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 :)

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!

Adoption's Impact

Most of you know by now that my adoption was closed a million years ago. And at Christmas and other holiday times, I feel an emptiness or like something is missing rather than sadness. Since we have never shared any holidays together, I don't have those kinds of memories. You might say that my loss is rather undefined. A strange place to be.

This year for the first time I am acknowledging another rather undefined loss: the birth of my grandson. Now he's actually 4 this year, so it's not a brand new thing. But for some reason this is the year it is really hitting me. My birthdaughter Katie did not invite me into her pregnancy or delivery. I didn't actually find out about Little Man until he was about a year old. At that time I was juggling two babies of my own. Maybe that is the reason for the delayed response.

But this year I am experiencing the profundity of it. The enormity of the impact one decision made in secret can have. For me the decision to carry my unplanned pregnancy seemed huge at the time, and it was. In spite of my mother's wishes, I decided to remain pregnant with no plan.

The decision not to parent was the next big decision, although the obvious right choice for me and my girl.

But now... seeing a bigger part of the picture is overwhelming at times. Realizing that even though I made a mess of things, the Lord has redeemed it and used it for good. Seeing for the first time that my decision stretches far beyond myself and my child and her adoptive family. Seeing that my decision will impact generations.

Only God has the perspective and can see the full impact one life can have. He alone sees all the generations not in existence because of one abortion. And he alone sees all the generations in existence because of one adoption.

Be encouraged this Christmas. No matter your circumstances, you have given a great gift to this world. God sees you and knows your pain and your sacrifice. Trust him to get you through.

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Support Groups

Last night I went to the support group that is run by the adoption agency I placed through.  It's a ways from my home and traffic isn't always pleasant.  But I was determined.  It had been a while since I had been to our support group.  Also, there was a time there when the adoption agency wasn't having meetings.  But I am really glad that they have started these up again.

At the support group there were three counselors and four birthmothers.  One of the birthmothers I have known for three years now.  To say she has supported and helped me through my journey is an understatement.  Her daughter is several years older than my child and thus she understood many of the things I went through in the first few months and years.  She is one of the reasons that I keep coming back to this group.  But I also come back to try to repay that debt and help others just as she helped me.

The best thing about a birthmother support group is that there are other birthmothers are there.  It's hard to find other birthmothers who are willing to talk about their experiences and their lives.  We don't exactly go out wearing signs so we can find each other.  If I've found birthmothers outside of the group, it was quite by accident and most likely because I said something about being a birthmother myself.  We're a very closed bunch.  We play this secret very close to the chest and are always mindful of how others react and what they may say to us.  Because of that, it's hard to find people we can talk to about being a birthmother.

The support of friends and family is invaluable and I am not discrediting that.  I have been extremely lucky in my circle of friends and in my family.  But there are times when they just can't understand.  Usually that's about the time I turn to the circle of birthmothers that I know and vent to them.  There are just some things that only other birthmothers will understand.  Why it hurts when you hear a baby cry.  Why Christmas and kids toys make you a little distant.  Why visits are great things, but at the same time are painful things too.  And how it can break your heart to watch your child grow up over the years as you finally come to terms with everything that's happened.

I hope all of you have not only found support amongst your friends and family, but also in the birthmother community itself.  We're all very different.  We come from many different worlds.  But we all have one thing in common.  And we can understand each other within seconds.  If you don't have a support group near where you live, please reach out online.  This site is very good for finding other birthmothers who will understand you.  If you need to reach out to someone who understands, please do.  Every single one of us has been in your shoes, thinking the same thoughts, and crying the very same tears.  We remember and we understand.

The Grief Cycle Part 5: Acceptance

A few weeks ago, my son J and his adoptive parents came to visit my parents at their house.  As happens with these visits, his mom went into the kitchen with my mother to help with lunch, his dad went into the living room with my dad to talk about esoteric topics that they actually have in common, and I was left in the dining room alone with my son.  He was eating crackers out of a little bowl my mother had given him with a pair of child's chopsticks.  I asked him how school was.  He answered the way most four-year-old's would: "Good."  He talked a little about his school.  He asked for a few more crackers.  All in all I'm guessing we had about six minutes alone together.  And it was in those six minutes that I had a thought that I've had for a long time and for the first time felt okay about it, "This kid will never be mine."

