Stereotypes

It's 2016.  Adoption has been portrayed in the media in several different positive lights in recent years, and adoption stories have become less taboo.  Everywhere you look you can see adoptive families, with their radiating smiles singing the praises of the "selfless woman who placed her child with us."

So why is it still so hard to "come out" as a birth mother sometimes?

I am pretty open about my birth mother status.  I tell everyone as we get to know each other, because it is a part of who I am.  However, it isn't something that I shout from a rooftop for every stranger to hear, mostly because of one experience, and one stereotype:

I placed my middle child.  I was a young, struggling, single Mom, and I was in no place to successfully parent two children at that time.  After my adoption decision, I went on to get married, buy a house, and have a planned pregnancy.

When my youngest was born, she wasn't in the greatest of health so she was sent to a larger hospital with a NICU.  Every family was assigned a social worker to help them with whatever was needed, and (apparently) the social worker does an in depth review of everyone's files before even meeting with you.  She asked me about my family, and when I responded that we had one older child, she pushed me, and pushed me, and pushed me some more.  When I told her of my middle child's adoption, she immediately (seriously, there was no hesitation) asked, "Was CPS involved?"

And that, everyone, is the problem.

In this modern society. there is still the long held stereotype that birth moms are somehow unfit.  That we are incapable, and that we are women who have not come to the decision of adoption because we wanted to, but because we were forced to, or else risked having our children placed in foster care.

I want to fix this, but I just don't know how.  I want to scream from a rooftop that, "I am here!  I'm not unfit!  I loved my child, and I wanted the best for them!  I was realistic about my situation and realized that I wasn't the best!  That's it!"  

But no matter how loud I scream, it seems like the long held idea that I am somehow irresponsible is louder.

I made a great choice when I chose adoption, but I feel like sometimes society is punishing me for doing what was best, and that's a real injustice that is done to birth moms every day.

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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.

Getting Through the First Year

My first year after placing Noah was excruciating.  Now he is only 16 months old, but I think the reason why the first year seemed to be so hard is because it is a year of the basic "firsts".  Any time he accomplishes something (ex. walking), I feel proud with a small pain in my heart.  It's just tough not being there to see it,

And if you are going through the first year, know that it WILL get better.  Although at times I felt angry and depressed, I also felt happy at others!  It's a roller coaster, but I have some suggestions of things below that I did during the first year that really helped me.  I hope they help you too!


1. Write to your child. 
I cannot emphasize this enough.  Writing allowed me to fully express my emotion and thoughts without holding back (thinking people were judging me).  I also can show Noah my letters to him when he's older so he knows how much I do think about him.  He will have these letters forever.


2. Make a scrapbook.
One word- therapy.  I had two visits with Noah, but got monthly pictures.  This was life changing because it was like I was actually there.  It was so therapeutic for me to just go through the process of picking up the printed pictures, adding fun captions, and placing them in there.  I was doing something for him, which I don't get to do that often.  I made this book with his footprints, hospital bracelet, our printed entrustment ceremony (the handing off at the hospital), and pictures from the time he was seconds alive on this Earth to his one year birthday.  I can't wait to give this to him.


3. CRY
Sounds weird, but crying was the most freeing feeling for me after Noah's birth.  I was so in shock that when I signed my rights away, I wasn't feeling anything.  It hadn't hit me what I was doing.  I had prepared myself for that moment, but I had no idea what it would feel like to be a mom.  I did not actually cry until 3 weeks after he was born.  There were just so many emotions going at once, so when I was finally able to process my loss- I literally just sat in my car and cried.  I found a safe place to cry because I didn't want my family to hear me.  I love my family to death and I just didn't want to upset them.  I also was able to cry when I wrote letters.  Holding all that grief is exhausting, and when I finally let it out little by little- I felt amazing.


4. Keep busy!
Hang out with your friends, watch dumb YouTube videos when you're sad just to laugh, go on road trip, apply for some of your dream jobs!  Just make sure that when you know you are going to have a tough day, surround yourself with positive people to try to lift you up.


