Boundaries as an Adoptee: Self-Love Tips for Adoptees From an Adoptee
By Lian Norris, Owner of You Can Yoga. Lian will be joining us for Community & Connection | Wellness in 2026!
Adoption is often seen as a fairytale, and people feel entitled to our stories. Even if you can’t remember the start, your story is yours to hold and share as you choose.
As I sit here trying to write about boundaries, I feel myself hitting a wall. Boundaries, as an adoptee, have always felt foreign to me.
Growing up, the most intimate parts of my life were often treated like public property. Strangers asked questions like, “Do you know your birth family?” or “Why were you given up?”—questions that cut deeply, even if I didn’t yet know why. I would smile and answer, then soften it with, “But I love the family I have now.” Maybe to end the conversation, maybe to comfort myself.
Even without words, the stares said enough—a cashier comparing me and my mom, or an ice cream scooper skipping me because they didn’t think I belonged.
It’s no wonder boundaries felt impossible. For years, I didn’t know I was allowed to have them—that I could choose what to share and what to protect. Now, as an adult, I see that boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re essential. They help me reclaim my story, my voice, and my sense of safety.
Here are some truths I’ve been growing into:
You Have the Right to Your Own Narrative
If someone asks a question you don’t want to answer, you don’t owe them anything. No doesn’t need an explanation—it can simply mean no.
Adoption is often painted as a fairytale: an orphan “saved” by a loving family. Because of this, people assume they know our lives—or feel entitled to our stories.
I’ve heard it all: “You must be so grateful,” “Your parents are saints,” “You’re so much better off here.” These assumptions left little room for my truth.
Sometimes I’ve even questioned whether I have the right to my own story—especially because it happened so young, before I could remember or fact-check the details. This can make me lean too heavily on other people’s interpretations. But I’ve learned this: even if you can’t remember the beginning, you still get to decide what your adoption means to you. You have the right to interpret, to hold your own truths, and to choose how much—or how little—you share.
As my adoptee consciousness has grown, my beliefs about adoption have changed. I no longer feel “lucky” or “fine,” and that’s okay. Healing isn’t linear, and I don’t owe anyone a defense for my evolving story.
You Can Say No
This one is hard for me. As a people-pleaser, saying no felt like risking love or acceptance (worst fear ever).
But if someone asks a question you don’t want to answer, you don’t owe them anything. No doesn’t need an explanation—it can simply mean no.
You Don’t Have to Explain Yourself
As my adoptee consciousness has grown, my beliefs about adoption have shifted. I used to say I was “lucky” or “fine.” Now, I reject those narratives.
At first, these changes confused people around me. I felt guilty, even hypocritical, and tried to defend myself. But healing isn’t linear. Consciousness evolves. Our feelings about adoption, family, and identity will keep changing—and we don’t owe anyone a defense for that growth.
For years, I stayed in spaces where I didn’t belong. Now, I choose communities where I’m seen, and I step back from people or places—even family and friends—that feel unsafe or toxic.
You Are Allowed to Create Safe Spaces
For years, I stayed in spaces where I felt “not Asian enough,” “not white enough,” or like a minority in my own family. I craved belonging, even at my own expense.
Now, I give myself permission to walk away. I seek out spaces where I feel seen—BIPOC adoptee gatherings, yoga and wellness spaces led by people of color, friendships where I don’t have to explain myself.
Safe space can also mean setting boundaries with family or friends. It’s okay to take breaks from people or environments that feel unsafe, toxic, or invalidating.
You Can Protect Yourself from Racial and Cultural Harm
For a long time, I thought I just had to endure the stares, stereotypes, and casual comments. But I’ve learned I can speak up. I can tell my family how isolating it feels to be the only person of color in the household. I can draw lines when people exoticize, stereotype, or tokenize me.
And I can step back from being the comedian—making fun of myself—or the educator, explaining adoption and race when I don’t have the energy.
These boundaries remind me that I’m not here to be a lesson or a symbol. I’m here to be fully myself.
I try not to endure stereotypes, tokenization or be a comedian, and I set boundaries and speak my truth. I don’t always get it right, but I’m learning to simply be myself.
In the end, every boundary is an act of self-love
As adoptees, we’re often taught our lives are open books. Boundaries remind us they’re not—they’re acts of protection, strength, and most importantly, self-love!
Boundaries are hard and always evolving. Be gentle with yourself. You have the right to say no, to grow, to create safe spaces, and above all, to keep your story sacred.
Lian also penned Coming Home for our blog. Read more from her voice here.
🌿 Join Us in Community and Connection
This spring, join us on our Community & Connection Wellness Trip in Sedona, Arizona—a retreat-style experience created for international and domestic adoptees and loved ones to pause, reflect, and connect in a supportive space. And the best part? Lian Norris will be staffing this trip, bringing her heart and experience to support adoptees and loved ones along the way.
If this sounds like the space you’ve been waiting for, spots are limited—check out our trip page to learn more, request info, or register to save your place today.