Acceptance isn't exactly a nice place to be in as it turns out.  I thought that acceptance would be the moment when the clouds would break and the seas would settle and everything would be just perfect.  Only it's not.  Acceptance is when you finally accept the reality of what you have lost.  It's when you stop denying the realities, stop being angry about the realities, stop trying to change the realities "some how," and stop always being depressed about the realities.  Acceptance, for me, was looking at my son and saying to myself, "This kid will never be mine.  And that's fine."

I didn't see his first smiles.  I didn't see him roll over the first time.  I didn't see him crawl the first time.  I didn't hear him babble the first time.  I didn't see him take his first steps.   I didn't see him run for the first time and fall.  I didn't dry his tears.  I didn't pick out his toys.  I didn't help him play the piano.  I didn't read him a book at night.  I didn't help him pick flowers for his grandmother.  I didn't get him dressed for his first day of school.  And that's fine.

I'm not saying they don't sting.  I'm not saying that at the moment I realized all of these things it didn't hurt a bit.  It did hurt.  A lot.  But I also realized that it was fine.  I don't have to feel bad about missing all of these things.  His parents saw them all and told me about them.  He knows that he's loved and knows that he's taken care of and that's all I ever wanted for him.  It's just the simple and very painful fact that he couldn't have found that with me.  But that's fine too.

Acceptance is not the moment when the clouds break and everything becomes good and right and beautiful in the world.  Acceptance is the moment when you accept reality and all that happened in it.  And acceptance is when you see all of that and realize that you're fine with all of it.  This was the only way to protect my son and give him the life that he deserved.  People got hurt in the process.  People had to put aside their differences and their opinions and agree.  There will be conversations that I will have to have later in life with my son about all that happened.  But in the end, I don't regret what I had to do.  Not for one second.  And for right now, I'm fine with it.

It takes a long time to get to this point.  It took me four whole years to get to this point.  And I don't doubt that there will be times in the future where I'll go through this again.  If you feel like you should have moved on by now or you should be better by now or anything like that, stop telling yourself that.  And if people tell you that you should be better by now, tell them as politely as you can that you are trying to get through this at your own pace.  That is all that matters in the end.  You need to get through this at your pace and in your time.  I hope you're all doing well today and I hope you have a fantastic weekend.  See you again next week!

The Grief Cycle Part 4: Depression

If I was honest, I'd say that I've been struggling with depression on and off since age 13.  It's hereditary in my family.  And my life hasn't been a cake walk.  Granted, no one's is.  But when one is already genetically predisposed to this condition, it doesn't take much to trigger it.

So you would think that having been through it before, I would know when I was in the middle of it and how to get out of it again.  And you and I would be wrong.  I didn't figure out that I was sunk hip deep in the middle of a depression until I was sitting in a room with about twenty other birthmothers staring at a simple diagram of the grief cycle in May of 2013.  But it did make me realize what had now been going on for the past five months.

So now I drove back to Georgia with the knowledge that I was hip deep in a depression and not sure what to do about it.  I'd tried counseling.  It's worked for me in the past.  But now money and health insurance and one friend who is a psychologist trying out a few until I found the right one just discouraged me.  I do still think that counseling is a very good way to understand and cope and should definitely be utilized.  I just lost patience.  So I decided to take the summer and just drop into the thick of it.  If I was going to be depressed, fine then, I would be depressed.  I went to work every day on time.  I wrote a few things here and there.  I watched a good bit of Netflix and YouTube.  I drifted rather listlessly through life not really trying to do anything other than keep breathing and keep walking, always trying to believe that sooner or later the way out would reveal itself.

I would talk to various friends online.  But I didn't really have any friends in the city that I hung out with on a regular basis or really even knew.  I had a few friends and acquaintances from work.  But most of them were married or older than me.  Not really the people you call at ten o'clock at night hoping to go out for a pint.  And for some reason I was paranoid that I would have to cut ties and leave this city just as quickly as I had left Columbus when I was pregnant.  I had no basis for this thought in the rational world.  It was just my own paranoid brain making up something so I wouldn't have to deal with anyone and wouldn't have the chance to find friends just to lose them.  Most of all, I didn't want anyone new to have to be exposed to this half-human version of myself that I was at the time.  But sometimes the universe has other ideas.

