The Adoption Trauma is not the same trauma I suffered by being forcefully removed from my first mother, psychologically abandoned interpreted by the infant's brain, to be assimilated into adoption.
"Adoption Trauma" IS being continually and chronically traumatized by the substitute adoptive mother throughout adopted childhood.
The adoptive mother's reasons for cruelty is based on her own discounting and rejecting gestures toward the adopted child that she deems unworthy of her attention. The newest excuses for torturing the adopted child are now called "post-adoption-depression, but with the adoptive mother's serious level of narcissism and sociopathic behavior that is directly focused on the adopted child is just seen as cruelty.
The messages from the rejecting adoptive mother are clear and unavoidable to the adopted child. They don't need words just a furrowed brow and scowled face when looking at you. Of course the words are horrendous as we never forget them when these words are screamed in our faces, that we are worthless, disappointing and wasted on us. When she could be giving praises to her real biological children, she is disgusted by our very being deleting precious resources from those who truly deserve them. The idea of sending the adopted child back would look bad on the adoptive mother, so she endures the unwanted stranger inside her facade of the perfection of her family.
Because the adoptive mother has no choice but to endure the adopted child in her possession, she finally finds a use for me. The scapegoat, the puppet and the receptacle for hostility. My place in the adoptive family is finally established, and I stand at my post waiting for orders from H.Q.. The Adoption Trauma is in being the repulsive agent that chemically activates the general in command's disgust. As being the outsider I am socially dependent on providing the disgust in order to fulfill the cycle of her hatred, and will remain the whipping boy for the untouchable prince known as her biological offspring.
For the adoptive mother is the queen and I the adopted child am the entertainment, the jewelry to be taken out when it suits the mother's whims. To be the hostage by choice that will fight and beg for the thought that some day I might receive acceptance, I guard my ignorant post.
There does come at some point the epiphany, where the reality of the adopted child's situation becomes unbearable and we choose to abandon this post to escape it. We cut the marionette's puppet strings and run for our lives with the hope of finding anything to fill the enormous holes within us, that define us. We are broken beyond repair and accept our brokenness as scars from the battle of good and bad. As we were once whole and the war of adopted childhood erased every shred of dignity and trust that we did not possess to begin with.