The Next Baby

When I was getting ready to place my second daughter for adoption, I never gave my future children much thought.  In fact, at that point, I would have been perfectly content to never deal with pregnancy again, as both my pregnancies had been pretty dramatic and ridiculously emotional, mostly due to the volatile relationship I was in.

However, shortly after my birth daughters second birthday I got married to a wonderful man, and by the time she was 3 and a half my youngest daughter was born.  This pregnancy wasn't a surprise, she was meticulously planned.  Yet, for some reason, when I told my family, I was afraid.  I had nothing to be afraid of, I was 23 and married with a mortgage, a job, and a 401K.  I was an adult, in every sense of the word.  I struggled with the idea that this pregnancy would be joyfully embraced though.  I felt that, even though I may have been more prepared, my newest baby didn't deserve more fanfare than my older children.
 
As my pregnancy progressed, everything terrified me.  If I hadn't felt my baby move for a few hours, I immediately thought the worst.  I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was going to happen, even though things were progressing completely normally.  I genuinely felt that, after everything I had been through, there was no way I would finally get my happy ending.

Fast forward a few months and a week long NICU stay, and we were finally able to bring our perfect 8 pound 9 ounce baby girl home.  I was immediately struck by the amount of love I felt for such a tiny little stranger.  When I placed my second child, I spent most of my pregnancy avoiding much of a connection with her.  This time, I embraced the connection fully.  I immersed myself in every piece of Motherhood, from the sleepless nights, to breastfeeding, to diaper changes, and everything in between.

I was in newborn heaven.  I was also completely overwhelmed by the demands of two children.  Although I had quite a age gap between my kids (my oldest was almost 6 when my youngest was born), I still struggled meeting the demands of both my children, while still providing the basic necessities for myself.  My husband was extremely helpful during this time, as he took a month off from work to be with us at home.

This is when it really hit me that my decision to place my second child was the correct one.  I always knew it was, but after I had a taste of parenting multiple children it became even more clear.  I struggled with the demands as a 24 year old married woman with a wonderfully supportive partner.  I have no idea how things would have been if I had attempted this feat as a 20 year old single Mom who had just exited an abusive relationship and was working part time at a pizza place while struggling to afford a single wide trailer.

Since my youngest daughter's birth, ever milestone she has reached has served as another reminder to me that adoption was the best choice for my second baby.  Adoption was the best choice for  my newborn, my crawling baby, my teething baby, my toddler, and every stage that has and will still come.

Has anyone else had a baby after their placement?  What has surprised you about the experience?

So I placed my child...now what do I do?

After having Noah, I knew what I had to do.  I had to move forward.  But...what did that mean?  For someone who did not experience what I just did, it would mean getting a job and getting back to "normal".  But how in the world could I just go back to the way I was before?

I decided I would have to create MY new normal.  I grieved. I surrounded myself with people who supported me who did not make me feel bad about placing my child.  I am so thankful that I did not shove my feelings in and instead, experienced them the best I could.  My instincts were honestly to smile and pretend nothing had happened because that was the easiest thing to do.  Now, did I ever do that?  Of course I did.  I sometimes had to depending on where I was.  But 90% of the time I let my emotions take control.  

While going through all of this, I applied for jobs and eventually found my dream job teaching 5th grade.  I love it.  I also get to see Noah every 6 months and get an update with pictures every 1-2 months.  Those updates are what keep me going.  The first year is the hardest and now I take every day as it comes.  

If I could give future birth moms one piece of advice, it would be to cry, cry, and cry some more surrounded by the ones you love. This may sound painful but after you let those tears out, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and eventually, that weight doesn't feel so heavy anymore.  

Lots of Love,

Erin

Bad Days

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

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

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

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

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Times We Couldn't Share

Every time another special celebration comes and goes, my heart feels a little empty, despite the joys shared with friends and family. I always stop and think about what it would be like for my son to be apart of these celebrations. As I write today I am particularly focused on this idea, because my family is on their yearly vacation to the lake house. Each member of my immediate family, along with their spouses and children gather in one home and share a week of fun on the lake in my dad's boat. It has always been one of the highlights of my year, and has been a large part of my life since I can remember. It is hard not having Aidan here with the rest of us. It is hard knowing what we all are missing.

