Hard Words to Say

Trigger warning: This post deals with post placement pregnancy.....

For the past few months, I find myself to be in familiar territory. Yet at the same time, very new territory. Instead of being cryptic about it like I have been with everyone lately, I’ll just say it – I’m pregnant. These past 12 weeks have been an emotional roller coaster for me.

                Despite the fact that this pregnancy was “planned”, and that I am now married, because of the situation I was in just 2 years ago when my son was born, it feels somehow like I’m doing the wrong thing by being pregnant. It has been so confusing for me dealing with all of these emotions. I feel like I’m betraying my son, I feel like I don’t really deserve to parent this baby, and I’m terrified that something is going to happen to take this baby away from me. Some days I feel so scared to connect with this baby because my connection with my birth son was so immediate and so fierce and that has led me to become vulnerable to a lot of hurt and pain. This baby is no more or less wanted than my birth son was, and will be no more or less loved. But I’m not going to lie, it’s almost scarier this time.

                Going to doctor appointments is scarier. Now I have to answer questions like “is this your first child?” or “and how is your other child, is he healthy?” Well, I’d assume so, haven’t heard otherwise! Telling my family was horrifying in a different way this time too. When I first told my parents, I had to say it all very quickly in one sentence so they wouldn’t ask questions that I didn’t want to hear. It came out something like “we’re pregnant but it was planned so don’t worry and this needs to be a good thing so I need you to be happy about it”. I think I was more nervous telling them this time than I was last time (granted, last time I did tell them in an email). Facing the public is scarier. People constantly assume that this is my first pregnancy. They like to give me advice on what to expect, and tell me things like that my baby probably won’t be too big because I’m very small. Oh really? Because my son was 8lbs 12oz, so I’d say that’s pretty big! But I don’t say that. I don’t correct them. It hurts too badly to go down that road. I hate the fact that I'm terrified of telling people because I'm afraid of their reaction.

                Around week 6 or so, the baby is the size of a lentil. During that week, I sent my husband a picture of some lentil soup and told him how I really wanted to eat it, but told him I couldn’t do it because it felt like cannibalism. I was half kidding, but waited to eat the soup. Ever since then, we call the baby The Lentil. I hope that loving the Lentil won’t make my birth son feel betrayed in the future. I know how very much and how very strongly I loved my birth son from the very beginning. I’m almost scared that I won’t be able to love the Lentil enough. I have missed my birth son more in these last 12 weeks than I expected to, and there have been a lot of emotions come up for me that I didn’t anticipate.

                I hate the fact that whether a pregnancy is planned or not matters, but it does seem to matter to other people. Yes, my husband and I planned to have this Lentil (although we did think it would take us a little bit longer than…immediately), and no, my birth son was not planned. But you know what? Both of my babies were wanted. And both of my babies are loved. Mom, birth mom, step mom, all of my titles aside. I will always love all of my children more than they can possibly understand, something my own mom used to tell me, and now I do understand. I hope they know that. I hope I will always be a positive person in their lives, someone they can look up to. I may not have it all together, nobody really does. But what I do have is an endless supply of love. And hugs to give. Just ask my husband. I’m sure it drives him crazy sometimes.

Photo Credit

You are Entitled to Your Feelings

             

Two years post placement, I still find myself suprised when I'm faced with certain triggers and get upset by it. I try to put on a strong face for my family and friends and act like I'm not affected by things or act like certain situations don't upset me when they do. 

 I think a lot of us do this. We act like we’re doing okay. We try to stay strong and we put on a brave face. I hope that we all feel safe enough in our lives and within our support systems to be real with ourselves and with the people close to us. It’s okay to have a bad day. It’s okay to feel sad if we see something that reminds us of our birth children, when we were pregnant with them, or any other memory or trigger that we have. It’s okay to feel it and it’s okay to express it.

                Adoption is a huge part of my life and hiding how I feel on my sad days doesn’t do anyone any good. I’m not being “noble” by swallowing my emotions. Yesterday was an unexpectedly difficult day for me. I was triggered by something that I didn’t expect to be and my negative emotions took me by surprise. But I know I didn’t handle the situation right. What I should have done was talked to my husband about what I was thinking and feeling and just talked it out with him so he could understand what I was going through at the moment. But that isn’t what I did. Instead, I tried to “get over it”. I tried to swallow my emotions and act like it wasn’t a problem. But it was a problem, and because I ignored it, it got bigger and bigger. I ended up redirecting my emotions in the wrong way and picked a fight with my husband over him going to the dentist. It was ridiculous and unnecessary, and could have been prevented by me being honest in the first place. Of course shortly after that, I realized that I was being ridiculous and was honest with him about what was going on and what I was feeling.

                This next season in my life is going to be filled with triggers that will probably make me think of my birthson more and I know I will be more challenged by unexpected hard days than I have been recently. I hope that you know that it’s okay, and necessary, to feel what you need to feel and be open and honest with yourself and those around you. You deserve it. You deserve your good days and you deserve to be able to express yourself on your bad days. Don’t feel guilty for having either of those days. Whether you are feeling happy or sad or anything at all in between, I hope you never feel alone.

                Two years post placement, I still find myself to be so grateful for the fact that good days will always follow the bad days.

Love From His Far Away Family

                

Throughout my journey through adoption, I try to incorporate my birth son into everything I do. I guess it’s my way of keeping him with me and in my heart, even if he isn’t here physically. I never want him to feel like he wasn’t loved, or that we forgot about him, and I want him to always feel as if he has a place in his far away family.