I had met a guy in June.  His name is Rob.  I didn't speak to him again until August.  And a year ago this week I ended up spending almost all week with him at various functions and parties.  He became my first friend in Athens outside of work.  With him came others.  People that he introduced me to.  One of whom is named Kristin.  When the three of us met, we were all recovering from terrible points in our lives for a variety of different reasons.  I can honestly say that this time last year was the turning point for me.  This was the moment where I found people I could relate to; people who didn't mind where I had been or what I had done; people who understood depression and understood sinking into that ugly blackness in order to get to the root of it all and understand why it was there.

Rob pulled me into the writer's group that we are both members of.  And because of that, I started writing more.  I started writing more stories and more poetry.  One of his friends was the reason I went to the open mic poetry reading where I found my son and his adoptive parents that wild night in October.  My son's adoptive father is the leader of that poetry group and I still attend every week to read and listen to more and more poetry and hear what others have to say.

Because I was writing so much, it was only natural that eventually I would start to write about my son and what I had just been through.  I began to take Ernest Hemingway's advice to heart: "Write hard and clear about what hurts."  I wrote blistering and blazing poems that described in gory detail just how much I hurt.  And it was luck that the few times the poems were said in public, either Rob or Kristin were there to hold me after saying everything that there was to say about what was wrong.  They didn't question or judge.  And I am forever grateful that they have been there.

Writing, it seemed, was my path out.  When I wrote, I finally released everything in my chest that I had stored up there.  I was starting to understand the root of it all.  While what I had done was something good, something that I should have done, something that I shouldn't be ashamed of, and something that was the best decision for my son, what I had done was incredibly painful.  I had given birth to a son and then placed him in the arms of others.  I had given birth to a son and then sent him away.  I had given birth to my first child, and now he was gone from me.  In my attempts to try to settle with what I had done, I had never quite acknowledged the pain that I was in.  The pain that, of course, anyone would be in after having to do something like that for the sake of one's child having a better life.  And finally, finally, I was venting that pain and wrapping bandages around the wounds and coming out of the dark.  I had finally gotten to the point that I didn't want to be in the dark anymore.  I was finally starting to climb out towards the light.

The way I got out isn't for everyone.  There were some very dark days in the midst of this and there were days that I didn't want to get out.  Like I said before, I have nothing against counseling or psychotherapy or even medications used to treat this.  I've done them all.  Find what works for you and use that to your advantage.  These treatments are tools that you can use to get out of your depression.  So is writing, art, music, and talking with trusted friends or clergy.  Whatever you need to get out, please don't ever be afraid to ask for it and don't ever be afraid of what someone else thinks of you for needing it.  This is your life.  Do what you need to do.

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The Grief Cycle Part 3: Bargaining

This was the most confusing stage for me; especially since it’s one of the harder stages to correctly define.

When I was sitting in a room with several other birthmothers at the 2013 Birthmom Buds Retreat, we were discussing the grief cycle and when we got to this stage one woman even said out loud, “I've never been sure how this stage works” followed by the agreement of half the room.  What in the world was this bargaining stage and how would we know we were in it if we didn't even know what it was?

“I've always seen it as the 'If I just do this then everything will be fine' kind of mentality,” said our discussion leader.  This statement was followed by even more agreement.  I had been locked into that kind of mentality for months after Halloween.

The tricky part is I knew none of it would bring back my son.  None of it was going to make any real difference to him.  But somehow, it made a difference to me.  I was in grad school at the time.  I was working a full-time job.  I was trying to get myself established as a small business person with my knitted, crocheted, and sewn items.  I kept trying to do everything that I could.  I kept trying more and more things to try to get my life to work like I thought it should.   But I wasn't really sure how it should work.  Wasn't really sure what my life actually working was supposed to look like.  But somehow, if I just got ahead and got things to work, then everything would be fine.

This whole part of the grief cycle, at least to me, often feels like just another round of denial.   You keep yourself busy.  You keep doing everything that you can think of to do.  You keep going and going and going thinking the next thing will make everything better.  I guess my problem was it wasn't going to get better.  Better would mean that I had my son with me.  Better would mean that my ex was with me again.  Better would mean that somehow our lives were actually working like this and we were actually giving our son the life he deserved.  That was my brain’s version of “better.”  And it was an unattainable one.

And just as unfortunately, the only way to break out of that endless cycle, was to realize that I wasn't going to get my son back; I wasn't going to be with my ex again; I wasn't going to get that life that I kept imagining where the three of us were actually making things work.  That realization caused a bone-crunching depression to settle down inside me for the first time in a very long while.  I've had issues with depression since I was a teenager.  But this time it was tougher to deal with than any time before.

