Photography by Emli Bendixen
A Proud Mother Without Stretch Marks & Milk
How do you encourage your children to embrace their rich and mixed heritage when it’s something of a mystery to you? Emli Bendixen considers this as she helps her children navigate their own unique identities.
I’m adopted, so, you could say, I started life twice. Once when I was born and swiftly removed from whoever birthed me. Then, a second time, when a plane landed in Copenhagen Airport with me and many other babies on board. My Danish father said I cried when I first opened my eyes—no wonder, of course. I was three months old, fresh off my first long haul flight.
My Korean mother gave me up for adoption. I can’t say if it was voluntary or against her wishes but done was done, and I ended up in Denmark with new parents. My Danish mother didn’t really want children, but my father persuaded her to adopt.
Growing up, fitting in and “being Danish” became my path. My parents knew very little about Korea; a Chinese restaurant in the nearest bigger town was their closest port of call for anyone remotely Asian. I was raised with an outlook so white that I mostly gave up on my Korean heritage, but at the same time, I was baffled by other adoptees who saw themselves as entirely Danish. I felt lost. I remember phoning a membership group for Korean adoptees several times but hanging up in a panic each time. I remember the frequent questions of “don’t you want to find your real parents?”… and honestly, I never knew the answer.
I experienced the classic and expected adoptee response of gratitude mixed with conflicted emotions of loss and rejection. To feel like you don’t belong anywhere can be liberating whilst also incredibly lonely. The inevitable outcome is a torn identity, which is eventually stitched back together, using pieces from whatever culture is nearest. Fitting in becomes a survival skill, ejection from the group the underlying expectation.
Growing up, I imagined I was given up for practical reasons; perhaps they wanted a boy, perhaps there were too many children already, maybe there wasn't enough food or perhaps darker events led to my conception. I can’t think those thoughts through.
Now I am a mother—a mother without stretch marks and milk. I often joke about it but what I really mean to say is that my partner did all the hard work. She carried and birthed our two children. I am a parent, a mother, but not like that.
Of course, I am not alone in this. There are many non-birthing mothers, parents who don’t identify as mothers, mothers who conceived in ways that may not be the biological “norm”, mothers who don’t want to be mothers, mothers who adopted, mothers who can’t be mothers and carers who don’t fit the binary expectations.
“I want our children to appreciate their outlook as outsiders, to understand the invaluable perspective one gains from having a lived experience that is different to those around you.”
I tell our kids that they are fortunate to have two mothers and one father (a friend who visits several times a year) and three families (in three different countries) who love them and want them in their lives. I want them to hold on to that, to make it a backbone rather than a burden.
Our children are powerful and inquisitive. Relentless and tenacious. They don’t see it yet, but they are different to most people in our home country, England. Their family structure sets them apart. A while ago, our son, aged four, looked at his hands and described his skin as white. “In fact”, he said: “you’re white too” I grimaced as I struggled with the semantics and objected: “I’m not. We’re not white. You are, we are… we are Asian.”
I oscillate between thinking it’s great that my kids have the privilege of not worrying about being different, but I also want to bolster them; I want them to know what’s out there and encourage them to own their identity as children of bi-racial, same-sex parents. I feel a sense of duty to educate our children, to appreciate their outlook as outsiders, to understand the invaluable perspective one gains from having a lived experience that is different to those around you. It may slow them down at times because there is more to consider and work through, but it will also give them an immeasurable strength if they embrace it now.
At the moment our children know the facts, they know their family and perhaps that’s enough? I mean, my parents’ identity didn’t define me. So I’m here to remind our children of their heritage, but it’s a heritage that I know little about.
Our son likes to say he has a mummy and a mama and sometimes adds “and a papa”. He also recently sighed, “I have a billion grandparents.” These are good things about being who we are. These are things to be grateful for.
I am a proud mother without stretch marks and milk.