His exuberance in life knew no bounds and he took on a copious plumpness that began to crowd out his fellow plants. This astounding revival was so inspirational, that it triggered in me reflective similarities with my own parallel world.
I was uprooted at birth and adopted into a family, where the adoptive mother was the most toxic and hurtful person I ever met. She actually hated all females, which makes the adoption of a daughter all the more mysterious. In fact, I was the only person in the equation at eight days old, with no choice in the matter of my life. Growing up in a setting of pure hatred and spiteful domination, I was reduced to a nervous, insecure and emotional wreck. Highly damaged, totally unprepared for the outside world, and banned from any further education or even an apprenticeship, I was forced to take up work in an unskilled job and a minimal salary. The goal was to repay my guardian for the costs incurred during my childhood, from my pathetic £6 per week. You don’t need three guesses to fathom how that panned out. My active and inquisitive brain could hardly cope with the menial work for a large company and the perpetual housework at home. This all transpired at a time when youth had no money and I had almost no freedom with adulthood deferred until twenty-one years of age.
Upon reaching the long aspired ‘age of consent’ I escaped with all haste to far off shores, to build an independent life and try and fast-track a certain maturity and emotional stability. This had thus far escaped me under the morose tyranny which had had a relentless hold on me all my life. The haunting feeling of being inferior to everyone and relentlessly inadequate to take on life’s challenges, it has taken me a further five decades with intense efforts to become the person I was intended to become, had I enjoyed the advantage of a ‘normal’ upbringing. It has even been perplexing to view authority with anything other than pure fear.
The difference between me and my plant is that he had roots which were vital in stabilising his further development. Unfortunately, I never found or acquired those crucial roots, which could have supported me in times of need, and there were plenty of those. I often wondered, why people who adopt children, upon finding themselves incapable of bonding with this very needy baby, can’t find it in their hearts to relinquish the baby to someone more suitable.
During a visit to a colleague of mine, I spied a woeful-looking plant banished to the corner of the room with the appearance of a vintage floor mop. The soil was a dusty pile of desiccated crumbs and the droopy looking twig it housed was clinging to life in despair. Since my colleague seemed totally indifferent to it, I relieved her of said plant and relocated it to the safety of my home. In the spirit of instant damage control, I implemented “operation save the plant”. I replenished the pot with life-giving earth, sprayed its three-and-a-half leaves and gave him a nutritious dose of diluted fertilizer. I could swear he quivered with emotion, as I placed him in a delightful little setting, nestled between other plants by the window, before leaving him to cogitate on his good fortune. In the fullness of time, he recouped superbly, so that he actually outgrew his pot. His exuberance in life knew no bounds and he took on a copious plumpness that began to crowd out his fellow plants. This astounding revival was so inspirational, that it triggered in me reflective similarities with my own parallel world.
I was uprooted at birth and adopted into a family, where the adoptive mother was the most toxic and hurtful person I ever met. She actually hated all females, which makes the adoption of a daughter all the more mysterious. In fact, I was the only person in the equation at eight days old, with no choice in the matter of my life. Growing up in a setting of pure hatred and spiteful domination, I was reduced to a nervous, insecure and emotional wreck. Highly damaged, totally unprepared for the outside world, and banned from any further education or even an apprenticeship, I was forced to take up work in an unskilled job and a minimal salary. The goal was to repay my guardian for the costs incurred during my childhood, from my pathetic £6 per week. You don’t need three guesses to fathom how that panned out. My active and inquisitive brain could hardly cope with the menial work for a large company and the eternal housework at home. This all transpired at a time when youth had no money and I had almost no freedom with adulthood deferred until twenty-one years of age.
Upon reaching the long aspired ‘age of consent’ I escaped with all haste to far off shores, to build an independent life and try and fast-track a certain maturity and emotional stability. This had thus far escaped me under the morose tyranny which had had a relentless hold on me all my life. The haunting feeling of being inferior to everyone and relentlessly inadequate to take on life’s challenges, it has taken me a further five decades with intense efforts to become the person I was intended to become, had I enjoyed the advantage of a ‘normal’ upbringing.
The difference between me and my plant is that he had roots which were vital in stabilising his further development. Unfortunately, I never found or acquired those crucial roots, which could have supported me in times of need, and there were plenty of those. I often wondered, why people who adopt children, upon finding themselves incapable of bonding with this very needy baby, can’t find it in their hearts to relinquish the baby to someone more suitable. I didn’t find my plant in the least bit attractive when I first saw him, but I was moved by his situation and wanted to improve his life quality. I didn’t just ‘feed’ him, I protected him the best I knew how, from neglect, and I was proud to witness his hidden potential under my guidance.
The stimulating debate about nature versus nurture inevitably proves that nurture in the case of my plant was the deciding factor in his survival, since nature alone could hardly have upgraded his condition. However, when nurture and nature are traded in for vindictiveness during the developing years of a human life, the devastating effects are not so easily rectified as those of my plant.
Photo: pexels / Brett Sayles