I know this entry is a little shorter.  But in truth, this stage I got through the quickest of them all.  I've always been a realist, forever trying to get myself to accept reality and move on to whatever the next step is.  If I had to guess, I probably lingered in this stage for a few months before winter took over and my depression set in.

Since we’re three steps in, I’m wondering what you all think of this and how this in any way lines up with your experiences.  Would love to hear from you!  Hope you’re all having a good weekend!

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The Grief Cycle Part 2: Anger

The next step in the grief cycle is anger.  It’s understandable.  Probably one of the few things I understand the most about grief.  We didn't ask for this to happen.  We didn't want this to happen.  We didn't like what we had to do in order to get through it.   So why not be angry?  This is how I dealt with my anger.  That’s me on the far right in the blue and pink with a weird half clown mask on and green hair that was really icky and stringy.  And the others are the ones who helped me bleed this anger from me.  You’re probably wondering how that happened.   Well, this is how.

I have a bit of a temper.  I've always had it.  And I know exactly who I got it from, too.  In the fall of 2012, I was losing my grip on my temper.  I wanted to lash out at everyone who I came into contact with.  Family, friends, it didn't really matter.  I was just so angry and I wasn't sure where it was coming from or how to take care of it.  Remember, I had no idea at all that I was just going through the grief cycle.  To me, I was just angry.  I had lots of reasons to be angry.  But I hadn't settled on the one reason why.  And honestly, if I had known why, there wasn't really much that I could have done to solve it.  So I just stayed angry.

It had been about two years and three months since my child had been born when I finally turned and faced my anger head on.  My birthday is October 30^th.  And before you worry over the fact that I didn't get to be a Halloween baby, don’t worry.  My birthday is the same as my late grandfather’s, and for the last five years of his life, I was the apple of his eye.  In 2012, I was turning 30.  I was turning 30 on the 30^th of October.  I thought to myself, “I have to do something different this year.  This is never going to happen again.”  People suggested the usual: sky diving (fear of heights), river rafting (can’t swim), go to Vegas (with my addictive personality???).  All of them I turned down.  No, my sights were set on something better and stranger.

My first best-ex was working at a theater in Atlanta and they were putting on a charity haunted house and needed people to dress up and scare people.  I don’t really like haunted houses, mostly because of the scare factor and my amazing ability to get startled very easily.  However working a haunted house, that was something entirely different.  I knew exactly where all the scares were.  I saw everything in the light of day; long before night fell and the black lights came on.  I knew where everything was and knew what to expect.  On top of that, I got to scare people while wearing funky costumes.  And this is where I drained my anger.

On my birthday night, I was dressed as a mad clown with two fake wooden knives and got three scares.  I popped out of a curtain, peered out from behind a spinning wheel with a fake clown nailed to it brandishing my wooden knives, and then popped out of a small box.  Each time cackling to the innocent patrons that they would never get out alive and threatening to nail them to the spinning wheel.  Somewhere in the first couple of nights, before my birthday show, I realized that doing stuff like this is a gentle form of violence.  People were giving us money to walk into this place and get yelled at and growled at and startled and scream and run for the exits wherever they may be.  And I dived into it with a vengeance.  I yelled, I snarled, I threatened, and I directed every ounce of anger in me at the people who came near my spots.  By the end of Halloween night, I was exhausted and my temper finally appeased.

I managed to get lucky and direct my anger in a very positive way.  Well, at least one can call it positive.  We were raising money for a no-kill pet shelter and a day home for the elderly so they could hire teachers and get craft supplies.  And once I took off the mask and put down the fake knives, my scaring days were over until the next haunted house I could find.  But there’s a variety of ways to express anger that don’t involve evil clowns.

Breaking tiles to make mosaics, ripping paper to make collages, writing very angrily and hopefully not breaking the keyboard as you type, or just finding a safe place in which to scream at everything that is making you hurt.  Whatever you have to do, I hope you find something to get the anger out of you so it doesn't fester.  Being angry all the time is really an exhausting way to be.  Trust me.  I was angry for a solid six months before I finally got it all out.  And I don’t suggest staying angry for that long.

How do you deal with anger?

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The Grief Cycle Part 1: Denial

We've all heard of it.  We've all been through it at least one if not twice or three times.  Sometimes about the same thing.  But sometimes it's hard to tell what it looks like.  I know I didn't realize what I had been doing for the past three years until I was smack dab in the middle of the fourth step.  But suddenly, there I was, in a room of birthmothers staring at the grief cycle all laid out in simple terms and I realized what had been going on.  So, I thought I might share with you what the grief cycle looked like to me.