                I have pictures of him in my house, and whenever my step daughter sees one, she gets excited and says his name and says “cute baby!”. I tell her that I think so too. I keep a picture of him in my binder for school, too. That way, every time I get frustrated or overwhelmed, I can remember my motivation and my strength for why I try so hard every day to be the best person I can be. Every day, I wear a bracelet that I made and put on the last day I got to see him and spend time with him. During my wedding, I pinned that bracelet to my bouquet of flowers and kept him with me that way. I also had a few pictures of him in the bridal room. I also have a necklace with his footprints engraved into it that I wear whenever I’m missing him just a little extra.

                I will never be his Mom in the way that I wish I could be, and that’s just a part of my life now. But just because I can’t be there with him every day, that doesn’t mean that I can’t love him and think about him every day. We are all entitled to love and miss our children. Wherever they are, whenever the last time was that we saw them, we are entitled to how we feel about it. Whenever I’m feeling down about it, it always makes me feel better knowing that I’m doing everything I can to make sure that he will one day know how loved he always was. I always remind him in letters, that I hope he’ll read when he’s older, how lucky he is to have two families who love him so much. Adoption will never be easy, but it has taught me how to love in ways I never thought I could have before. And for that, I am grateful.

Photo Credit

Adoption is like the Weather

Adoption is like the weather. It's a constantly changing adventure, and you can always count on it to not be stagnant. Perhaps that's the best and worst thing about it. For some of us, we pray for a change. We beg for things to be different, or better in some way. For others, we're terrified for things to be different because we're so comfortable with how things are now. 

For me, I think it’s both. I have wished for things to be better for as long as my son has been alive, but now I guess I’ve just become so used to the way things are that I’m scared of what a change would mean. I know I want more, I’ll always want more. But right now I don’t think that’s possible. And I’m learning to accept that that’s okay, because nothing is stagnant about this crazy life we live in.

If there’s one guarantee in life, well, I guess it’s that there are no guarantees. Always hang in there and never give up. Don’t give up on your children, don’t give up on your family and friends, and don’t give up on hope. But most importantly, don’t give up on yourself. Things can always get better, just like the weather will always change. It might rain for a week, but the sun always comes out again. The stars are always behind the clouds, even if we can’t see them. I really believe that’s the best thing about life. We can always count on things to get better, and if we hold onto hope long enough, they will.

I’m so grateful for every single picture or small update I get. Those little things give me my motivation to keep going. I may not be able to visit him yet, but one day I will. Even if it takes me 16 more years, I know that reunion will come. That is what I wake up each day and fight for.

My Name Is...

     

 The definition of the word identity is "the fact of being who or what a person or thing is".  Usually, the first identity that we learn about each other is our name. But, we are so much more than just our names, aren't we?  What I have learned in my short, yet very long, 21 years of life, is that usually, people aren't ashamed of their first identity, their name. When we introduce ourselves, we lead with something along the lines of "Hi, I'm ______. Nice to meet you!" We take ownership of it. So, why then, are we ashamed of our other identities? We all have that one identity that we just keep locked up in the closet, or hidden under the bed. We feel a certain sense of shame about it. But we don’t have to. Everyone has got a past. Everyone has got a story. Yes, some identities may hurt, and some you may wish that you didn’t have. But you have to own it. Each and every single thing that you identify as, whether you are proud of it or try to hide it, has helped to shape you into the beautiful and incredible person you are. So, here is who I am.

I am a birth mom. I am a new wife. I am a step mom. I am a daughter and a sister. I am a student studying physical therapy. I am a little crazy and a little broken sometimes, but that’s okay because I think most of us are. I have made mistakes, but I am not defined by my mistakes.

The best “mistake” I ever made was getting pregnant 2 years ago, when I had just turned 19 days before. The birth father made it clear that parenting was not an option, but other than that, the decision was mine to make. I still laugh about that. I felt very alone in my pregnancy. Even though I was in a relationship with the birth dad, lets call him Paul, I still felt incredibly alone during my pregnancy. Paul and I had just moved to the very center of Philadelphia so that he could go to school. I basically gave up everything and followed him there so he could be my support system. I guess the idea was better in my head than it ended up being in real life.

By early October of 2013, when I was just a few weeks pregnant, I was feeling really alone and desperate for answers. I hadn’t told anybody but Paul at this point, not even my parents. I was in a dark place and just had no idea what to do. I didn’t have insurance, I didn’t have a doctor, and I really couldn’t afford to be pregnant without those things. Since day 1, I wanted the very best for my baby. I hoped that the best could be me, but without the support from Paul, which he refused to give me, I knew I wasn’t enough. That night, I just felt so stuck. I needed something to click, to make sense. I just laid in bed thinking for hours. I needed some kind of sign for what to do next.

I got my sign. Weeks before this day, I was scrolling through Facebook and remembered seeing something that my cousin had posted. She posted a link to a website and said that one of her coworkers was looking to adopt, and she was helping him get the word out. I didn’t think anything of it when I saw it at a quick first glance, I don’t even think I comprehended it. I really never considered adoption until that exact moment, on October 1^st, 2013, when I remembered what I had seen. I immediately called my cousin and said “don’t worry, this isn’t about me, but I was wondering if you knew who these people personally who are looking to adopt”. She told me she did, and told me a little bit about their family and how great they are. So I spent a long time looking through their website. It was now pretty late in the evening, but I sent them an email telling then who I was and about my situation. I prayed that they would contact me back somehow that evening, because honestly, that was our last hope.