5. Let yourself move forward
You placed your child for important reasons.  Remember why you placed him/her and live your life the best you can.  I know it is very hard to move forward with your life after such a loss, believe me.  I did this by applying for a teaching position.  This was moving forward for me.  Am I moving on from my son? No way! I will always want him in my life.  But I chose to place him to give him the best life, so now I want to have the best life I can too :)

Living through the Heartache

After talking  last week about milestones, I have spent some time reflecting on ways I cope with these hard times and work through the emotions. My son’s first day of school is tomorrow! I cannot believe how quickly he has grown and we are at one of those huge markers in his life. It has definitely hit me hard facing this moment alone and not being there by his side. I have had to look into myself and at those around me for different ways to help get me through this time. I have found over these past few years that there are certain things I can do that just help me when I feel like I may slip into a deep sadness. Other people may have different things they do that help them, but for me allowing myself to feel involved and to feel the emotions I have has been very helpful.

When my son was born and we all agreed on an open adoption plan, I promised myself I would always allow myself to stay involved. While it can be difficult at times when I feel as though his family sees me as a burden or I worry about trying too hard, the reality has always been that it brings happiness to my son. I have sent little gifts in the mail, cards on special days, or even for no reason at all. I have made special gifts which include pictures of me and the rest of his birth family to show him all the people who love him. Anything I can think of that gives him a special surprise and helps him to know he is always on my heart; these are things that give me peace. It is just something little, but has always been a helpful way for me to show him my love, even when I cannot be present. For his first day of school I prepared a little backpack filled with after school or lunch snacks with special notes on them, along with a few school supplies and special pictures my girls drew for him. I always take pictures of the gifts I send, so that someday, when he no longer has these items, he can still have a memory of those special things I tried to do for him.

I have also allowed myself the opportunity to celebrate! I have been blessed to spend every birthday with my son, and we celebrate special holidays, but often not on the exact day. When I am away from him on special days or events I allow myself to celebrate here with my family, even though Aidan is not here with us. I feel like I have every right to feel happy for special events in Aidan’s life, and doing something special gives me that sense of being included, and including my girls and other family as well. This doesn’t make the pain go away, but it gives me something to do, and gives me some peace. So tomorrow as Aidan wakes up and goes off to school, I will take my girls out for a special breakfast. We will talk about “bubba” and pray that he has an amazing day at school. I will enjoy the pictures I receive and I will celebrate the day with my girls. My heart will still ache, but this is my journey, and part of surviving it is learning to live with the heartache. 

 

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Trigger Warning

I kind of wish life came with trigger warnings.  I do hate when something happens that sets off things in my head.  This weekend won't be fun for me.  Many enjoy fireworks and I understand that.  But I am not a fan.  There was a shooting at my high school here in Georgia.  That was when I learned how similar the sound of gunfire and firecrackers are.  I also lived in Columbus, GA for nine years.  Fort Benning is right near by.  They often do artillery testing and I can guarantee you, the sound can be heard in Columbus.  And it often sounds like fireworks.

After becoming a birthmother, I discovered a whole new set of triggers.  Not long after giving birth, I went to the eye doctor to get a new pair of glasses.  It was a simple visit like many other simple visits I've had over the years.  But in the waiting room there was a new mother and her newborn baby.  People cooed and asked how old the baby was.  And her child was born a day after mine.  Immediately, I'm tearing up, my brain is racing with thoughts about where my son could be right now, and the only thing I really want to do is run out of this doctor's office right now.  Fortunately, I got called back by the nurse before I went into a full breakdown and was able to collect myself during the rote questions you get at every doctor's office.

It was the first time I was triggered by the sight of a baby. Children didn't bother me.  Children still don't bother me.  It seems that children four months and older don't bother me.  But newborns always get to me.  Friends have had children, but looking at pictures of their newborn children  is tough.  I often don't visit until their kids are at least six months old.  Fortunately, most new moms don't mind this.

Since then, there have been other times I have been triggered.  Sometimes it's a commercial for Mother's day.  Sometimes it's someone talking about their kid when I can't.  Sometimes it's a poem his adoptive father reads that has my son... our son in it.  None of these moments ever warn me of their approach.  They come and I have to deal as best I can.  But that's about all I can do.

How do you deal with your triggers and what do you find that triggers you?

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!