Denial.  I know it well.  And right after my son was born, I was smack dab in the middle of it.  Going through pregnancy is painful unto itself.  Childbirth?  Don't even get me started.  But then watching my son be put in another car to ride off with his adoptive parents?  Completely blew every pain I had had to date out of the water.  It was too much.  It was literally too much to handle.  I didn't know how to handle it.  I didn't know if I could handle it.  We are all very lucky that I was living with my parents at the time, because had I not been there, I can guarantee you that I would have been diving to the bottoms of various bottles for a long while.  But I was with my parents.  And they watched me very closely and carefully.

I had to have a c-section after two days of labor, so I got the benefit of Vicodin pills for a while.  I have had an on-again off-again romance with Vicodin before.  And because of that, I am very careful about the point where I'm taking them to numb the pain and when I'm taking them because I want to be numb.  The OB/GYN offered to prescribe me more, but I refused.  The regular doctor also offered to prescribe me more, but I refused again.  I got to the end of the bottle of pills and was able to get about with a few ibuprofen.  So I was satisfied.  But now I needed something else to make my numb.

Enter Netflix.  That wonderful time consumer of all time that you didn't even know existed.  I watched three or four whole runs of shows.  I watched movies of all kinds.  I re-watched whole runs of shows.  I re-watched movies of all kinds and some that I didn't even know existed until I saw them.  I discovered shows I never knew existed.  For the entire rest of July, I allowed myself to eat, take pills, watch Netflix, toodle about on the computer, do odd jobs for my father like organize his documents into well-labeled folders, and find new recipes to cook for my parents on the one night of the week my mother worked late.

The vast majority of my day was spent finding ways to occupy my time so I wouldn't have to think about the monstrous amount of emotional pain that I was in and the fact that sooner or later, preferably sooner, I was going to have to face it all and deal with it.  And this was how I spent the next year.  I got a job.  I got a better job.  I got into grad school.  I moved out of my parents' house.  And then... my boyfriend, the biological father of my child, broke up with me.  It was more a matter of distance and time than anything else.  And he is still my best friend and confidant to this day.  But that was about the time that my denial ended and my anger started.  And that will be covered in next week's entry.

To all who are in the first tender stages of placing for adoption.  I know exactly where you are and I know exactly where you have been.  So do a lot of women on this site.  However you escape into your denial, be it as simple as Netflix or a more serious and harmful route, know that you will never get any judgments from me about it.  I understand.  I understand every which way that one can slip away from the world and try to deny everything.  And I hope none of you take this as a judgement, but to those who are on a more serious and harmful route, without condoning it, I do understand it.  If you have taken one of the more harmful routes, I do beg of you to get help.  There are fantastic groups out there to help you and there are people there who know what it is like.  Please don't ever think that you are alone in this or that no one will understand you.  There are people who understand and you should never feel like you need to go at this alone.  My love and prayers and thoughts are with all of you, no matter where you are.

Depression and Suicide - There is Help!

I'm sure by now, everyone has heard the tragic news about Robin Williams, a brilliant light that lost his battle with depression. Often times when I hear of  the death of a celebrity, I think "Oh, that's sad," but there's a level of disconnect about it.  I don't know that person really.  I feel bad for their family members, I might look up a movie or a song of theirs.  But at the end of the day, I move on. Not in a cruel, heartless way.   Just....well....I didn't know them.  

This one, though...this one hit me hard.  I have known for a long time of Robin's struggle with depression and addiction.  Two things that I, too, struggle with.  I'm not an addict, but I am the child of addicts and I suffer from PTSD which comes with giant waves of depression.  I have dealt with suicidal idealizations for most of my life and it is exhausting.  I came close to losing my own battle with this five times in my life.  Each time more brutal than the last.  I still deal with the self-loathing that comes with those, but I am happy to say that I am miles away from wanting to end my own life anymore.  

But, if I'm being honest, Robin Williams death reminded me how easy it is to lose that battle.  One setback, one loss can send me spiraling back into the depths of a depression so dark, I feel as if there's no way out and that people would be better off without me.  Robin's death hit so hard.  I felt as if I lost a mentor, that person who was overcoming his demons.  Oh, how he made us all laugh and smile.  Sure, he struggled but he worked to overcome that.  And then...we lost him.  One setback...