They did. Days later, they drove to Philly from their home in Manhattan and sat with Paul and me in a local park for hours. It was the most uncomfortable “first date” in the world at first, but it quickly became very natural and I think we all fell in love with each other. After that day, I felt relieved. I knew my child would be okay. I honestly had the thought of “wow, I wish these guys were MY parents."

I think we all have moments in our life when we can pinpoint a change. The moment I met the future adoptive parents, everything changed. I didn’t feel so alone anymore. I was still terrified, but now of different things, things that I could handle. That day, I stopped being an “I”. Now it was a “we”.

My adoption story is far from perfect, and I feel sad about it very often. But as often as I’m sad and hurt by it, I’m so incredibly grateful for it. Before my son, I was lost. I let my mistakes and my pain define who I was. I have learned so much from striving to be great for him. He is my motivation, my courage, and the reason I’m a fighter now. One day, I’m going to meet this beautiful boy that I created through more than just pictures. I will be able to stand up before him, and tell him all that I am now because of him.

Now, I am strong. I have determination and drive. I am his birth mom. I am a wife to the best husband I could have dreamed of, and a step mom to a crazy but beautiful little girl. I am someone who has big dreams and never gives up hope, even when it’s hard to find. These are my identities. The good ones and the bad ones. This is who I am, and I’m proud of it.

My name is Jackie and I'm a new blogger here at BirthMom Buds. 

Who are We?

Recently, I was at a birthparent support group and was told there was a girl who should have been there, but didn't show.  I thought back to the first time I went to a birthparent support group meeting.

In all honesty, the first time I went, no one else showed.  It was me and two birthmother counselors at the adoption agency.  We ate the pizza and tried to talk.  But it wasn't what I had been looking for.

It was a few months before I would go back again.  When I finally did, I was not the only birthmother there.  There were three others.  And the next time there were four others, including one who has been my closest friend in this journey.  I have made other friends and their help has been immeasurable.

But I remember the first time I walked into a room and knew that I wouldn't be the only birthmother there.  I was frightened.  The thing is, I only knew one other birthmother when I gave birth to my son.  I wasn't sure who I would meet.  I wasn't sure what to expect.  And that truly scared me.

But what I found is that birthmothers are from just about every walk of life you can imagine.  All of us are different.  All of us came to this decision for different reasons.  All of us have our own story.  And that is a wonderful thing.

So if you're a new birthmother and you have been concerned about going to a group meeting, I encourage you to go.  You won't know who you will find there.  But that's a good thing.  If you don't feel like you will fit in, I promise, you will.  We're all different.  But we're all birthmothers.  And that's what ties us all together.

I hope you all have a great weekend!

When You Get a Chance to Help

It's very rare that I get an opportunity to help my son in some meaningful way.  Recently an opportunity to do just that landed in my lap.  It took me a while to act on it, but after thought and consideration, I asked for a lunch meeting with my son's adoptive mother.

Lately, my son has been having some problems in school.  The school and teachers have been trying to figure it out.  His adoptive mother and father had both talked about it with me.  And that's when I started noticing glaring similarities between myself as a child and my son.  So we decided to talk.

I explained how noise can be fine, but too much noise gets on my nerves.  I like hanging out with friends, but I don't like crowds.  I'm now an adult, so I have the choice to walk away from situations that stress me out.  And if I can't walk away, there are sites where I can listen to ambient noise to block things out.  I can snap my fingers and try to breathe so that I don't lash out.  Then get away from the situation that is stressing me out as quickly as I can.  But again, I'm an adult so I have that choice.  School wasn't always a great thing for me.  Mostly because you have very few choices when you are in school.  When I was a teenager, I would wear headphones in the halls between classes so I wouldn't just smack everyone I walked past.  Band was a solace for me.  I explained how there's a lot of sound there, of course, but it was sound that was organized.  And in the middle of the band it's almost like being wrapped in a cocoon of sound.  Drumline was especially good for this.  As you can imagine, almost twenty teenagers with drums, xylophones, and cymbals can be loud.  But again, it was ordered sound.  It was sound that made sense.  And it was always so loud in there that not only was it a cocoon, it was the only thing I could think about anymore.  When playing with the drumline, it was the only thing on my mind, and the two or three lines of thought I always have going finally went quiet.

But currently, my son is 5.  I explained to her that I feel rather useless in this situation since much of my coping involves things only adults can do.  But she assured me that hearing what it's like is helping her to understand and giving her ideas on what to do.  She asked me questions about odd things he's said and I found that I could give her reasons and explanations because I remember having those problems and I still have some of them myself.  I did apologize that some of these reasons don't really make logical sense.  But they are reasons.  Whether they make sense or not, I know that's what going on in his head.  He just lacks the vocabulary to express what is going on.

Like I said before, it's rare that I get the chance to help my son in any way that's meaningful.  But, it seems that this time, I can.  I've started therapy again and with their help will hopefully think of other things that will help my son cope.  The worst part for me right now is that I remember what this was like and I remember how much it isolated me and drove me nuts.  But I keep trying to tell myself, he has me, he has his parents, there will be test results coming in soon, and possibly a therapist for him.  He's not going to have to suffer like I did and like my father did.  We can offer insight and hopefully this will help.

Traditions

My son turned 5 on Tuesday.  We had a party at Chuck E. Cheese and his friends from school attended.  So did I.  We played the games, the kids rode the rides, and J's adoptive mother and I played Skee-Ball.  Because of the sensory over-load of all the lights, sounds, smells, and general insanity that one finds at a Chuck E. Cheese, we never did get around to opening presents there.  The kids got tired and just about done with everything.  So before anyone had a meltdown, we all packed up the gifts, piled into our cars and headed home.