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Bad Days

I try my very best to make everyday a good day, and most of the time they are. I go to class, I go to work, I hang out with my amazing roommates and have a beer or two. Recently I celebrated my 21st birthday and it was amazing and all I've ever dreamed of since I was 16. I had a rough patch a few months ago, I struggled with my decision for a while. Since then I have been extremely positive most days about everything. I learned in therapy how to love myself. Even still those bad days sneak up on you.

I know that I made the best decision for my daughter at the time of placement. I know that she is where she belongs and I am where I belong but those bad days can question everything you have ever believed in. I know that I am lucky and many of our birth mother sisters are not as lucky to be confident and happy in their adoption. I know that many of us have been lied to and cheated and felt that this was our only option. I know some of us live in regret and struggle with the everyday. The one thing that helps me get through these bad days are remembering that sweet little face. Remembering those little kicks I felt as I lay awake trying to sleep. I cherish every second I had with my daughter, even though it was for a short nine months.

The best piece of advice I have for people on their bad days is to think of their sweet children. Think about how no matter what happened in your circumstances that you did what you could for them at the time. Our children would not want us to suffer and live in distress. I heard a quote the other day from a friend on one of my bad days, "Being angry and bitter is like drinking poison everyday and expecting the other person to be hurt". It really helped me put many things into perspective. Being upset and jealous are natural human emotions and yes as a birth mother you are going to feel these things, but if I let them consume my life I am doing no one any good and only myself harm.

I was trying to find a good picture for this post and so I decided to search the word birth mom and see what came up. I found the picture above and fell in love with it. For those that made the decision to choose adoption, we gave our children all we could do for them at the time, no matter how you feel now just remember that. You gave them more than you thought you could at the time. Love conquers all.

 Photo credit

Answering a Simple Question

"Do you have any kids?"

It's a simple enough question.  People have asked me this question before and will most likely ask me again.  It's not impolite.  It's a fair question.  But sometimes I don't know how to answer it.  I usually answer based on who I'm speaking to.

Two nights ago when asked that question, my reply was, "Yes and no."  I was with the wife of the feature poet at the poetry group that my son's adoptive father is in charge of.  They had been staying with them.  They had spent a good amount of time with my son that day.   I explained the situation and that J was my biological son.  Like many who have struggled and wondered how raising a kid and doing everything was going to work, she understood and also understood the choice that I made.  We had a long conversation and completely understood each other.

But I haven't always answered this question so honestly.

Sometimes when in a supermarket or a big retail store, I'll smile at a little baby or I'll help a kid back to his/her mother or I'm in the toy aisle wondering what to get.  And at random times the question is asked, "Do you have any kids?"  Sometimes for time's sake or just for privacy's sake, I'll say, "No, not as of yet."

I make it a point not to lie to clergy, at least clergy who make it a point to be loving and create a safe environment for their congregation and visitors.  And given a nice person in a safe environment, I will tell my story.  But if I don't think I'm safe, I won't say it.  If I'm asked the question, "Do you have any kids?" I just reply, "No."

Doctor's forms are things I have gotten more familiar with lately.  And on reaching the question, "Have you given birth?" I have to answer yes.  But sometimes there's another question that says, "How many children live with you?"  At that point, I have to put down the number 0.

It's a sticky situation.  And for us, not the easiest of questions.  Back before I was 27, I would always answer, "No, no kids for me yet."  Now, my answer depends on who I'm with and what situation I'm in.  Sometimes I tell the truth.  And sometimes I lie.  But it's not really a lie.  Not exactly anyway.

How have you answered this question before?  I would like to hear about your experiences with this and your answers.

My Ongoing War

For me, coming to the decision to place my son for adoption was like a battle.  And dealing with the aftermath and the passage of time has been another kind of battle entirely.  I wanted to put my feelings into words, so I wrote a poem about it.  I actually read this poem aloud in front of my son's adoptive father.  He thought it was fantastic.  He knew it was something I had to say.  So, here is the poem that I wrote:

"My Ongoing War"