I know I'm not alone in this.  On my Facebook page I saw the collective shockwave and I knew a lot of us were feeling this profound loss.  Not because Robin was a celebrity but because, at the root of it, Robin was like us, those of us living with mental illness.   He was a bright light,  he made us laugh, and he made us realize that living with this was possible, even on your worst days.  So I think that's why it hit ME so hard.

With that said, I want you all to know how precious your life is.  At my darkest, I felt as if I had nobody.  I really didn't at the time.  But look at what I have now.  A wonderful husband, other mommas I met through FB adoption groups, and here at BirthMom Buds, my SISTERS!  They hold me up.  I wouldn't have that if I had lost that battle.  And if I lost it now, they would mourn.  So, I'm here to tell you....we care.  The sisterhood of women who have placed/relinquished/lost their children to adoption is huge and when we lose one of us..we all feel it.  So please know you're important.  

                                                                                                                     
If you, or someone you know, is struggling with thoughts of suicide or harming yourself PLEASE reach out.  Tell someone.  Because your life is priceless.  If you need help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255.

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Take Care of Yourself

This post is really for everyone, those who have just placed and those who placed years ago.  And before I begin, I make one plea to all of you: please, take care of yourselves.

I got to see my son on a Saturday this year for his birthday.  I saw him again the following Tuesday.  His parents and I got together for dinner so that we could chat and watch him play in the huge sandbox at the restaurant that we had picked.  It was just time to have some conversation and talk about the fact that my son will be starting school this year.

Just like that, the weight of four years gone past had hit me in the chest and I realized that time was flying away from me much faster than I ever thought it would.  Add to this friends seeing pictures of him and once again exclaiming to me how much he looks like me.  He still does look like me.  As I watch him get older, I see myself in him.  I see my mannerisms.  I see my creativity.  I see my attitude.  I see my stubbornness.  This visit hurt.  And it hurt in ways I hadn't expected.

Every time I part company with him, I have to turn away before I watch them drive away.  It’s because of the first time he left me.  I simply couldn't watch them drive away from the hospital the day they took him home because I knew I would run after their van trying to get him back.  It was something I had to force myself to do.  Once home, I had to heal and learn how to be me again.

Part of this was learning how to actually care for myself.  I believe that I've mentioned before that I was living in my parents’ house at the time.  Part of the downside to that was that we were all hurt.  And we all deal with hurt in very different ways.  While my mother wanted me to talk to her, I wanted nothing more than to be left alone.  This was mostly due to the fact that talking to her would mean her then telling me how it affected her and effectively making me feel insanely guilty about everything, which wasn't what I needed at the time.  Much like Terri has pointed out in her recent posts about boundaries, for the first time, I had to put down boundaries with my parents.  I had to say to them, “No, you don’t get to talk about this with me.”  They were hurt and they were upset and I don’t know that they ever fully understood.  But it doesn't really matter anymore.  It’s been a while now since all of that happened.  Slowly I began writing again.  I found complicated knitting patterns and tackled them.  I looked at pictures of my son as he grew by the day.  I planned visits and I cried tears with the door shut and I learned how to survive and later, how to live.

Over time I have learned better ways of taking care of myself.  I've learned that talking to trusted friends and shutting myself up for a few days will always help me close those wounds that have been reopened during a visit.  I've learned that in the days after the visit I always need to be careful about where I expend my energies.  If I’m not careful, the emotional and mental hang-over from seeing him can last days and days.  That’s what’s happened this time.  My summer has been a very busy one, and the fall only promises more.  But I know it’s not just the business.  This visit really brought home to me the fact that my son is growing up faster than I ever imagined he would.  This weekend will be less busy than the last several have been.  But there are still things to do.  And most of all, I have to remember to carve out time to rest, reflect, and heal once again.

I hope that all of you feel less alone when you read this.  No matter how many years go by, this is always a difficult thing to live with.  In order to survive this, we always need to remember to seek out help when we need it and to learn how to take care of ourselves.

One Day at a Time

Five years after placement and a simple word, a picture, or a memory can refresh my tears and sadness.  I've been down this road before, actually more times than I can count or want to admit to.   

I'm sure you have been there, as well.  It is not a pleasant place to be.  Who knows how long this episode may last or if you'll need help working through it.  No matter what the case may be, every one's path is different.   