For me I miss seeing Aidan with all the other kids running and playing. I see my two girls play together and can't help but feel like something is missing as I long to see him there as well. I miss seeing him play with all of his cousins, and enjoying the special bond they all share. It is hard to accept that he will not experience all of these things as he grows. It goes even deeper at times as I see the way of life that he is not experiencing. So much of what I learned about myself was learned on these trips. It provides a chance to escape the realities of life and experience life as a family unit without the distractions. It taught me strength and determination as I learned to ski and do other water sports as a young child. I learned how to really enjoy the company of others, and to deal with disappointments as they come. I know all of these things can be learned in other ways, but for my family these special moments are often shared alongside the water. It is hard knowing this is not a central part of my son's childhood.

I must believe that he will find these things in other places, and maybe someday I will have the opportunity to share these special moments with him. Each time I think of the moments we are not able to share I am forced to accept the reality, and to be honest, it is extremely difficult. Each birthday party we do not share, each holiday that passes, every family gathering: all of these are bittersweet. I want so deeply to fully enjoy all of these things with the ones who are present. It becomes especially hard when I see my girls, and I want to be fully present for them in those moments, and I do the best I can. I choose to love life as it is, and work through the sadness as it comes. No matter what I do those feelings are always there, very real, very strong. I honor him and my girls through those moments and live life to the fullest. Someday he will understand the pain I CHOOSE to feel was always for him. These times we couldn't share simply remind me of the real love I have for this little boy and the choice I made for his life. For all of us birth moms - we must remember how heroic our choice was!! How many people willingly take on the most difficult pain imaginable for the love of another? We know sacrificial love, and our children will be blessed by our love.

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Getting Back to Normal...Or Not

After you sign those papers, the papers that you never imagined you would sign, your heart breaks in ways you never prepared yourself for. I thought I had things in place that would cushion the blow-so to speak-when I got home from 48 hours of nothing but holding my new baby girl in my arms and then placing her in someone else's. But, I was wrong. I didn't know that reading those lines, word after word, I would keep being shattered as the words bounced off the page. I was rolled out of the hospital with tears wetting my face when all I really wanted to do was stay. Stay in the room forever, holding this 6 lb 4 oz perfection. Today, it hasn't got easier. It just got different.

Saying bye to M and B and Mini M, I was in a daze after. For days I was just floating through day by day, sleeping as much as I could. I used the fact I just had a baby as an excuse, but really I just didn't want to face the reality. I slept on the couch near my parents room, because I was terrified of sleeping in my secluded pink room, by myself. I laid next to my mom when I could and cried. My heart ached like it had never done before and I didn't know if it would ever stop. But, it did. Some where along the way the ache became normal. I didn't cry all the time and I moved my pillow back to my bed. I became functioning and ready to go to work. I think of the missing part in my heart and the hole is still existent. I will always have it there.

I never thought I would date again, but I have. I never thought I would be able to talk about Mini M and not cry, but I do everyday. I don't think about her birth dad like I did, I don't want him back and I laugh when I think of my choice in guys before. My "normal" changes. My normal used to be no baby and dating when I wanted, doing what I pleased, then it went to me being a birthmom with an unshakable pain. Now, it is me being a workaholic, a proud mother, unsure of my standing with M and B, and having a big picture that I often forget. I didn't go back to a normalcy, I created a new one and I continue to.

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Changes

Lately it seems like life has been a constant roller coaster of emotions. Things seem to fall into place only to fall apart. This seems to be true as well with the journey of being a birth mother. For me, this is a central part of who I am. Each day I feel the pain as if it's new, and each day I choose to smile through the hurt because of the joy I see in my son's eyes. As life moves forward each day brings different challenges, and recently I have had the chance to really reflect on the realities that are my life now, 5 years after my son's birth.

