Historically,
birthmothers have been a population of women who have been bullied into
silence. And there were always reasons
that at least seemed important at the time.
Mostly they were attached to how the community and society would see the
woman and her family. Women were
supposed to be good and pure and polite.
Talking about an unplanned pregnancy at tea time would mostly likely
make the older women in the room faint.
Even if that pregnancy was the result of rape or incest, there was still
shame and fear heaped upon the women in these impossible situations. While today unplanned pregnancies aren’t met
with anywhere near the shame and societal pressures they were once met with,
somehow, when one is a birthmother, we are still expected to keep silent.
I’ve
been thinking about this a good deal of late; mostly because I've gotten more
comfortable with telling my friends and co-workers about my son. For a time there I only spoke to family, the
small handful of friends I had who knew, and the birthmothers that I met
through a support group run by the adoption agency I placed through.
My family didn't know really what
to say. My parents were also trying to understand
why I had made my decision and what it meant about them. I had to tell them at one point that in the
end, this wasn’t about them. This was
about me, my boyfriend, and our son. I
had to make this decision for the three of us.
My parents’ age and health was a factor.
But it was not the only, nor the deciding factor. It took us a couple of years before we could
get to a point where we could talk to each other about it. For a time there, it was painful on both
sides and it was easier at times to just not talk about it.
My friends also didn't really know
what to say. I didn't expect them
to. I had suddenly apportioned myself
off from everyone my age. Anyone I knew
who had gotten unexpectedly pregnant before had either terminated the
pregnancy, had a miscarriage, or chose to give birth to and parent the
child. What I was going through, none of
them ever had. No one was sure what to
do or what to say to me. In the
subsequent years, I have told others. I
have found a couple of birthmothers and a few adult adoptees who have helped me
and have made me feel less alone. My
current circle of friends knows everything there is to know. These friends have been the closest friends
that I've had in a while. We've gotten
good at reading each other’s tone and each other’s mood. And they know that I am going to my son’s birthday
party tomorrow afternoon. And I've been
invited to one of the circle’s birthday party tomorrow night. He’s declared that if I don’t feel up to it,
he won’t be upset or insulted if I don’t appear at his party. I told him I would let him know one way or
the other. Right now, I think I can do
it. But this kind of empathy I don’t
find with every one of my friends. So I
count myself lucky when I do.
The other birthmothers that I have
met and have become friends with are the ones who have almost understood
everything I am going through and everything that I am saying. Now and again a situation will come up that
no one has faced before, but they make me feel less crazy when they say, “Oh
honey, I would have no idea what to do either.
I’m so sorry.” One birthmother in
particular, K, has been a good close friend and a great support to me over the
past few years. Her daughter is several
years older than my son. Thus things
like my sadness over missing the first steps, the first words, and the stake to
the heart that is hearing him say “Mama” for the first time to someone who isn't
me, were always met with understanding and kindness from her. I saw her for the first time in months last
week and it was a relief to speak to her since my son’s birthday was coming up
so soon. Hopefully I will be seeing her
next month.
I have told my story and talked
about being a birthmother in one other venue, and it is almost always to a room
that is at least half strangers. I have
told stories. I have read poetry. I have called attention to the fact that
birthmothers are out there and have stories to tell. We shouldn't be ashamed of what we did and we
shouldn't let others make us feel ashamed.
There are those who are shocked by my story. There are those who gain a better understanding
of me. There are still others, I’m sure,
who judge and dismiss me. They wish that
people like me, and the other birthmothers I know, would be quiet and keep
shameful things like what I did to myself.
I’m not ashamed of what I did. Most
days I’m at peace with my decision. Some
days are harder than others. I know that
my son is where he needs to be in order to have the best life that he can.
My hesitance to share my story at
times comes solely from my fear of how others will treat me and how they will
react to my story. While I know I did
the right thing for my child and no one can tell me different, it does still
sting when someone tells me that I abandoned my child. It does still burn when they stare at me like
a monster who left their kid on some street corner to be picked up by God knows
who. And it does make me feel about two
inches tall when they tell me that surely with my family and my boyfriend and
his family there was a way to make it work.
There was. But that way would
have been extremely difficult for everyone involved and my boyfriend and I knew
better. We knew that our son would
suffer. And that was something that we
could not allow.
Our stories are stories that need
to be told. Our stories are important
and should be acknowledged for their importance. All of you have a story to be told and
everyone’s is unique. I encourage all of
you, tell your story. Write it, talk it, act it out, whatever you have to do, but please, tell your story. Don’t be scared of
it or ashamed of it. It’s part of who
you are and you should honor it. If
people judge you for it, that’s their problem.
There will be so many others who will love you for it and still others
who will gain bravery and strength from it.
