Behind the Wheel or Along for the Ride?
The Adoptee’s Locus of Control
By Karen Chaston
When it comes to your life, what’s your default?
Are you in the driver’s seat,
or sitting as a passenger, hoping someone else knows the best way forward for you?
There are times when we feel fully in control, confidently steering, adjusting the pace, and choosing the turns.
Other times we’re passengers, watching the scenery roll by and trusting (or fearing) whoever’s at the wheel.
And then there are the hardest moments; when we’re not in either seat at all.
The car is moving, life is happening, yet we feel powerless to reach the wheel.
It’s as though control is something other people were handed, while we’re left watching, waiting, or frozen in place.
This is the essence of what psychologists call the locus of control;
the way we interpret whether life happens through us or to us.
An internal locus means we believe our choices and actions shape our outcomes.
An external locus means we believe outside forces; fate, luck, timing, other people, are steering our course.
Traditionally, that’s where the conversation ends. But at The Chaston Centre, we take it one step further
……….because what if life isn’t only happening through us or to us, but sometimes even for us?
Most people move between these positions depending on the situation.
Yet for adoptees, this metaphor carries a deeper resonance; because their very first ride began without them having any say at all.
The Adoptee’s First Ride
For adoptees, the car ride metaphor isn’t just an abstract concept – it’s lived reality.
Their journey began with a profound loss: the separation from their mother and biological families.
From the very first moments of life, the wheel was taken from their hands before they even knew it existed.
This foundational rupture often echoes through the years.
The emotional and psychological trauma of those early moments can quietly hand over the keys to others;
dismantling confidence, chipping away at self-worth, and creating a deep sense of being powerless to choose their own direction.
What makes this even more complex is that the grief from their first separation is disenfranchised;
rarely acknowledged, understood, or validated by adoptive parents or by society at large.
Instead of being met with empathy, many adoptees grow up in environments where their loss is invisible.
Love is offered, yes; but without recognition of the wound, that love can feel conditional or confusing.
To survive, adoptees often adapt by becoming people-pleasers, constantly scanning for what others need.
They turn into chameleons, shifting identity depending on the room they’re in.
Their voices are silenced; not always by others, but by their own fear of further rejection.
Their emotions, too overwhelming and unsafe to express, are pushed down and locked away.
As a result, both internal and external control can take on a painful tone:
Internal:
“I wasn’t worth keeping. There must be something wrong with me.
To earn love now, I have to work harder, be better, prove myself endlessly; because love only stays if I perform for it.”
External:
“If I don’t perform, if I’m not the perfect child—even as an adult—I’ll be abandoned all over again.
So, I stay silent. I put up with situations that hurt me.
I blur my own boundaries, because the risk of rejection feels far more dangerous than losing myself.”
Neither of these patterns are conscious choices.
They are unconscious imprints -formed long before words;
too early for the adoptee to be aware of, and too hidden for caregivers and society to understand and recognise.
Yet they remain powerful enough to echo throughout their lifetime.
Reclaiming the Wheel
Whilst the car and the seat they were placed in was never theirs to choose,
adoptees are not forever bound to remain powerless passengers.
With awareness, understanding, and the right support, they can move into the driver’s seat,
place their hands on the wheel, and reclaim the direction forward that is most ideal for them.
Awareness is the bridge.
When adoptees begin to see these patterns as unconscious imprints
rather than as evidence that something was wrong with them, space opens for healing.
With this shift, what once felt like the core of who they are is revealed as an unconscious imprint, not a reflection of their worth.
And when adoptive parents, biological parents, partners, friends,
extended families, and society as a whole begin to recognise what truly lies beneath the surface;
not only the disenfranchised grief, but also the sting of abandonment, the ache of rejection,
the longing for their biological families, the absence of mirroring,
and the survival traits that followed – people-pleasing, silence, blurred boundaries – the silence can finally begin to lift.
Reclaiming the wheel doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t happen.
It means learning that, despite their initial loss and the subsequent imprints it left, there are ways to navigate differently:
To notice when people-pleasing takes over and pause before handing the keys away again.
To recognise that boundaries are not threats to belonging, but foundations for genuine connection.
To understand that their voice – once silenced – can be understood,
heard, and validated, when they bring their lived-experience awareness into the conversation.
Healing may not erase the ache of the first separation, but it can reshape the journey that follows.
It begins with recognising the unconscious imprints for what they are.
Then comes the work of gently unravelling survival patterns; people-pleasing, silence, blurred boundaries.
Whilst experimenting with safer, healthier ways of being.
Alongside this, allowing space for the grief, the longing, the rejection,
and the absence of mirroring to be seen and honoured creates room for compassion.
With awareness, understanding empathy, and consistent support,
adoptees can gradually begin to move from life happening to them,
towards life happening through them; and, in time, even for them.
Taking Back the Keys to Your Life
Reclaiming the wheel is not a single moment, but a lifelong practice.
It means choosing, again and again, to notice when the keys are slipping from their hands and gently taking them back.
It means recognising when old imprints pull you towards silence or people-pleasing and
replacing them with boundaries, honesty, and self-worth.
This is the heart of locus of control; understanding when life is happening to us, through us,
or for us, and realising you have more choice than you once believed.
And whilst adoptees carry a unique starting point – the ache of that first separation – many people who are not adoptees
also find themselves handing over the keys to their lives without even realising it.
The Emotional Fingerprint of an Adoptee’s resources make these hidden patterns visible;
highlighting that the past may shape us, but it does not have to steer us.
Because when we know how to reclaim the wheel through awareness,
compassion, and courage, the journey ahead – though it may never be free of the ache –
can be navigated with far more choice, connection, and meaning.
#TheEmotionalFingerprintOfAnAdoptee #AdopteeVoices #LocusOfControl
#AdoptionAwareness #HealingJourney #EmotionalHealing
#TraumaInformed #IdentityAndBelonging