I seem to be at a crossroads in my life where everything seems to be changing all at once. For someone like me change is never easy. Especially when it comes to my relationship with my son and his relationship with his biological siblings and my family. When I was 17 and making an adoption plan for my son I knew that someday I would have other children and a family with me all the time, and I knew I wanted ALL my children to have a relationship. I think I knew it would be difficult at times to understand the situation surrounding each child's birth and how it all fit together, but at that time in my life I could never understand how deeply the changes that would occur could affect my life. As I began to grow and become the adult I always wanted to be I started to realize these things were going to affect my relationship with my son.

None of these changes would be my choice, which would make it all so much harder. With the birth of each child there seemed to be struggles with the adoptive parents as to how it all fit together. I could not, and still do not, understand how the birth of a sibling could change the love we all shared. As the adoptive parents were able to have other biological children things became even more difficult. To be honest, I cannot fully tell you why. I think this is simply one of the more difficult things we must experience as birth mothers within an open adoption. We do not have control over the choices the adoptive parents make for our sweet children. I cannot decide what will happen, and it is a feeling of complete at total fear as I have no control. It affects my son, but it also affects the children I am parenting.

It's hard to imagine how life will change, even if for the better, and that this could affect the relationship we were promised with our child. We all have different relationships and expectations,but for me it has always been depicted as an extended family. We have shared holidays, family get togethers, countless hours spent together, phone calls, pictures, tears, laughter, joy, and sorrow. We have walked the journey together as birth family and adoptive family. I trust that this will always continue, but as my life changes, I am fearful of the future.

As I face yet another time of change in my life, my husband and I await the birth of another child this fall, our children are growing, and my son is becoming more aware of things that surround him. I fear the things he may not understand, and the things I am not able to explain to him because I feel a longing as his mother to calm all his fears, to chase away any doubt, and to most importantly assure him of ALL of our love. I pray that he can feel my love and that through the changes and the hard times we will continue our relationship as it has always been, based on love, trust, and honesty. I place my son in God's hands and trust that no matter how hard the changes in life may be, the love we share will always be there, strong and pure. Always and Forever.

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Philemon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visits with our Kids

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

*sigh*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coping 5: Look to the Future

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Coping 2: Get Creative

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Be Who You Are

I feel like I write about this all the time, but I promise I looked back to make sure. It doesn't look like I've written anything like this for a couple months at least! 

It probably feels that way because God is always teaching me, and I think this is one of the Big Lessons for my year: Be who I am. 

Just like you, I am special and unique and created for a purpose. God knew what he was doing when he made me stubborn and introverted and all the other sometimes-annoying qualities about me. I am who I am and this has been a year of resting in that. Now that's not to say that I'm always growing and trying to be a better version of myself, but there are just some things about me that I cannot change.

Take my age for example. I am aging and trying to come to terms with it. Last week I went to a different dance class than I normally attend and was pleased to see a brand new instructor. She and I had attended class together many times, but now she would be teaching! I figured she would be good and I was right.

In the middle of class, about the time I think the instructor is trying to kill me, it suddenly occurred to me what was happening. I was following her and doing what she said instead of doing my own workout. In any kind of aerobic exercise there is a wide range in which to operate. I push myself as much as I can while also listening to my body. Well I was not doing that. I was doing her workout. And it was too much!

It's sometimes mentally hard for me to realize I just can't jump around as much as I used to. But the more important issue here is that I continue to exercise and take care of my body. It is not reasonable for me to try and keep up with someone who is half my age. Some ladies can do it, but I am not one of them.

In your life, remember that you are who you are. Rest in the fact that God knew what he was doing when he made you a particular way. Don't wear yourself out constantly trying to be someone else or something you're not. It's ok to be you. You are the only one like you.