I haven't done it yet, but I need to email J's parents about one of my presents.  It's a set of dominoes that has fruit on it instead of dots.  I got him a set of dominoes for a specific reason though: traditions.

My grandfather taught me how to play dominoes.  He also gave me my first set of dominoes when I was about J's age, or maybe younger.  I don't know if he has a set already or not.  But I wanted to be able to say I had given him one.  I loved my grandfather.  He passed away when I was very young so the few memories I have of him and the things I associate with him are near and dear to my heart.  So this year, I decided to continue this tradition.  I put a set of dominoes in a gift bag with a LEGO set and a Magic School Bus book about space.  I hope that he likes them.  Later I may give him a real set with dots and maybe I can teach him how to play.  It would be fun since there are very few things I get the chance to teach him.  I think it would make my grandfather smile too.

What kind of traditions have you passed on (if you're able) to your children?  Or are there any bits of knowledge you've been fortunate enough to pass on to them yourself?  Let me know in the comments!  And I hope you all have a good weekend!

Photo Credit

The Bigger Picture

Today I was in class and with the severe amount of rain we have been getting we seem to be going stir crazy, locked in our classroom all day.  So, I tried to find things for them to do to keep occupied and one of the activities actually used the rain to our advantage.  We made rain Kool-Aid water color.  It was so awesome to see their little faces light up each time a rain drop hit the Styrofoam cup and mix together to make a blood red.  As we took the paint inside we sat at a prepared table that had blue paper rolled out and taped so that we didn't paint the table.  They got paintbrushes and went to town painting.  Everyone talking among themselves about what they were creating.   However, an objective we haven't quite mastered yet is how to paint.  They tend to paint the same spot over and over again, resulting in the paper tearing.  So I told them paint a 'big picture', spread it all over and use all the space so that it doesn't tear in that one spot.  My choice in words hit me...the big picture.  Where was mine?

M told me before I gave birth to Mini M that there was a bigger picture than the moment we stood in.  Sure, it hurts now, but years later it will make sense.  I created a list that told about my future big picture soon after placement, but I began to forget about it all when things got more challenging.  Until now.  She's right, there is a big picture.  Much like my five year old's, if we paint in the same spot, or continue to live the same moments over and over and not venture out, we will tear and breakdown.  So, for the sake of staying together and continuing to be one, I will look at the big picture.  I will look at the need in the world and all the good that I can do because of my situation.  I will see that Mini M is where she needs to be because she will forever and always have what she deserves and desires.  I will look at the relationships formed because of this adoption.

If you are ever in a situation and you know you are about to rip or feel yourself slipping, change spots.  Spread that out and make it a bigger picture.  You have your entire life not just that second.  Use it all.

Philemon

I don't talk about God and religion very much because I have a strange relationship with both.  My pastor is, however, happy that there's at least a relationship.  I never have liked taking orders. And I'm not one to judge others for their actions or how they live their lives.  Thus I don't always do well in organized religion.  I do believe.  I just don't always like the people who call themselves believers.  My guess is many of you can understand what I'm saying.  I'm really just saying this at the beginning so you understand where I come from on this.  Sometimes, God can put something in my path that makes me furious.  And other times, He brings me something that helps.

A few years ago, my pastor decided to start up a bible study.  It was a long one.  Took about ten months.  At the very beginning we had to read a couple of short passages.  One was to read the book of Philemon.  If you're wondering what in the world that is, don't worry, so did everyone else.  But it is a book in the New Testament; right between Titus and Hebrews.  In my bible, it's about a page.  In some shorter bibles, it's two pages, either facing each other or front and back.  There's only one chapter and has a total of 25 verses.  That's it.  Takes about five minutes to read.  It's shortness is probably why it is often over-looked.

It's one of the letters that Paul wrote while in prison.  While there he wrote a letter to his friend, Philemon.  It starts out like most letters do, "Hope all is well... Timothy and the others send their love... yadda yadda yadda..."  But then he starts to speak of a man who he is currently travelling with.  The man's name is Onesimus.  Onesimus was a slave owned by Philemon who ran away.  Somewhere along the line, Paul and Onesimus met up and Onesimus became a Christian and began following Paul and helping him.  Paul, in the letter, shows great affection and love for Onesimus, but knows that he needs to return to Philemon and answer for running away.  So Paul is writing a letter to Philemon explaining what had happened and for Philemon to welcome Onesimus back into his home.  The verse that struck me the most in this chapter is the twelfth verse:

"I am sending him -who is my very heart- back to you."

To this day I'm not quite certain how to explain how I feel when I read that verse.  But every time I read it, all I think of is my son.  He is my very heart.  And I had to send him back.  Not to slavery, nor to the family that I took him from; obviously I did neither.  I just had to send him back to the forces that gave him to me in the first place.  And from there it had to be decided to what to do.

Being a birthmother has a lot to do with faith.  Faith that the birth will go well.  Faith that the people we give our children to will take care of them.  Faith that they will keep in touch with us and honor us.  Faith that everyone around us will at least let us do what needs to be done even if they don't agree with it.  And faith that one day our children will understand why we did this.

When I placed my child for adoption, a lot of the future I was taking on faith.  It was scary. Definitely the hardest and most frightening time of my life.  But I knew this was the only thing to do.  There was no other choice.  So far, things have been good.  I hope they stay that way.

I hope all of you are having a good weekend.  I hope you find your peace wherever you may find it.

Just Another Mother's Day

Mother's Day is upon us again.  I don't really like Mother's Day.

