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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The "What Ifs"

      I am approaching a milestone (at least in my eyes).  My birth daughter is going to be turning 5 next month.   That is 5 years of watching her grow up from afar, and 5 years of missing out on things.   It also marks 5 years of a wonderful friendship with her adoptive family, and five whole years of growth for me.

     If you can't tell, the month before my birth daughters birthday always leaves me feeling a bit sentimental.  This year in particular though, I am really focusing on the "what ifs."  You know what they are.  Thinking about if things could have been different.

     In the beginning, I often wondered what life would have been like had I not made an adoption plan.  I often dreamed of ways that I could have made it work as a single mom coming out of an abusive relationship with a toddler and a newborn.  I thought of things that I should have done, and things that I could have done differently.  Especially in the month between my daughter's birth and the court date that terminated my parental rights, the “what ifs” were very strong.

     Now, though, 5 years past my adoption placement, I have a different set of “what ifs.”  Now, when I think about what life would have been like if I hadn't placed, I am saddened.  Not because of my placement, but because I can't picture my life being any more perfect than it is right now.  If I had never placed, there's no saying that my husband would be my husband.  He is a wonderful man who took on the responsibility of raising my young daughter, when he absolutely didn't have to.   However, I wonder if taking on the responsibility of a toddler and a newborn, all while still forging a new relationship would have been too much for us.

     I also wonder if I would have been given the employment opportunities that I have had.  I worked full time for several years after my placement, and was referred to the company by my birth daughter's dad who also works there. It provided me with financial security, which I had not had for several years.   It gave us the funds necessary to pay for our wedding, and then purchase our first home.

      I do suppose that everything could have worked out exactly as it did had I not placed, but I am doubtful of that.  My adoption placement served as a springboard that led to many amazing things happening in my life.  So for this birthday, instead of focusing on the incredible sadness that was my hospital experience and the weeks following it, I am going to think of all the ways that my life went right after I placed.   I am going to think of my youngest daughter, and how if it weren't for my adoption decision, she likely would not exist.   I am going to think of the wonderful experiences that my oldest daughter has been able to have, that I likely wouldn't have been able to afford if I hadn't placed my middle child.  And I am going to think of my marriage and how God blessed me with the exact man that I needed at the exact same time that I wasn't expecting to need him.

What have been some of your “what if” thoughts, and how have you been able to get past them?

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Just Another Mother's Day

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

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

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

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

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

"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.

Holidays

For most of us the holidays can be the hardest days of the year.  What is supposed to be a time of joy is a time of sadness and mourning the little face we wish we could see on this day.  Usually I do well with the holidays, my adoption experience has been a pretty good one.  I have remained in good contact with the adoptive parents and we are planning our visit for this summer.

This Easter however was a hard one.  I made a big dinner for my roommates and a friend because none of us could go back home.  I couldn't help but imagine the life I would have had.  The "what ifs" are the hardest parts for me.  It's hard not to imagine what could have, or would have, been.  Her birth father and I are still together, which makes it even harder on some days.

I would be cooking Easter dinner and she would be running around in the living room in her little Easter dress.  She might be outside with her daddy searching for eggs in the bushes.  There would be laughter and joy.  But then I come down from that fantasy.  I think about everything else that would be surrounding that.  Would her daddy even be around?  Where would I have got the money for the dinner, for her little dress?  Would we be the midst of some kind of custody battle, something so many of my friends are familiar with.  Where would we even be living, with my mother in a tiny apartment?

Its hard to get past those what ifs.  And when you do its even harder to imagine the reality of them.  Its easy to think about how amazing life would be with your child, but its hard for me to imagine how hard things would be.

I know that for me adoption was for the best interest of my daughter.  That doesnt make this any less difficult.

How do you guys spend the holidays?  What is the hardest part for you?

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Coping 5: Look to the Future

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Running Away

I feel like running away sometimes. Can anyone relate? It is all just too much... everything in my world seems to be shifting and out of control. While I don't consider myself to be a control freak, I crave routine. I love routine. I am routine. Which causes it's own issues. But that's not where I'm going here.

I am blessed to have a very hardworking husband. And I am thankful for his job. And I mean it. His job has taken him to California almost weekly since about August. And this week I just had enough. He comes home Friday night exhausted, we try and cram all kinds of family stuff and church stuff and home responsibilities into one 48-hour period, and then he's gone again.
Can I get a witness? This is hard stuff.