Right after placement there were certain things you did, or said to help you express your grief and work through it.  There may have even been someone there with you holding you up when you couldn't stand.   Whatever the case may be, and with each round of fresh grief you find things that do and don't work for you. Through this healing process the episodes become less frequent and less painful.  

So when a fresh round surprises you, remember what has worked for you in the past and continue to move forward and heal.  Its okay to feel what you're feeling, don't suppress it.  Allow yourself the time and space you need to work through all the emotions.  Don't let anyone hurry you through your process.  

My latest episode was on Sunday when I was attending church and a woman was talking about her newest and second adoptive son of three months.  Her 5 year-old son was so excited about their new addition and how their family felt complete.  She was being so great at hiding her excitement, but tears of joy were showing.  Her tears were contagious, but mine were filled with sadness, for I knew that I didn't feel complete.

I left the room to express my grief through more tears and was greeted by some great friends who lent me their shoulders.  No questions asked, just a simple act of unconditional love and allowing myself to express sorrow.  

That is one example.  Whatever the case may be for you, don't feel rushed.  Also don't try another's path, it may not work for you.  This is your story, your grief, your sorrow.  Fine tune the process, but keep going one day at a time.

What worked for you in the beginning?  How has it changed?  What do you do now?  What didn't work for you?  Share your thoughts, they might help another birth mother. 

A New Thing about Grief

A new thing about grief hit me recently. That in itself kind of surprised me. Being an expert in the area of grief, rarely anything surprises me anymore. In marking ten years since my father passed, I felt the need to run away. So just like a 5 year-old I packed a bag and ran away. Literally. I went to a place I had never been before because I needed to be alone and wanted to mark the anniversary in my own way.

As I drove out of town, the tears starting falling and I let myself cry. But it wasn't long before I realized that not everything about the past ten years was bad. In fact, there were lots of good parts. The rest of the day kind of turned into a sad-because-you're-gone-but-Hooray!-I've-survived-and-even-thrived celebration. I hiked a nature trail, sat by the water, listened to music, talked to God and laughed out loud.

It's important to let ourselves grieve and mark anniversaries. It looks different for all of us. But it's so healthy to let ourselves feel our feelings, whatever they are, and take care of ourselves.

If you're in a season of grief, take some time for you. Stop caring about what other people think of the way you grieve. Taking time to grieve ensures a healthier you (and me!) going forward.

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Three Things about Grief

If birthmothering is your first grief experience, I'm sorry. I'm sad for anyone who grieves. And although loss is a part of living, the way we grieve and experience grief is as different as our DNA. By the time my dad died 10 years ago, I had already been grieving the loss of my firstborn daughter to adoption for about 17 years. Although losing my dad was different in many ways, caring for myself as I was grieving and knowing what to expect remained the same.

First of all, you never know when or where grief will strike. Sure, you can learn your triggers and protect yourself that way. But sometimes when the stars, hormones, and memories align in just the right way, a tidal wave can hit you out of seemingly nowhere. It's important for you to recognize when that is happening and take immediate action. Delaying grief only makes it worse. As soon as you can, get alone and get it out.

Second, grief is like an onion. Yes, onions are stinky as is grief. But there's a little more to it. Onions have layers (remember Shrek?) as you slice through them. Each layer can differ from the others in thickness and odor. Now apply this to your particular situation for a moment. Yes I know it's crazy, but really.

Here's an example from my own birthmom journey. There were years that Katie's birthday came and went and I hardly noticed. Summer ran into fall ran into winter and so on. Suddenly it was spring, and her March birthday had come and gone. But then there were other years when the grief was so heavy in December that I could barely make it through the holidays much less hold on until March. It is still amazing to me that her 17th birthday was the hardest one I had experienced up until that point and I had been practicing for 16 years!

Anyway, my point is that grief is a continual journey and while today may be good, tomorrow may be a totally different story.

Finally, we can only grieve up to the developmental stage we are at. For example, I grieved Katie the best I knew how at 20 and 25 and so on and was at a what I thought was a 'good place'. But when I started having my own children, it was a whole new ballgame. Even though she was already 18, taking care of a newborn for the first time really shed light on all I had missed as her mommy.

Just yesterday the grief of losing my daddy hit me anew. It was a rough afternoon of remembering and crying and journaling. But at the end, I felt like I could breathe again. Is it okay? No. Not yet. But I continue moving forward finding comfort in my routine and taking time to remember as needed.