I don't like it because of the constant advertisements that are all over the internet, the radio, and the newspapers.  We're really lucky I don't have cable right now because I might have broken my own TV by now.  I know it's got to be all over the place right now.  I don't really like it because I don't want to be reminded that it's coming soon.  I know that it is.  And I will deal with it in my own way when it gets here.  But I don't need nor want to be reminded of it constantly in the days leading up to it.  All it really reminds me of is that my son is not going to be with me on Mother's Day.  I won't get a card from him.  I won't get flowers from him.  He's going to be spending the day with his mom.  And that's something I'm not a part of.  Of all the holidays of the year, Mother's Day, for me, is the worst.  I've tried to treat it like just another day, but that's not really possible in my case.

I get texts from my ex and his mother on Mother's Day.  They don't mean any malice in this.  I know. they do it because they still love me.  And I guess you could say I get my revenge because I tell my ex Happy Father's Day when that day rolls around.  Either I call my mom or she calls me so we can say it to each other.  I do like telling my mother Happy Mother's Day.  The first time she told me Happy Mother's Day, I was still big and pregnant.  My parents gave me a Mother's Day card in which they wrote, "Whatever you decide, we will always love you."  I knew they meant well.  And at the time I received it well.  But at the time I was still trying to decide what to do.  So it was difficult.

Sunday I will be going to church.  I'm going to church because the church I attend on occasion has a very low-key way of handling Mother's Day.  There is a blessing over every woman and girl in the church.  Then every woman and girl gets a carnation and the chance to go to the fellowship hall and have cake.  This will be the third time I've done so.  I like it this way.  No judgements about who I am or what I did, just that I am a mother as is every other woman.  I get a flower.  I get cake.  There are several people in the congregation who know about my son.  Even the pastor knows.  I'll show them the most recent pictures of him and they will wonder at how big he's gotten and how much he looks like me.  They'll be kind and tell me to have another piece of cake.  They know I miss him.  But in their eyes, I'm a mother as well.  And on Mother's Day, that's one thing I need.

I hope you all have a good Mother's Day and that you spend it how it suits you best.  Anyone else have any rituals or special things you do on Mother's Day?  Do let me know!

Visits with our Kids

Tomorrow I'm finally going to have a Christmas visit with my son after many delays.  Not one "side's" fault at all, just a matter of illness, weather, travel, and things keeping us busy.  Tonight I want to go out and have Chinese food with a friend or two.  I want something to get my mind off of tomorrow.  Of course my friends will ask me, "Aren't you happy about this?"

*sigh*

Happy that I will see my son, yes.  Happy that I get to watch him ride away in their car again? No.

Happy that my parents will get to see their only grandchild, yes.  Happy that when he leaves they get that far away look in their eyes that guilts me to no end?  No.

Happy that my son is doing well and smiling and doing good in school and growing up fast, yes. Happy that I have to see that this is happening without me?  No.

Happy that he's happy, healthy, and doing well, yes.  Happy that this is only because he's not with me?  No.

Happy that I get to see him, yes.  Happy that he leaves again?  No.

I'm not sure how else to describe the conflict of feelings that happens when I'm having a visit with J. I want him to be around.  I want to see him.  But I also know how much it will hurt when he leaves again.  I know I want to keep him forever and can't.  I know I want to be there for him and can't.   I know a thousand things I can do.  But I also know the million things that I can't.

Only thing I try to hold onto these days is that if he were with me, his life would not be nearly as good as it is now.

I hope you all have a wonderful weekend.  Will try for a happier topic next time.

Coping 5: Look to the Future

This is going to be the last in this series of blog posts that I do.

This may sound like an odd coping tool, but in truth, it is.  After getting home, the next question I asked myself was, "Now what?"  At the time, I turned on Netflix and tried to bury my head in the sand.  But then I started setting up little projects for myself.  My mother was having me make dinner on Thursday nights (the night she would work late), so I would look up recipes and plan a couple weeks ahead.  I started looking up knitting and crochet patterns and working on them.  I made plans and found yarn that I really liked and experimented with it.  I started writing again and planned out stories that I wanted to write down.  And I started looking into things to do.

If you can call it a job, my father "hired" me to make labels for the numerous things he had printed out to read for various reasons.  Why did he want me to make the labels?  His handwriting has gotten to the point that even he can't read it anymore.  It's really that terrible.  So I would sit with a little lap desk on my lap and write out labels for him while watching Netflix.  After that, I volunteered in my mother's library working in the technical services office.  Essentially, that's the office where everything gets cataloged, barcoded, put in mylar jackets, and labeled.  It's also where donations get sorted, books get mended, DVDs and CDs get cleaned, and various other things get done.  So as you can imagine, I had a number of little odd jobs that I could do for the few months that I was hanging out with them.

I was always looking for a job.  Looking for something else to do.  Trying to find some meaning and something to keep me occupied.  Otherwise I would sit and spin in my own thoughts.  And that was something I just could not do.

My looking eventually landed me a job working as a facilitator for a child in a Montessori school.  The boy's optical nerves are too small and thus he had issues reading.  Not the comprehension part, just the reading.  So my job was to sit with him and help him to get things done.  I liked it.  The kid I worked with was eight years old and was in a room of six to eight year old's.  Some were concerned about me working with children, but I assured them, working with kids of their age was not a problem.  Had it been babies, I would have been sunk.  But at the time, I would just look at the kids and wonder what my kid would look like when he was that old.