So this week when he got home I told him I wanted to run away. Even with the responsibilities of children at home, I was teetering on the edge of packing up and bolting. 

I'm glad to say that while the urge did not pass on its own, I was able to help it along. Not matter your home situation, if you feel like running away, these are the things that helped me keep moving forward instead of skipping out:

• Routine. This is very important to me and on my own with the children, homeschooling and all of out other responsibilities, I have to find a way to manage it all. So I figured out a routine that includes time to and for myself.
• Take care of you. Of course I love my girls. But after pouring out to them all day, I'm tired. I've been much firmer on my boundaries without daddy around. They go to bed at a certain time and stay there. I am up front with them that mommy needs time alone. For me, this also includes exercise, so I build that into my daily/weekly schedule.
• Bookshelf your time. As an introvert, I require more alone time than many people. So I have structured my days to include time alone at the beginning and the end of each day. Knowing I will have that time helps me get through the rough patches.
• Plan a getaway. While I'm not able to run away right now, planning our next family time away helps me mentally. And in the meantime when my husband is home, I find ways to be out on my own for a few hours.

I know the particulars of our lives may look different, but we all get stuck and we all need time away. Running away when we feel like it probably is not the best answer, but getting the mental space we need sure helps.

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Can I Come In?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have visitation rights?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other choice questions that I collected in writing this were:

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

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

"Did you get paid for him/her?"

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

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

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

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.

Remember the Journey

There are some days after placement that you will never feel whole.  However, there are the other days where love and peace surround you.  Those days are very rejuvenating and necessary for the soul to replenish itself.

Remind yourself how blessed you truly are for how far you have come in your life's journey.  Even if you have just five minutes, close your eyes and mentally walk through the steps you slowly took to get you where you are today.

Don't forget to express gratitude for those who supported you and helped you when you couldn't walk one more step.  "Gratitude is the key to abundance."

Relax and enjoy these moments.  Write about them and re-read them when you are having a rough day.

I listen to this song to remind me of my own path.... Reach for the Light by Steve Winwood.

Searching for Normalcy

Currently I am sitting at a sandwich shop with eleven other women.  I’m typing on a laptop.  They are whittling away with knitting needles and crochet hooks.  This is my once-a-month knitting group.  Every second Thursday of the month we get together, knit, crochet, and talk to each other on just about every single subject under the sun.  I've had conversations about cheese, alpacas, politics, religion, Star Wars, Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Who, and shopping for yarn while hanging out with these ladies.  About half of them know about my son.  The others have probably just never been here when I've told one of them about it.  There are regular members of the group.  But there are others who come and go from month to month.  As I was walking into the sandwich shop tonight, I thought about how knitting has played a major part in my life after placing my son for adoption.

For the last two and half months of my pregnancy, I was unemployed and living in my parents’ house.  Once you’re unemployed and find yourself mostly sitting around the house, you realize that 24 hours is actually a very very long time.  I spent a good bit of my time on Netflix.  My mother did get me to make a pair of blankets with her that we gave to my son’s adoptive parents when he was born.  But mostly I didn't want to do anything.

After my son was born, I was once again spending much time on Netflix and pain killers (I had to have a C-section in the end).  But as happens, the pain killers had to be put down and now the hours I had spent in a narcotic haze had to be filled with something.  So I turned to knitting.  My mother taught me how to knit and crochet when I was young.  To this day I am comfortable with either a crochet hook or a pair of knitting needles in my hands.  My mother had given up knitting due to developing arthritis in her hands.  But she was happy to buy me a pair of needles and some yarn.  After a few days of watching me knitting, she started digging through her old stash and pulling out old needles and projects.  We started searching through patterns.  That which I picked up to try to fill the time and maintain my sanity, was starting to repair my connection to my mother that had been damaged over the past few months.

We found out about a nearby knitting group that met at a coffee shop every Saturday.  The first time we showed up, we were far too early.  But after an hour of waiting we found out the correct starting time of the group and we began going every week.  We got to know the people who were regulars.  We shared patterns and talked about life in between the stitched that we were working onto our needles and hooks.  Slowly I began to trust them and many of them know about my son now.  The group does still exist, although it meets at a different coffee shop now.  I don’t live in the town anymore, but I do still drop in when I visit my parents to see them and talking about my current projects and my life.  I am forever grateful to that group because they provided a temporary escape from my parents’ house.  For a couple hours, I could get away from all that had happened in the last few months and just go knit without people asking me if I was okay or watching me like a hawk.  I felt like a human again there.