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Jealousy

Recently I found out that an acquaintance of mine from high school was pregnant and considering adoption. When I found this out I reached out and told her my thoughts and opinions and gave her my support in whatever decision she made. It was even weirder that we had the same due date (only a year later) and she was also having a girl. I felt happy that for once I might actually be able to talk to and know someone else who was a birth mom. A few months later she had changed her mind and decided to parent her baby. I don't know why it had such a profound effect on me. I am a huge advocate for a woman making the right decision for herself whatever that decision may be. This weekend she gave birth to a healthy baby girl a few weeks early. Seeing the pictures just about broke my heart. It was hard to even look at them. I was so jealous that she had her daughter and was going to take her home from the hospital. She was going to do everything I wish I could do but was not able to at the time. I felt crazy for feeling this way because to be honest I was never really close with this girl in the first place, but I felt so devastated by watching this girls story unfold on Facebook. I kept thinking that it wasn't fair. I wanted to hold my baby and take her home from the hospital and raise her but I was in no place to do so at the time, and it hurt to watch this girl almost exactly a year later who was going to parent.

I spent most of my weekend upset and it just didn't make a lot of sense to me and I felt so crazy I didn't want to tell any of my friends or family about how I was feeling. I know I am not the first birth mom out there to experience jealousy but this was the first time I had experienced it in such a strong way. I wanted to be happy for this girl but it felt impossible for me. I felt terrible in so many different ways this weekend. I have had some time to think and I know that these are just more issues that we birth moms have to deal with and something I am going to have to work on in my life too. I know that the decision I made was right for my daughter and I, and I have to respect that she made the right decision for her. I wouldn't trade the life my daughter has for anything.

What have your experiences with jealousy been like? Is it harder to deal with new babies in your own family?

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A New Normal

Returning to life after the birth and placement of your child can be an extremely difficult process. For some women it can seem impossible. It has been almost a year since the placement of my daughter and for everyone out there who has recently placed, I can tell you that it does get better. It takes a while and it is a difficult journey,  but time does help you heal some.

I returned to school 8 weeks after the birth of my daughter. I was in college when I found out I was pregnant and since my due date was in the middle of fall quarter i decided that taking one quarter off school was a sufficient amount of time to take off. In some ways I am thankful I only took  a short amount of time off of school, but in other ways I wish I had taken more time.

I was kept really busy with school, friends and activites and it helped take my mind off of things, which can be really nice after the placement of your child. It is a constant thought in the back of your mind and having something else to take up your time is really nice.

It was hard though, because it also felt as though I didnt have a sufficient amount of time to grieve before leaving home and heading to a school 3 hours away. All the friends I had knew about the adoption when I returned to school and I kept feeling that they didn't know how to react or talk to me. I felt like there was an elephant in the room when I was around.

I had gained a lot of weight during my pregnancy and so I returned to the gym once I went back to school. I loved working out because it took my stress away and I was able to think about whatever I wanted to, I could be alone with my thoughts. I recommend working out and exercising to every birth mother. Its an amazing way to stay busy and healthy.

In most ways your life will never be the same way it was before. You have to find a new normal in life. Looking at pictures of my daughter has become a daily activity but also just thinking about her is a big chunk of my time. I don't let it consume me in the ways it has before and I don't cry every time I think about her or see a picture, but there are still days that I do. And the one thing I have learned over the past year is that it's okay to cry. It's okay to hurt and take as much time as you need to grieve the loss. It is your right to take 8 weeks off, 6 months, or however much time you feel is right before returning to school or work or anything else you have going on in your life. Just remember to love yourself no matter what. Placing a child is one of the most difficult things you will do in your life and only you can decide how much time you need before returning to your new normal.

How long did you wait before returning to school or work? What is your new normal and how do you cope with the everyday struggles?

Related Article: Finding your New Normal 

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Community

I've been reminded once again how God puts all kinds of people in our lives if we will allow it. I was with a friend yesterday, someone with whom I have built a relationship for years and years. In fact, it's hard for me to pinpoint exactly a time when she wasn't in my life!

But I do remember the way we met. She was a graduate student in marriage and family therapy. I was working as the client care director at a pregnancy center. She wanted to come and intern with me in order to get her clinical hours to graduate. I wasn't the least bit interested in investing in her. And truth be told, she wasn't that interested in the pregnancy center as a placement site.

In the end, though, we each accepted the challenge. And here we are ten? twelve years later? Still friends, we both have children of our own and we're both homeschooling. We actually have some important things in common even though our backgrounds are vastly different.