In October, about three months after giving birth, I finally landed my first full-time job.  This job led to me moving out of the house, getting another full-time job in the same school, and finally finding the friends and the adventures that I have found thus far.  It hasn't always been easy, but it has been worth it.

So my best advice, do something.  Knitting, writing, running, a job, volunteering, anything.  Just do something that gets you moving again and get you out of your own head.  Hope you are all doing well and that you have a wonderful weekend!

Photo Credit 

Coping 4: Reach Out

The first year of being a birthmother is the hardest.  You have to recover from being pregnant.  You have to go through all the hormones.  You have to settle with all the feelings you and those around you are having.  And on top of all that, your child isn't with you.  They're being raised by someone else and it's possibly the most difficult feeling you've ever had in your life.

But after the first year, things calm down a bit.  Your body starts going back to normal.  Hormones start calming down.  Everyone starts settling into the new reality.  And with any luck, you've seen your child a couple of times and know how they are doing and how well things are going.  Slowly, you start to settle into the way life is going to be now.

And if you're very very lucky, you'll find a great support network like BirthMom Buds or a local support group to attend and other birthmothers to talk to.  There really is nothing much like knowing that you are not alone.  In talking to birthmothers who have been through a lot, I have learned that I am not alone in this.  I have found people I can turn to when my emotions run high and I have to face things like first birthdays and walking and going to school for the first time.

And I have been there for other birthmothers.  Women who are in the very same shoes that I once stood, facing the same decisions and uncertainties that I once faced.  I have been there for them in the aftermath.  I have listened to them in the midst of their sadness and confusion.  And I have told them, I've been in that very same spot.  I know what it feels like.  And you will get through this.  This more than anything has taught me that none of us are alone in this.  There is always someone to give a hand.  There is always someone to lend an ear.  And there is always someone's shoulder to cry on.  Even if it is in person, or over the phone, or across the internet, you are not alone.

Coping 3: Talk to Others

Talking to others, at least for the first few months, can be really intimidating.  It was hard to talk to my family about it because they had lost something too.  It was hard to talk to my friends since hardly any of them knew and none of them were birthmothers.  Talking to anyone in the health care profession was a crap shoot to see what they would or wouldn't say in response to, "Yes, I've given birth, but that child doesn't live with me."  Talking to counselors was helpful, but none were birthmothers and hardly any had dealt with birthmothers before.  The one birthmother support group near me was a good two hour drive away and at the time didn't have many people in it.  I gave birth in July and it wasn't until February that I met any birthmothers that I felt like I could have a conversation with.

To be honest, I was kind of scared of talking to other birthmothers.  I was 27.  My child's father was still my boyfriend at the time and today is still my best friend.  The family I had picked was amazing about communication and sending photos and such.  There was no great drama.  There were no insane circumstances.  It was simply the matter of two people in the wrong place at the wrong time with not enough resources to help them.  I was worried about being the only one.

But when I did finally come to a meeting where there were other birthmothers, I realized one important fact: we are all completely different from each other.  No one's story matches the other's.  Everyone came to this in a different way.  Everyone had different reactions to it.  Everyone had different experiences with family, friends, co-workers, boyfriends, adoptive families.  Every single one of us is different.

The important thing, the thing that connects all of us, is that we are birthmothers.  However we came to it, whatever circumstances we were in, whoever we had to deal with, we all made a choice for our child.  We chose to place them with people that we had met recently.  We chose to be braver than we have ever been and chose a path most don't.  We chose to defy society, our friends, our families, and sometimes our own instincts, and make a choice that many will never understand.

But there are many who do.  And I encourage each and every one of you to talk to each other.  Go to support groups and talk to other birthmothers.  Talk to your friends.  Talk to your family.  Just talk to anyone and shine a light in this corner of the world that doesn't often get revealed.  A lot of birthmothers still live in shame and have stigma placed on them by society and, worst of all, family.  But at the end of the day, this isn't a shameful thing that we did.  This was the bravest thing we have probably ever done and possibly ever will do.  When the time came, we did what we knew was right for our children.  And that's all we could do.

It sounds trite to say we're all in this together, but we really are.  We've all been to the same place.  We all know the same pain.  And we are all here for each other.  That's one of the great things I've found about the birthmother community.  There is an unending well of support here.  And any of you who are new to all this.  Believe me.  We've all been there.  We know what it's like.  And you can talk to us any time you need to.

Nature vs. Nurture

Today I thought I'd post a little something I've noticed about my son lately.

My son looks like me.  Now, that's easy to explain.  That's genetics.  I have two male cousins and one female cousin who all look like me.  We all look like our grandmother.  So as he's gotten older, we've compared to pictures of me and my cousins at the same age.  The funny part is that he often looks nearly exactly like the pictures of us from long ago.

But my son also acts like me in some ways.  And it's kind of spooky.  When he was two, he would insist on doing things over and over and over again.  My father said to them on a visit, "We had a rule, if you didn't want to do it a hundred times, don't do it the first time."

Now, many kids like to do the same thing over and over.  It's true.  But then it keeps going.

He makes up stories.  He likes to make up stories and tell them to his parents to see what they think.  I tell stories.  I write stories.  I wrote stories when I was little as well.  Not great ones, as you can imagine.  But I was writing then too.

He hates it when his things get messed up or you rearrange the words in a song.  Absolutely hates it.  Will get very upset about it even.  And yeah, you guessed it, I did that.  Still hate it when someone gets into my things.  I don't cry or scream anymore as you can imagine, but I still have to control myself when people start messing with my things.