I have a son

He’s a few months over 3 years old now

I am not his mom

I am not his mother

I am his birthmother

I’ve gotten better at talking about this

Except for the sticky stinking horrible parts of it

I have an army of friends

Who try to convince me

Of my status

You are a mother

No, I’m not

You are a mother

No, seriously, I’m not

You are a mother

Ok if you say that one more time, really just don’t say it again

I’m not

And I think it’s partly because

No one knows

I think

No one wants to know

Even I don’t really want to know

The mental struggle that I went through

The mental and emotional war that I waged

With and against myself

And it was a bloody and fantastic war

Between the mother in me

And the birthmother in me

The mother in me wanted to keep him

Wanted against all good sense and reason in the world

To keep him

Tried to believe so hard

That there had to be a way

To keep him

The birthmother in me wanted what was best

Wanted to make sure that he was loved, cared for, knew where he came from

And be raised

By someone else

Knew the realities

Looked for possibilities

But found none worth the risk

And slowly began to convince me

He should be raised

By someone else

By the end of May I said to the father of my child,

I am 75% certain that adoption is the best option

And because he was and is still good at finishing my sentences he said,

It’s just the 25% gets loud?

It gets so very loud

I found a wonderful and loving couple

From the first time I saw them on the site

I knew that they would be the ones

They were the ones to have my son

And keep him

I met them at the beginning of June

And after an hour long talk

I was 95% certain that this was the right idea

I had won the war, damn it

I had won the war

The birthmother had won

But oh, at what a price

While I am still certain of what I did

Where he is

How he is doing

That if he had stayed with his birthfather and I

Life would have been far different

And something much more horrible

Than I could ever wish on my worst enemy’s child

There were still skirmishes left to fight

Two that I won

Three of them are still on going

After leaving the hospital

With my son travelling in the opposite direction

I got home

The first skirmish, was panic

What did you just do?

What the hell did you just do?

Do you have any concept?

Do you have any idea?

What were you thinking?

What did you just do?

Where is he?

How is he?

What will this even be like?

Will we ever see him again?

I know promises were made

But what if?

What if?

What if?

Pictures came a couple days later

And with that more pictures

More conversations

Visits

And slowly but surely,

The panic was appeased

And faded

I won

I was now 96% certain I was right

The second skirmish is an ongoing one

It was missing

I was told when he first smiled

I was told when he first rolled over

I was told when he started to crawl

I was told when he started to talk

I was told when he started to walk and very soon after to run

I was told

I never saw these things start

And I started adding up all the things that I missed

And would never get back again

That one I lost

I was still at 96% certain

The third skirmish that attacked my resolve

Was an internal one

Was guilt

I felt terrible for giving my child a complicated life

I felt terrible for the fact that he had three last names by the time he was a week old

I felt terrible that I had to give him to someone else to make sure he would be safe

I felt terrible that my decision affected people in both our families in ways I hadn’t foreseen

I felt terrible and I felt horrible and I felt ashamed

And I felt like I was a damned creature

That I had gone against the name of mother

And done something that people found abhorrent

And some people do find it abhorrent

I’ve met them

I’ve been extremely lucky

In that I have yet to be yelled at in public

But I have met them

I have met many more

And I watch the shift in their eyes

As they try to reconcile their stereotype of a birthmother

With this girl they see standing before them

And as they calmly ask questions

And talk to me about it

They begin to understand

And they begin to accept

And I came to terms with certain things

I did give him a complicated life

I did give him three last names

But it’s better than the life I would have given him

I won, and I am at 97% certain

The fourth and fifth skirmishes

Are ongoing

They’re names and arms

They make up the last two percent of my uncertainty

The three percent that are still the mother in me

They usually only happen when

I see him again

I see how tall he’s gotten

I see how much more he looks like me

And I hear him call me

Elizabeth

I am not mom

I am not his mother

I am Elizabeth

His birthmother

And I wish that I could hold him

But he is a squirming whirlwind these days

And I’m not mom

And the arms that ache to hold him

Can’t contain him

And can’t hold him back

And deep inside my heart the creature that wanted to be a mother

Rakes her sharpened claws through me

And whispers,

I should have been mom

And that 97% of myself

Aching and bleeding and trembling and bruised turns back and says

No, you wanted to be but you couldn’t

You are not mom

You are not a mother

You are a birthmother

Because that is the best that we could be for him

~fin~

Any other poets in the house?  Any one else used writing to finally put down what they feel into words?  Let me know in the comments.  Or just let me know what you thought of this.  Hope you're having a great weekend!

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.