Kind of reminds me of the BirthMom Buds community. There is no way I would have the pleasure of knowing so many of you were it not for this group. Some of us are so different from each other  that we would never cross paths. Yet, here we are bonded together by a common experience. And I'm so thankful to have this group that knows what it's like. You guys get something about me that no one else on the planet can understand. And for that, I am thankful.

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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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Weird Conversations

In the four years since my child was born, I’ve had some weird conversations.  I don’t mean having the conversations one does about my experience as a birthmother.  And I don’t mean having to patiently explain that this isn’t a divorce, this isn’t a custody thing, and this isn’t temporary.  I signed away my rights and my child is gone from me.  But conversations that I simply never expected to have.  And sometimes, I had those conversations because the people who came to me didn’t know where else to go or who else to tell it to.

Several months ago, a friend of mine came to me in tears.  Her first words to me were, “I wish I had placed my daughter for adoption instead of keeping her and giving her this life.”  My friend is a single mother.  When we talked about my son and all the choices made, she told me she had considered adoption, but just couldn’t.  She was in a very different situation than the one I had been in so I didn’t fault her for her choices.  When she came to me with this sudden statement, I calmly reminded her that while she is a single mom, she is keeping a roof over her child’s head, her child is happy, well fed, and doing quite well as far as I can see.  Then I asked what prompted this.

As it turns out, her daughter, who is now seven I believe, is starting to figure out that not everyone just lives with mom.  Most people live with mom AND dad.  Her father has never been an abusive or bad influence in her life, just a very absent one.  And because she is seven, she just doesn't understand everything right now.  I assured my friend that this was not a case of her being a bad mother or making the wrong decision when her daughter was born.  This was simply a matter of a bad day and a girl who is growing up.  And as every child grows up, they want to fit in.  She bemoaned not giving her child a normal life which I had to counter with,

“Hon, MY kid isn't going to have a normal life either!  Yes, he has a mom and dad who are at home and care about him.  But he also has a birthmother he gets to see a lot, a birthfather that I hope he will see more of in the future, and sooner or later he’s going to have to reconcile all of that in his little brain and fit it together so that he understands.  His life isn't normal, no one’s life is normal.  The best you can do is be the best parent you can for your kid.  And I already know you are doing your very best.”

Then recently, I had another conversation that I never expected to have.  I was showing a long-time friend pictures of my son from the birthday party earlier that day.  That was when she told me she’s had a long-held desire to act as a surrogate for a couple at some point in her life.  I've known her a long time, and while I was slightly surprised by her confession, it didn't really shock me.  What kind of shocked me was what she said next.

“Would you-since you ended up being an unwilling surrogate essentially-would you be angry with me for doing that?”

“No!  No, I wouldn't be mad at all.  I would caution you.  It is a very taxing thing on the mind and the body and the emotions and even knowing the child isn't going to be yours, you’ll still have a connection to that child and you will still have something growing inside you and it’s going to have an effect on you.  But no, if that’s something you want to do for a couple, I would not be mad at you at all.  And if you wanted me to help you out with the emotional aftermath, I will be there for you.  If you want me to be around before that, or just keep away, or whatever you want me to do, I’d do it.”

She nearly cried.  I nearly cried.  But I was, once again, speaking in all honesty.  For some parents, that’s the route they want to go, and I understand it completely.  I think my friend was really worried about coming to me to complain about her aching back, her swollen ankles, the emotional aftermath, and how easily I could turn and say to her, “You asked for it.  Don’t complain to me.”

I could do that.  But I can’t.  Even if she did ask for it and I didn't, I couldn't be that mean to someone who is doing a truly wonderful and beautiful thing for someone else.  I try very hard not to compare people and their lives and situations to each other.  What one person can survive, others may not be able to.  Our situation is one that most can’t understand unless they have had to make the choices themselves.