He's musical.  He and his adoptive dad have been banging on the fridge and the cabinets and making music all their own.  I picked well in his adoptive parents.  I'm a musician.  And his adoptive father is too.  I can see the delight in his adoptive father's eyes when he talks about making music with Joseph and recording it.

If I added up the time that I've spent with my son, it would probably amount to about two and a half weeks all together.  But there are things I passed down to him without even knowing it.  There is one thing that puzzles me.

He's a practical joker.  I fail at practical jokes.  His biological father never did pull any on me or anyone else I know.  I don't know where it came from.  Maybe some distant relative.  Maybe he learned it from someone in his adoptive family.  I have no idea.  But we all delight in it.

As the years go by, I expect other traits of mine and his birth father will come out.  And traits he picks up from his adoptive family will come out as well.  And I can't wait to see what he makes of all of this.  Hope you and yours are doing well and let me know if you've seen bits of yourself in your own children.

My Ultimate Frustration

So, it's November.  November, among other things, is national adoption month.  A friend of mine, who is a photographer, posted a list of twenty photos celebrating national adoption month.  Of those, about two were domestic adoptions that were the result of custody battles and divorces.  All the others were international adoptions.

Okay, before I get scolded, I have no problem with either kinds of adoption.  I agree that people who get divorced and then end up with blended families, should be able to adopt their step children.  I also agree that there are children in other countries who need homes and the opportunities that this country can provide.

That said, my frustration is mainly in that the adoptions we hear about the most are those that happen in blended families or international adoptions.  Adoptions like the ones that we know of?  I hear about them at birthmother support groups.  I hear about them on this blog.  I hear about them when I look really hard for them.  I hear about them when I share my story and people find the courage to speak up as well.  I don't hear about our stories on TV, on the news, in the movies, or in books.  Not most of them anyway.

So right now, I'm just frustrated.  I'm frustrated that our society is one that keeps us quiet.  I'm frustrated that people like us get painted as drug addicts, screw-ups, and women who abandoned their children.  At least this is what it feels like right now.  That's what I keep seeing.  And it's so incredibly frustrating to me right now.

What's worse is that this will be something that will have to change over time.  I know that the best idea is to remain patient and work as we go along.  We're only a few people.  And even as I write this, I feel like a bit a of a hypocrite because I am not open about my son on my own Facebook page due to various family that I don't want to know about happened.  How can I call for people to be open when I'm barely open myself?

Sorry all, just very frustrated this week.  Feel free to vent your own frustrations on here.  I know I've been frustrated about this for days now.

Can I Come In?

Several months after placing my son for adoption, I was invited to come to a Methodist church to be a substitute piano player.  I play piano and have done so since I was nine years old.  I don't play that much anymore and eventually I would just be a casual member rather than a piano player.  The pastor at this particular small town church is a woman named Teresa.  On my first meeting with Pastor Teresa in the morning before service, we talked for a while about a variety of things.  But then because this is a small town church and because I was more or less committed to telling the truth to people, I decided to tell her about the one thing I thought could get me kicked out of this place.

"I have to tell you, the reason I came back to live with my parents was because I got pregnant," I say to her.

"It happens," she said with a nod.  Now realizing that if I did leave this church it would not be because of her, I continued,

"And my boyfriend and I didn't have the ability to give him a good stable home so we placed him for adoption. It's an open adoption and I get to see him."  She expressed her glee and happiness that things had worked out so well for everyone involved and I realized that I would not have to fear telling this woman anything.

Religion has been a strange subject in my life.  Mostly it's because I had something of a weird upbringing on the subject.  Stuck between a Methodist and a fallen away Catholic who both decided the Unitarian church was the one for them (until I was nine and after that we didn't go anywhere) meant my religious education was rather weird.  But, it has also left me more open minded.  For now I attend the Methodist church when I go to see my parents and a Lutheran church in the town where I live if I stay for the weekend.

After everything that happened with my son, I wasn't quite sure that any church would let me back in.  I had (obviously) has sex before marriage.  I had bore a son and placed that son in the arms of others to be raised.  These still carry a bit of social stigma and much social stigma (let's face it) comes from religion.  So you can probably understand my nervousness.

But just as I've been extremely lucky with who my son's adoptive parents and how everything turned out, I've been extremely lucky when it comes to find churches that will let me in and won't bother me about anything that I've done.  Both the Methodist and the Lutheran pastors at the churches I have attended have passed the test.  They and many members of both churches have seen pictures of my son and have talked to me very positively about what I've done and what all happened.  And it has been a help to me.

I hope that all of you have the courage to look for the people who will help you.  And while you may have some bad times, I do believe that sooner or later, you will find people who will support and believe in you.  And trust me, they will let you back in the door.

BMB Reform Blog: The Reunion Roller Coaster

For those of you who don't know me, I reunited with my newly teen-aged daughter this past year.  It was both amazing and traumatic, happy and sad.  It opened my eyes to a lot of those what ifs, and boy did it give me some answers I didn't want, and wasn't prepared to hear.  Don't get me wrong, reuniting with my beautiful girl was priceless and I am so happy we're forming the open bond now that we should have had from birth.  But one of the things they don't put in those brochures are the
emotional pitfalls a lot of us will encounter.  And, for some of us, those reunions don't turn out happy. Sometimes our kids don't want to know us.  Or sometimes, sadly, we find them too late.  I remember hearing people tell me "It's alright, you will see her again" and I wonder how many of us were also told that, and how many of us had that promise broken either by people themselves or by unfortunate circumstances.