How I Picked My Son's Family

I realized that I haven't talked that much about my adoption story. So I wanted to start with how I picked the couple who would have my son.

I was in my parent's house.  I was sitting in front of my mother's computer.  And I had finally gotten up the courage to look at the list of prospective adoptive parents on the adoption agency website.  The list was two pages.  And it went in order alphabetically by the husband's first name.  I looked at the first profile written by the couple.  And I felt nothing.  Just felt like, nope.  Not the ones to have my kid.  At this point I'm already berating myself for turning down a perfectly good couple.  I didn't know what I was looking for.  But I had to find a couple who would take my son.  The second couple on the list made me smile for one reason: my boyfriend's name and the husband's name were the same.  At the time I said out loud,

"Wouldn't it be funny if both his dad's had the same name?"

I was joking.  But then I pulled up their profile and started reading.  He was an English professor and a musician.  She was a painter.  They wrote a letter directly to me saying they couldn't imagine what I was going through and how hard this decision must be.  They each wrote a letter about each other and described one another.  By the end of it, I said out loud,

"His life just might have to be funny."

But like every girl in the world, I couldn't settle for the second dress I tried on.  I went through and read every single profile on that list.  Every one.  But none of them spoke to me the way theirs did.  None of them said to me, "Yes, these are the one to have your child."

Over and over again I went back to their profile.  When my boyfriend and I finally decided adoption was the best idea, I told him about them and about who they were.  He read the profile and without reading any others he agreed, it had to be them.

I went to the adoption agency to get set things in motion.  And I was given a binder full of profiles to look through.  I calmly paged through each one.  But at the very end was the couple I had mentioned before.  Now I got to see pictures of them with family, in their home, what the nursery looked like.  I saw them dressed up and ready for church.  And I saw them dressed down and playing with the dog.  And I knew, these were the ones to raise my child.

This July it will be five years since my child was born.  And I have never second-guessed my decision to place my son with his parents.  I may question why I did it and if it was the best idea.  But choosing them I have never second-guessed.

There is no one way to pick the people who will have your son.  I've heard multiple stories, and all of them different.  Some knew from looking at the profile because of a butterfly picture or something else that spoke to that birthmother.  I know some who had it down to two, but once meeting them they knew exactly which couple was going to have their child.  There is no right or wrong way about this.  You choose who you think will do the best job at raising your child.  I high suspected mine was going to be a creative creature from the very beginning.  As it turns out, I was absolutely right.  So I put him with a painter and a writer/musician.  Whichever way his creativity takes him, I have no doubt that he will be supported in his endeavors.

I hope you're all doing well.  Those of you who will be at the retreat, I will be seeing you soon!

"Why I'm not where you are..."

The title of this post is from a book entitled Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer.  It was the title of the first chapter from the grandfather's point of view.  He included the date and began writing a letter to his unborn son whom he was never going to get to meet.  He wrote it to explain himself and explain why he wasn't going to be here as his son grew up and why he couldn't.  I won't say why, because this isn't a book report.  But those words stuck in my head.

After I got home from the hospital almost five years ago now, the adoption agency gave me a box of things to help me.  Book of inspirational quotes, some mints, some soap, and little things like that. One of the things was a blank journal.  It's not that fancy.  Just a yellow journal with a purple butterfly on it.  I stared at it a while and wondered what to do with it.  I have many notebooks and have always carried a whole collection of them.  But this one I stared at for a while before deciding what to write in it.

I finally figured out what I wanted to do with it when I was going through a box of books.  I found Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in my mass of paperbacks that I had thrown into boxes upon leaving Columbus.  I flipped through the pages and found the first page of the first chapter of the grandfather's narrative.

"WHY I'M NOT WHERE YOU ARE"

I think I stared at those words for about ten minutes.  I knew what I wanted to write in that blank journal now.

I opened it to the first page and wrote: "Why I'm Not Where You Are" at the top with the date of the first entry.  The first thing I wrote was the story of how I discovered I was pregnant, moved back in with my parents, found his parents, and gave birth to him.  Since then, I've written a few entries.  Some have been a couple years apart from each other.  But I always write them as if I'm talking to Joseph at some point in the future.