When I moved, I found my life was in a kind of upheaval yet again.  I was now living closer to my son and was trying to carve out a life and come to a kind of balance.  So I went looking for a knitting group again and found one.  Over time they learned about my son and my life and have been accepting and loving to me.  In fact, four of the women in the group are in the picture at the top of this post.  They graciously allowed me to take their picture tonight.  Thanks again ladies!!  You are wonderful people!

In the months after placing my son for adoption, I needed something normal.  I needed something that had been untouched by all that I had gone through in the last few months.  Knitting was one of the things that kept me sane.  It calmed my nerves, ordered my brain, and gave me a sense of accomplishment with every project that I completed.  What are some of the things that you did to bring normalcy back to your life after you placed your child for adoption?  I’d love to hear about anything you guys have to say, be it wildly creative or as simple as just taking a walk every evening.

Photo Credit: Elsa 

On Birthdays

 

My son, J, was born on July 14^th.  And right now it’s ten days until his birthday.  My emotions always run high around this time of the year.  And as you can imagine, the Georgia heat does not help.  I’ve been fortunate in that my son’s adoptive parents are always happy to include me in the birthday plans.  This year we are going out to a park.  He’s turning 4.  I’m still amazed every year at how much older he’s getting.  Still seems like it was only yesterday that he was a tiny baby in my arms at the hospital.  But that was a long time ago now.  Much has happened.

He’s learned how to roll over.  He’s learned how to smile.  He’s learned how to crawl.  He’s learned how to talk.  He’s learned how to walk.  He’s learned how to run.  He’s figured out how to work both of his parents’ smart phones.  He’s learned how to work YouTube.  He figures out how things work at a blistering pace.  He’s started making up stories and telling them to his parents.  He’s started playing practical jokes on his parents that are hilarious and wonderful.   This list is not necessarily in order or really complete.  But they are the things I typically think of when his birthday rolls around.

Every year at his birthday I start counting up how long it’s been.  And I also start counting up just how much that I’ve missed.  I try not to think about this at a constant rate, as you can imagine.  But when his birthday hits, I often can’t help myself.

His birthday is also an emotional journey that I take myself on once a year.  His first birthday was handled in a rather low key way.  I was moving from one city to another and it was actually taking me closer to him.  They were delighted about that since it meant that visits would be easier.  They were going out to a cabin for their summer vacation and would be there for his actual birthday.  So we met a week earlier.  We got together at a restaurant and had a lovely couple of hours together.

On his second birthday, I was invited out to their house.  This would be the first time I would meet my son’s grandparents.  It was also the first time I met his aunt and a few assorted friends of theirs.  I was introduced as J’s birthmother to everyone.  My identity was not something they felt needed to be hidden.  And all the extended family and friends were welcoming and happy to see me there.  I laughed as he played with his new birthday toys.  And I got to see the house and environment that he’s growing up in.  I have to say, it’s a great one.

On his third birthday, I was now invited out to his maternal grandparent’s house in the country near the cities where we live.  Once again, my identity was shielded from no one.  I met more friends and some kids his age that he plays with on a regular basis.  I laughed with everyone at all the funny things he did.  I delighted in his enthusiasm over books.  And we all had a great time.

His birthday has become a yearly sojourn back in time for me.  Every year when I leave, it feels like watching him go away from the hospital once again.  Every year I find I am amazed at how big he’s gotten and how old he is.  Don’t worry; I do see him more than once a year.  But it’s still a shocker every time I see him, especially when it’s his birthday.  I guess I expect to see him back to the tiny nearly 8 pound baby that I gave birth to on July 14^th of 2010.  But that’s been nearly four years ago now.

As birthmothers, I often think we live in a weird kind of dichotomy.  We are a part of our children’s lives, and yet not.  We are part of the family, and yet we aren’t.  We get to watch our children grow up, but we miss so many things in between the visits that we have.  It is better than never knowing, but knowing is its own kind of pain.  We only get to see our children at certain points in time.  And, at least for me, on his birthday, I’m always counting back through time to all the times that I’ve seen him right back to the very first time I saw him when he was born.  I live in a virtual time warp when I see my son.  And maybe one day that won’t happen anymore.  But this is what happens now.

How do you all handle your child’s birthday?  Do you see them?  If you don’t, do you have a yearly ritual?  I know this time is worse for me than Christmas.  So I know how many of you feel.  I hope all of you who are going through this right now, very soon from now, or even several months from now, get through it with friends and family and laughter and tears and all the support that you need.