Another thing I would like to point out, something I'm very vocal about, is the term "better life" and how I think it's grossly unfair to use this in terms of adoption.  And, no, I am not saying that our children don't have good lives.  But the point is, sometimes they do, sometimes they don't.  One thing I became acutely aware of during my reunion was that my daughter has a different life, not a better one.  When agencies or adoption pro's tell expectant mothers this, it's almost like saying 'you would give them an awful life.'   And if there's one thing I know, it's that unless you are a true, honest to God psychic, you have no way of knowing the validity of that statement.  And often, as was in my case, we come to realize we could have been amazing parents to our children.  Or that the parents who raised our children, often don't live up to those 'better standards'  No, I am not saying all AP's are bad, not in the slightest.  I'm simply saying we don't know and to put that thought in our head that they are better, we are worse when you're pregnant is coercive.  And it slaps you in the face upon reunion if you realize that that better life is just plain...different.

Another thing they don't tell you is the roller coaster of emotions you might feel upon reunion.  Boy, I was not prepared for those.  All of a sudden your precious baby is now a full blown adult (or in my case young lady).  They can now vocalize their thoughts, their emotions.  Which is a wonderful thing, but sometimes not always what we are ready or wanting to hear.  I don't want to get too personal in this blog, but I will say that not everything I saw and heard was wonderful.  Things I wanted for her, experiences I didn't want her to have - she has had.  And that was a big dose of reality that sent me spiraling for a bit.  The anger I felt at the system, at myself, at God was overwhelming.  Almost as bad as the initial months after relinquishment.

I want to end this by saying I am over the moon that I have my daughter back in my life.  And she is as well.  At the end of the day, I know that whatever obstacles arise we can work through them together.  The amount of love she has for me both surprised and overwhelmed me.  For that, I am blessed.



If you or anyone you know would like to be interviewed for this section, or if you have an important reform topic you would like discussed, please feel free to email me!  I look forward to hearing from you!

Photo Credit

That's the Dumbest Question I've Ever Heard...

I call myself the queen of the stupid question.  I say this because when I'm learning something new, I often have to have it explained to me two or three times.  And I find it easier to look stupid and say, "Could you tell me that piece just one more time?  I'm just drawing a blank today," than struggle on and on and possibly do something wrong.  But then there are other stupid questions, like the ones I and other birthmothers get.  Sometimes people are well-meaning, sometimes they just don't know, and other times, I'm just not sure what they are thinking or why they are being so judgmental.  Here's a couple examples for your perusal.

"Do you have visitation rights?"

This is one that I heard.  The person was actually trying to be nice.  And granted, that's what happens in a divorce or a custody battle.  And I really had to struggle to not be a jerk.  But I did reply with, "This is not a divorce.  I signed away all rights to my child.  I signed the papers and he's no longer mine; he's theirs."  They looked at me like I had snakes growing out of my ears.  I wasn't sure how I was not being clear or how this didn't make sense.   This was an adoption.  Not a "he'll just stay over there until I get my act together and I can get him back" kind of situation.  This was permanent.  And I've had to spend a good amount of time explaining that, especially it seems to people who are mothers themselves.

"When will they tell them who their "real" parents are?"

Okay, first of all, my son's adoptive parents ARE his real parents.  They have been raising him for the past four years and doing an excellent job of it too.  He calls them Momma and Daddy.  That makes them his parents.  My ex and I are his birthparents.  Very simple.  As for when he will be told, that is a discussion that I've had with them and we are working on it.  With other birthmothers I've heard different stories.  Every kid is different.  Every set of parents is different.  And we all deal with things different ways.  And there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.  When he knows the whole crazy story is going to be a long way down the line.  Along the way he'll be told he's adopted.  That he was in my tummy.  And that all of us love him very very much.  And for him, this will be his normal.

"Are you sure this is what's good for your kid?"

I beg of you, resist the urge to slap the person who asks you this.  I know it is tempting.  Believe me.  But assault charges are a lot less fun and more expensive.  Now, obviously, this person has never had any experience with adoption and more than likely has bought into the "the family must stay together for the good of the child" kind of myths that we all battle with.  I know that I did the right thing for my child.  Others know this too.  I'm not saying that I don't have doubts.  Every other day I have to remind myself of why and all the reasons that this was the best decision.  But in the end, yes, this was the best thing for my child.  And if they can't see it, then ask them as nicely as you can to keep their opinions to themselves.

(Most often when upset over my child) "Shouldn't you be over this by now?  This was your choice after all."

Again, please resist any and all temptations to do anything other than explain very firmly why this is a situation that will continue to be difficult.  Placing a child for adoption is not something anyone heals over quickly.  And along the way there are more wounds and more things that one misses.  Healing over this takes years, as I've illustrated on this very blog.  And even now there are still bad days for me.  My only suggestion there is to either try to explain this, or relocate and find other friends who have historically shown more tact and understanding when it comes to your situation.

Other choice questions that I collected in writing this were:

"Are the parents afraid you're doing to steal him/her away?"

"Can't you get him/her back one day?"

"Did you get paid for him/her?"

To which the obvious answers are, "No.  No.  And what are you talking about??  NO!"

In the end, some people are well-meaning and don't understand.  Some people just have no tact at all.  And some people just want to push other people's buttons.  I certainly learned that when I was waiting tables.  My best suggestion for every dumb question you get, try to explain as best you can.  If they don't get it, ask them to keep their questions and opinions to themselves and move on.  It isn't fun.  It isn't pleasant.  But it's one of the unfortunate things we have to live with.

Do share your worst questions in the comments or give your best (or craziest) answers to the ones that were listed above.  And I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!