I imagine I'll fill this notebook up with more entries over the years.  Probably put in more details and talk about my life and his life and what I get to see as he grows up.  Tell him things that I want him to know about me and his birthfather and his birth family.  My plan is to give him this notebook on his eighteenth birthday.  Probably won't put it in his stack of presents at any party.  But I'll give it to him wrapped up and tell him to open it when he has a quiet moment to himself.

I hope it helps him to understand what it was like for me.  And I hope he knows that I always loved him.

Anyone else have a stack of letters or a notebook of things you want your kid to read one day?  I'm sure I'm not the only one.  And if you feel comfortable, talk about it in the comments.

Gifts from my Son

So, last weekend I had a visit with my son.  And something happened at the very beginning that I have to share.

They arrived and I walked through the back door to the back gate that we keep shut so my parents can let the dog out to play in the yard without worrying that she'll get out.  I opened the gate and J walked up to me holding a washed out honey jar with the two double daffodils you see in the picture here.  I reacted much the way my mother would upon seeing a child with flowers,

"Oh wow!  Those are really pretty flowers you have there!"  He looked up at me very proudly, held up the jar and said,

"Yeah, and they're for you!"  Yep, that was when my heart that totally leaped out of my chest.  I've given my son presents.  His parents have given me a couple things over the years.  But J has never given me anything until now.

"For me!  Oh, thank you J!"  I think I was grinning from ear to ear.  Not even joking about that.  I have been given flowers very few times in my life.  And those times were roses and carnations.  These were flowers I had never seen before and had never been given before.  And out of all the times I have been given flowers, I count these as the most precious of all.

I have them at home now.  And much like my mother did when she was young, I am pressing the flowers so that I can seal them up in packing tape and make them into bookmarks.  It's a mildly long process that takes some patience.  But so far they look good.

As he gets older, this may happen again.  I'm wondering what other good things he might give me over the years.  But this was the first time and I know I will never forget it.

I hope all of you who may be having visits soon that they go as well as mine did.  Has anyone else gotten an unexpected present from your child at a visit?  I'd love to hear your stories.

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.

Transference

Okay, so, this is not a subject that we talk about a lot.  But I felt like I should talk about it because I'm having to deal with it in a serious way right now.  And if you're wondering why there is a daisy at the top of this post it's because that daisy is my transference object.

Let me explain.  I've been home from the hospital for about week now since having Joseph.  My mother and I check the porch for packages and find this long package from 1-800-Flowers.  We open it up and find this daisy in a green metal pot.  It was wilted a little due to being in a box in the Georgia summer heat.  But it quickly revived with some water.  We opened the letter that came with it and discovered that my cousin Amanda had sent it to me.  She had helped cook dinner the night before I went into the hospital and came to visit my first day here.  But then she had to go back to Louisiana.  She thought it was better to send me something that was living.  So she sent this daisy.

I'm not very good at keeping houseplants.  Never have been.  But I figured I'd try.  The summer got particularly hot so I kept the daisy in a window in the kitchen.  One day I looked over and saw that the daisy was wilting slightly.  It wasn't in danger yet, but it wasn't happy.  I nearly crash into the sink getting water for it.  And that's when I realized I had transferred all my loving instincts and such onto... a daisy.

I was living in a house with a dog.  I thought it would be the dog.  But Clarence (the dog) had been around for a few years before then, so he was already firmly entrenched in the role of being my little furry brother.  I thought maybe it would happen if someone brought over their kid.  But it did not happen.  No, I transferred onto a daisy.  At first I thought it was a little crazy and I thought of getting rid of it.  But that thought nearly made me break down in tears.  And then I had another thought: it's a plant, it's about as low maintenance as a living creature can get, no one is ever going to care about where it is but me... so, why is this a bad thing again?

Well, plants, even plants that you bring in during the winter and tend to very carefully, have a life span.  Gerbera daisies have a lifespan of about three to ten years when taken care of well.  And mine is about three months away from five years old.  And this winter was not kind.  I don't have a very bright apartment and I was starting to think it was dying.  I know it's a little weird to say I was crying over a daisy, but I was.  It's been with me a while now.  And I wasn't ready to let it go.  What I realized was I need a new daisy.