What weird and strange conversations have you had with those in your life who know about your kids?  Has anyone else had weird conversations like this?  Or am I the lucky only one?  Ha ha!  It won’t bother me if it’s true.  I’ve been privy to many facts of my friends’ lives that others will never hear of.  Mostly this is because I’m known for my non-judgmental stance to almost everything and my ability to be a secret keeper.  But I know I never would have had these conversations were I not a birthmother.

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.

The Healing Words, Part Two

Read part 1 here

Some of you may not think you have the strength to tell your story, but you do.  First of all, you’re a birth mom, that right there says A LOT!   If you don’t know how to start, let me give you some tips.  Remember, nothing is going to be perfect the first time it comes out and you have the power to edit.  This is your story!

First of all, create a timeline of the events, from meeting the birth father to coming home from the hospital, and everything in between.  Then, take a section at a time, in any order, and expand upon it.  Talk about the details and your feelings.  It is important not to leave anything out.  There is no timeframe to finish or that the story even needs to be read by anyone else.  But I promise you that when you are ready to start, the words will come.

If you are having a hard time getting started I encourage you to read other birth mother stories on this blog.  There are so many adoption blogs out there and different stories of placement.  See how you already relate to so many women.   Writing the whole story can feel overwhelming, so if you are not ready for that, start with a letter to yourself and/or a letter to your birth son or birth daughter.  

Another fellow birthmother started a blog that began with her story in letters, entitled, Letters To You, then she added her whole story.   (I have guest posted on this site, as well, with the letter I wrote to myself.) 

Once you find a format that works for you and your story fill it with unconditional love, add some peace and understanding, and you will start healing.    

Have you already shared your story?  Is it on BirthMom Buds?  How has writing your story helped you heal?  Was there another way that you told your story? 

Also as a new blogger, are there any topics you’d like discussed, or have any thing you’d like to say? 

I’d love to hear your comments!

Shannon's Story

Guest Letter by Shannon

100 Letters To You

My Angels From God

10 Journaling Tips to Help You Heal, Grow, and Thrive

Broken Can Be Beautiful

I read a blog once about a young mother whose newborn had died shortly after birth. She was racked by grief and loss. At some point in her story she felt compelled to shatter a water pitcher that she had and slowly glue it back together. To her, that pitcher is more beautiful now. It will still hold water, but now the light shines through the cracks. That pitcher is a representation of her life and her healing.

You can take something broken and make it beautiful. Adoption is broken. There is coercion. There are unethical lawyers and social workers. There are adoptive families that believe they are entitled to your child. There are birth families that are not supportive. There are even birth parents that are selfish.

My attorney was unethical. My agency was non-existent in all the ways they should not have been. I remember the social worker coming to my house one time before the placement. She asked a few questions and was on her way. After 5 minutes with me she gave the green light on my placing my son. The lawyer, the most dramatic thing she did was insist to me that the post-placement agreement was legally binding. That if it was notarized and we both signed it was now a legal contract. Each page of that agreement is initialed. The document is notarized. It's not legal though. Not even a little.

I met with a dear friend, a lawyer, several times. I was so angry. How could she lie to me like that? Did she not see how important that agreement was to me? That agreement was my sanity. That was how I made it through those first few months. My friend started attacking me with questions. Asking about all these personal things. About my son, finances, my job, my friends, where I lived, my family. He was relentless. Then he asked about the adoptive family. He asked about my choice to place. He asked about my feelings. It was one of the longest evenings of my life. I cried until I could cry no more. Then he asked me one last question. "Do you want Frogger removed from R&P?" I was horrified. Of course I didn't. I just wanted my lawyer to pay for her lies. I wanted my lawyer to burn in hell. It was then that I realized what he had done.

The defense would have torn me apart. I was a grieving mom that changed her mind. Oh no, wait, I wasn't. I was just bitter and angry and out for blood. I didn't pursue going to the bar. My wounds were to too raw and too deep.

This is why I say we, as birth mothers, need to speak out. We need to change the way adoption is handled. If it wasn't so hush-hush then the laws would be known. Open adoption would be the norm. Everyone would know what an ethical, moral, upstanding adoption looked like.

Take something broken and make it more beautiful then it was meant to be. Fix it. Don't trash it. Someone may need it one day.