I have to tell you something...

“When you have a child, you’ll understand.”

That phrase spoken to me un-knowingly by a friend propelled me very quickly into a conversation I've now been having for nearly the past four years with a variety of people.

“Actually, Naomi, I do have a child.  He was placed for adoption.”

Let me just emphasize, until that moment, Naomi had no idea about my son or the whole adoption experience I had been through.  She really said that phrase because she was speaking about the choices she has to make as a single mother.  And, I agree, they are hard choices.  I had to make a very hard choice too.

When I placed my child for adoption, I had moved away from the town I had lived in for the past nine years and back home with my parents.  Their friends also knew me and were greatly supportive and also provided something of a boost for me when I and my parents were at odds.  But for the most part, I kept this to myself.  A very small population of my friends knew when it was all going on.  For a very long time, I kept it that way.

But at some point, things happen.  You get a sudden phone call, you hear a baby crying in the hallway, you just have a moment where you see a happy family together and…

My first supervisor I had after all was said and done, found out after finding me crying in a small store room, whispering on the phone with my 2^nd best ex, who is also the biological father of my child.  He was not going to be able to come to my parents’ place for the Christmas visit.  It was more or less his family holding him back and I got very upset.  At that point I had to tell her because she was concerned.  After telling her, I started keeping a picture of him on my desk that she adored.  Slowly the others in the office learned of it.  All were calm and supportive.  So for now, it was a few friends, family, and work.

After moving out of my parents’ place and closer to work, I tried to settle down in the new city that I had picked, or that really had picked me.  I started knitting with a woman at a local coffee shop.  I had just seen my son a few days prior and had pictures with me.  When I told her about my son, she then turned and told me about her son that she had placed for adoption several years ago.  Suddenly I had another birthmother I could turn to for support.  And not only that, she was in town!  Until then, the other birthmothers I knew were scattered across the state.

Over the last year, I have finally started getting out into the city and finding friends to spend my time with.  And again I found myself having the conversation all over again.  It’s kind of like a never-ending conversation.  Sometimes it comes up when talking about trying to find someone to have a relationship with.  Sometimes it’s when talking about having kids and taking care of kids.  Sometimes it’s just because I’ve got something planned with my son and his parents and they ask, “What are you up to that weekend?”

I’ve been extremely lucky in that my friends that I have told have been calm and supportive and very gentle with their questions and always with permissions to tell them to shut up and go away.  I’ve only faced an opposing view a couple of times and at those times there were others nearby who were unequivocally in agreement with me.  What has been your experience when talking to others and sharing your story with those you know and those you meet along the way?

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. 

Life After Placement

Right after I placed, it's almost as if my life was put on hold. I wallowed for quite a long time. I put myself in the "victim" role. I often told myself I wasn't good enough to be a mother, so that's why I placed. I cried for days on end during the summer after Micah was born. I constantly felt sorry for myself. I convinced myself that what I was going through was to be expected. And to an extent, it was. But feeling constantly depressed and angry isn't what placement should be like.

I started seeing a therapist in May of  2012 and attempted to get my life back on track. My therapist and I discussed my resentment towards my parent and towards myself. In that dark time in my life, I kept blaming myself. "If I would've been more prepared... If I would've settled down... If I'd known earlier... If I wasn't 17..." But then we came upon common ground. It was my "fault" I got pregnant, but it was my choice to give him a better life than I could have provided. In a way, I did sacrifice some of my teen years. I went from being a somewhat popular girl in high school, to not knowing where I fit in. I became separated from my friends in high school because no one truly knew what I'd been through. 

In my town there's literally nothing to do. We have a movie theater that's going bankrupt, a bowling alley that mainly just holds tournaments, a few diners, a coffee shop, Elizabethtown College, and the high school. Oh, and we're in the middle of Amish country. Most of the teenagers in my town either become drug addicts by the time they're 16, are obsessed with everything "country", or get pregnant by junior year. A lot of my friends are mothers or college students, so it gives me a catch 22. I don't really fit in with the teen moms, but I don't really fit in with the college kids either. Granted, I'm going to community college, but it's just not the same. I tried going to a 4 year school but I just wasn't ready.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that whatever you decide to do, you have options. Placing your child for adoption gives the both of you a better opportunity in life. Don't let yourself succumb to the "What ifs". Just go for it. I had to learn that the hard way. 

What are your plans in life? Are you in school? What would you like your career to be?

Photo: (wo months after I placed Micah, I graduated from high school.