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When Dreams Die

As life swirls about me, I am often fascinated by my own life circumstances as well as those of those close to me. Oftentimes I wonder how I would handle such a life event only to remember that God gives grace when it is needed, and not before. So here are a few life circumstances going on around me right now. Maybe you can relate to one.

I have a very good friend who is a birthmom. Her son is in his 20s and has recently told her outright that he doesn't want a relationship with her. This lady is never married and has never borne anymore children. She is out of graduate school, out of a job and back living at home. What now?

My husband was recently passed over for a job promotion. Now granted, his boss did not get to make the decision. Also, he was by far the youngest candidate for the position. But how does this affect his future at the company? What does he shoot for now?

One of my Community Bible Study gals is a dear woman who was looking forward to the next chapter of her life. While she and her husband had battled through many issues over the years, they stayed together, worked through them, and came out on the other side better and stronger. One morning on his way to work, he died in an accident. What is her purpose now? Where does she go from here?

So what happens when we have been living in the land of wishful thinking instead of the land of reality, as in the case of my birthmother friend? How does my husband keep going and set new goals? How do we move forward when we don't want to?

I have no easy answers, ladies. I know in my own life there have been places where I would have been content to just lay down and die. But in each instance, God gave me grace and purpose to go on. Just this week I have been encouraged by Paul in his letter to the Philippians. In chapter one he writes, " If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me... I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account."

If you are suffering today, if you are at the end of something and unsure where to turn next, ask God to show you. Ask him for the grace to get you through to the other side. I'd love to hear from you.

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Dealing With Post-Adoption Depression For Birth Mothers

So just out of curiosity one night, I googled "post-adoption depression". I mainly found sites and articles about adoptive parents. "Many adoptive parents are suffering from a common complaint called Post-Adoption Depression. It's a real condition that many in the adoption community are unaware exists." That's valid, but what about birthmothers who are experiencing post-adoption depression? It's no secret that every birth mother grieves the "loss" of their child. But there's really no information out there on post-adoption depression relating to birth mothers. 

I was honestly shocked when I saw that. Without birth mothers, there would be no adoption! Sure, there's sites and articles about postpartum depression, but in a sense, that applies to mothers who are actually raising their children. I tend to stay away from that term. In this quote from the Mayo Clinic, "Postpartum depression isn't a character flaw or a weakness. Sometimes it's simply a complication of giving birth. If you have postpartum depression, prompt treatment can help you manage your symptoms — and enjoy your baby." The main thing that sticks out to me from that quote is to "enjoy your baby." But the truth is, I can't really do that. None of us can. 

Birth Mom Buds is a fantastic resource for us, I just wish there were more "medically accepted" articles for birth mothers to explore the disorder. Depression is depression, and you can call it whatever type you want, I'm not trying to take away from that. I just wish there were more medical professionals who acknowledged the loss we've all went through. There's so many articles on postpartum depression and even post adoption depression. The month after I placed, my adoption counselor recommended a therapist who specialized in placement depression with birth mothers. I recommend this to all birth mothers I come in contact with. (By the way, if you google "post-placement depression", it's mainly geared towards adoptive parents, too!) 

So, as of today, I'm creating my own diagnosis for our grief. "Birth Mother Placement Grief  Disorder." Sounds professional, doesn't it?! If any of you wonderful ladies would like to share your experiences with "Birth Mother Placement Grief Disorder", please leave a comment below. I'd love to hear your stories/opinions. 

Until next week! 

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Are you my Neighbor?

 Well, thank you ladies for joining in the discussion last week in my post Where are the Others? I think this is an important topic and want to spend the next few posts spit-balling some possibilities. I am always glad to hear from you especially if your view differs from mine. 

One place I think these ladies are is in our neighborhoods. I think many of us have moved on from that time and place in our lives, gotten married, had children, and gone on. This totally describes me although I have made peace with my experience.

I think many women, while they have never truly forgotten their child, have pushed those memories so far away from their current life that it's almost like that pregnancy and that child happened to someone else.

It could be for many of them that they haven't told a soul, not even their husbands.

And I think that while there are women experiencing post-placement effects of some kind, I think they never in a million billion years think it is related to their pregnancy and subsequent placement of a child or children.

Now for the younger moms, this doesn't necessarily hold true. The current generation is very open about their experiences, good and bad, and more likely to reach out for support. But anyone over the age of 40 can identify with the rest of this post.

Do you have any women in your neighborhood whom you suspect to be a birthmom in hiding? I'd love to hear your stories!

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