I have a few very close friends in Athens, and one of them, Kristin, used to work in a florist's shop.  I told her about my dying daisy.  And asked her to go with me to a plant nursery next month and pick out a new daisy for me.  She knows what my daisy means to me and she knows that I need something to take care of.  So she agreed and we are going next month.  My daisy seems to have recovered since the weather has warmed up and is doing okay.  But I'm still going to get another daisy so that I have a back up for when the other one dies.

At this point, I guess I will have daisies in pots the rest of my life.  Every few years I'm going to have to ask a friend to go with me to a plant nursery and pick out a daisy for me.  I figure we don't get to pick our kids, I didn't get to pick my firs daisy, I should go on having everyone pick daisies for me when I need to get a new one.  It will be a ritual for me every few years.

My daisy does help me.  Despite the fact it was breaking my heart when I thought it was dying, it has helped me to take care of something and raise something in place of raising my son.  I will probably keep on growing daisies and for me they will remind me of Joseph.  But they will also remind me that I can take care of something and raise something.  They will remind me that I am capable of taking care of a living creature, even if it is just a plant.

I hope you are all doing well tonight.  If you have any stories of transference that you'd like to share, please do so in the comments.  Have a great weekend!

The Dating Game

Okay, before I start into this piece, let me be as clear as possible: this is not a man hating piece.  The majority of my close friends are men.  I have known many good men in this life, including the father of my child who is still my best friend.

That said, dating, when being a birthmother, can be terrible.  After having my son, his father and I broke up about a year later.  Not really due to our son and all that happened.  More due to a matter of distance (we live in two cities over a hundred miles apart) and time and being in different places in our lives.  As I said, we are still the best of friends.  And maybe one day we'll be together again.  Just neither of us are certain at this point.

Since then, I have dabbled on a dating site, although my profile is set to "only looking for friends."  That's about as far into the dating realm as I have gone.  And I know it's partly due to fear.  It's hard enough for me to explain to new friends about my son and all the things entailed with him.  Trying to explain this to someone who I might be dating and when in the world to do that in the course of a date or a relationship, ugh, just sets my head spinning.  As I've said before, Ms. Manners did not write a chapter on how to best approach any of this.  But some days I really wish that she had.  I'd have some idea of what to do.  But like most every birthmother I know, I do the only thing I can: whatever makes sense at the time.

In the past month, I have had two birthmother friends have problems with their significant others.  The problems, while unique to us, were easy for my others friends to understand.  One shouldn't have to hide away another part of their life because it makes the significant other feel uncomfortable.  One shouldn't have to explain why they are still in contact with their children.  One should never be put in a position where essentially one must choose between the child they still love and the man they are dating.  And I hope one never has the fact that they are a birthmother thrown out at them in anger by their significant other when in the middle of a fight.  It's unfair and it's uncalled for.  And in the end, it most likely has absolutely nothing to do with what the fight was about in the first place.  It's just taking a part of ourselves and using it as a weapon against us.  This is something I hope no one ever has to experience.  But I know that others have, and will have it happen.  I just hope that if any of this does happen to you in a relationship, you are willing to leave that person.  I know it might break your heart.  But I know it would break more to cut off communication with your child (if there is any) and even worse when who you are is used against you because we cannot change who we are.  We are birthmothers.  And anyone who wants to be in our lives has to accept that fact or, unfortunately, walk away.

In my anger and confusion, I turned to a couple guy friends of mine.  I know that may sound a little odd, but what I really wanted was an outside perspective.  So I talked to them and asked them a couple important questions: Would you date a birthmother?  Would the fact that a woman is a birthmother and still in contact with her child bother you?  Both of them did say that while they would wish that the first time they were a father it would be the first time for their wife as well, sometimes it's simply not possible.  And in this instance, obviously, it wouldn't be possible.  But that would not be something that would bother them and by no means would be a deal breaker when getting into a relationship with someone.  As one of them said, we all come with baggage.  The only thing is whether or not you can deal with the baggage someone comes with.  If you can't, you should move on.  But if you can, then you should stay and see what happens.

All this said, I know it is disappointing when trying to get into a relationship with someone and it turns sour because they cannot accept who we are.  But my guy friends also agreed with me that if you want to be in a relationship with someone, you need to accept everything you are.  Certainly, some things can change.  But this is not one of them.  And any person worth your time, should be able to make peace with everything you are.

There are good guys out there.  I know several of them.  So be brave, keep looking forward, and know that, whoever you are, you are an amazing person.  Don't let the stupid boys get you down.

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.

Coping 2: Get Creative

I'm sure many of you have been told to "get creative" when it comes to coping.  And there are several specific things people will bring up: scrapbooking, collages, writing letters or poems, all pretty much about the child we just placed for adoption.  All of these are good things.  I'm not saying they're not.  And if these things help you, by all means, go forth.  I simply would also like to make the case for just getting creative because you can.

I like to knit.  After my son was born and all that happened, I got back into knitting with a vengeance.  I learned every stitch.  I found patterns and more patterns and more patterns.  I got yarn.  I got needles.  And I went at it.  Knitting, for me, is almost a meditative kind of activity.  It gets all my thoughts in order and calms me down.  People often asked me if I was making something for my son.  And I have made things for him, but I wasn't at that time.  At that time I just needed something TO DO.  So I settled on knitting.  And for me, knitting is a lot of fun.

The other thing I like to do is write.  And not just blog posts like this.  I like to write stories.  I have been making up stories since I was a little kid.  I've written them down from time to time.  I like to write poetry, too.  But I've always really loved writing stories.  I think what I like the most about it is getting to be someone else for a change, even if it's just in my head and only for a little while.  Doesn't really matter.  I like writing science fiction and adventure stories.  I like people heading off on quests.  I like big battles.  And I like moral ambiguities that make me think.  After placing my son, I also started writing.  Wrote bits and pieces mostly, fiddled with a couple things that turned into novels and have been writing more and more ever since.  It's just so fun for me to make up stories and worlds and people and find millions of ways to play with them.  My son's adoptive father is also a poet, so we have connected there on a personal level.  J has started making up stories and telling them to his parents.  And his adoptive father is constantly amazed by his creativity.  I have to admit, this development makes me very very happy.  Hoping one day I might get the chance to collaborate with my son on something.  That would make my entire lifetime.

I didn't write about my son and the feelings I had about it all until much later.  And I think at the time it all happened, it was just too much.  I was having a hard time holding it all together in my head, much less writing it down on paper.  So I knitted a blanket.  And I wrote a short story.  And I got along with a number of creative projects like that until I could get the words out.  When I finally did, it still hurt.  But it did help a great deal.  But I didn't write until I was ready.

I hope everyone reading this is doing well today.  May you find your own ways of getting creative and expressing your thoughts.

Coping 1: Taking a Break

Since I've gotten back into a local support group and have met a couple of new birthmothers, I've started thinking about the different ways that we cope with what has happened to us and how we cope as time goes on.  So I flipped through a few ideas and I wanted to talk about a few of the things that have worked for me and others that I know.  So, here we go.

First thing is taking a break.  Right after I gave birth to J, I wanted to be anywhere other than where I was.  It didn't really matter where I was or who was around or what was going on.  And I didn't really know where I wanted to be.  It was at a loss.  So, I did what I have done before, I disappeared into books and writing and Netflix.  I'm a second generation librarian who was often told that I could disappear into any book that I wanted.  I'm also a writer.  And building my own worlds is sometimes how I cope with the rest of the world.  And, well, let's face it, Netflix is just awesome.  I was watching whole seasons of shows and finding new movies and watching all manner of new things.  For me, it was a break: a break from reality.  This is something I'm practiced at.  So I knew the ways back.  But for a while, this was my break.

I have known a few other birthmothers who, in the aftermath of everything, decided to take a break in one way or another.  One took a job in another state.  One took a job on a cruise ship.  Two went to college.  One went back to work.  Others did like me and hid away from reality for a while one way or another.  I think for every birthmother there needs to be a time right after everything has been settled where we take a break.  Just a time to step back, step away, come back to ourselves, and find a place where we can start to think about what to do next and where to go next with our lives.

Taking a break is something important to remember later on, too.  After each visit, I always take off at least a few hours where I don't talk to anyone or just dive into a movie or TV show for a few hours so I can just take a break from everything I'm feeling at that moment.  So take my advice, if you need to, take a break.

I have a few ideas on what to do next.  But if you have any certain coping ideas that you want me to write about, let me know in the comments.  Hope you all have a great day!