People often ask me what my favorite chapters are in the book. That’s a hard one because the initial answer is of course “All of them!” I like my intro and outro where you hear some of my story and evolution through the writing journey. I love the chapters on the topic of reunions, 24 and 25. I love Chapter 3 on the history of American adoption. I love Chapter 26 where we get into the crazy laws here in the US that seal our birth certificates and the fight to gain access to them.
But one of the chapters that deeply affected me when I wrote it, and that was mentioned keenly by my beta readers and critique groups, was one right in the middle if the birth parent section: Chapter 13, The Cloak of Grief and Shame. So, we’ll begin here. In the center of the storm.
We’re talking grief in a big way. From the book:
“Birth parents always grieve their loss, whether they acknowledge it or not. But what they most often experience is disenfranchised grief. This is any loss or sorrow that is not acknowledged due to societal norms. These emotions are often minimized or not understood by others, which makes it particularly hard to process and work through. No one comes visiting with banana bread or a casserole. They’re on their own, and often alone with no one to share their suffering. Even close family will not acknowledge what has just happened. Co-workers avoid them. Friends and extended family are at a loss. Worst of all, no one wants to talk about or even see how traumatizing the relinquishment has been.”
These amazing women opened their hearts to us, and in this chapter, they strike a big chord:
Shayanne~
I was not okay for a long time. I was really, really not okay, and I am proud of myself because I almost didn’t make it. I realized that my kid was gone and I was not going to get a visit no matter who I asked or what I did. I think becoming a foster parent subconsciously helped, as if by being a foster parent I was as good as these other people. I was going to be as good as his adoptive parents and then they won’t be afraid of me anymore. They will let me have a visit.
They will do this and that and the other thing and it’ll be like I proved to them that I’m good enough. And I still wasn’t good enough, even after raising these other kids and becoming a foster parent. I was a shell. I just laid in bed and cried because of the devastation from realizing, “Oh my God, I don’t have a choice. There’s nothing I can do.” I have never been able to not help myself before. And it was so infuriating for me to realize, “I can’t do anything.”
The Impacts of Shame
Shame is systemic in adoption. Everyone takes a bite of this bitter sandwich, it seems. It’s plated up pretty with assurances that everything will be fine, everyone’s OK, it tastes fine. But its liverwurst dressed up like a juicy BLT. And the aftertaste lingers forever.
That’s one of the things about birth parent grief, and particularly so for our mothers of loss. Their longing, emotional pain, shame and guilt grow as time goes on, rather than diminish.
Disturbing Data
One other important part if this chapter we owe to the recent work from researcher Dr. Lynn Zubov, who gathered rather startling statistics on the consequences of relinquishment for birth mothers, in particular. Their health suffers, including even their life expectancy. Her preliminary research numbers show the following:
First mothers are 39 times more likely to attempt suicide than the general population
Of the 245 first mothers who were reported deceased by their relinquished adoptees from the survey, nine died by suicide
The death rate of 3.59% by suicide for first mothers makes them roughly 511 times more likely to die of suicide[1]
More study is needed, but one thing noted in the three years of researching for the book, birth parents are by far the least studied group in the triad. And most of that research has been done in Australia and Canada, not in the US.
Cathryn~
I can’t think about this. I can’t ever think about this again or I’ll lose my mind. So, I didn’t. I pushed her down and away. I thought, I have to keep going—there’s no choice. There’s nothing I can do. It was as if she was dead.
I held a gun. The girls were young teen- agers. My husband was a hunter, and he had bought a handgun for small game hunting. I’ve always hated guns. I considered taking my life just because I was in so much pain, and I didn’t know what was wrong.
Honoring The Lost Mothers
The shame for some women who relinquish consumes them. They continue to make bad choices or meet unkind people who further abuse them in a cycle of self-harming behavior that reinforces their shame. Others never learn to tell even one person and remain isolated and alone with their secrets to their graves.
For the ones who don’t make it back into the light of day, may they be heard from now through the eyes of those who survive them.
The chapter closes with stories told from adoptees who have survived their first/birth mothers. Initially I had three stories here, but in the need to trim the length of the book one of them had to be cut. Here it is:
Tina, honoring her birth mother, Marilyn~
It really did mess up my mother’s life. She never recovered. She got married within a couple of years of my birth, had my sister, then lost custody of my sister to her parents.
She became a drug user and an alcoholic. But she was turned on to that by her then husband who my grandparents loved. They thought he was the greatest. But he was the one that turned her on to all these drugs and stuff. She would disappear for weeks at a time. Then my grandfather would go find my biological father, who was a police officer by that time. [My birth dad] would go find her in different drug houses and bring her home. So, the dynamic ended up with my birth dad being the good guy. Her husband was the bad guy.
But she had done what her parents told her to do. She went with the guy that they told her to go with, and it wrecked her life. She never recovered from giving me up. She never recovered from losing custody of my sister. It was like constant blows to her life, and she just never could get on her feet after that.
I think that maybe things would have been a little bit easier for her, if she could have had just a tiny bit of support. I think that started her downward spiral, and it just went on for another thirty years.
[1] A Preliminary Exploration into Adoption Reunions. Data on when adoptees knew they were adopted. Facebook, 7 2024, 3:19PM, https://www.facebook.com/profile. php?id=61555968231690, Accessed14 Jun 2024.
This past Saturday, May 31st in Boulder City, a group of special friends, supporters and contributors to the book, The Adoption Paradox, gathered to celebrate and share our stories. I’m proud this work has brought together so many different voices and begun to create its own mini-movement speaking about adoption’s real impacts in a gentle but firm light. The night was filled with connections both new and old, and the forging of many important and even unexpected relationships.
Several friends traveled to be with us. Brad, a Late Discovery Adoptee who tells his story for the book came from Dallas. A group of sisters who had been part of both adoption and the foster care system came with their families and supportive friends. Traveling from Arizona they created their own special weekend together. Dirk, another adoptee also visited from Arizona, and there were many, many other contributors who came in from the surrounding area to participate.
Also present was the publisher, Jo Wilkins, the CEO of Mystic Publishing who helped bring the book to fruition along with members of the Henderson Writers Group. I’m so grateful for their early and ongoing critiques of the book as it progressed. Missing was my editor Janelle Evans who I could not have finished without her steadfast guidance.
My good friend Hannah from San Diego along with many other of my early readers, Alan and Peggy were also there. The book would have never evolved as it did without their cherished feedback along the way.
We were also surrounded with so many dear friends locally who supported me through so many revelations as my writing evolved, cheering me on. A bestie from San Diego along with family members Dora, Vienna and Adam who joined us along with my extended Rotary family and so many others who shared in my journey. And I must thank of course my husband for his support throughout this three-year journey as I wrote, researched and worked on this book. You are the love of my life and my best friend. I could not have done this without you.
Food and drink flowed liberally, and our friend and local favorite musician Patrick Mahoney played favorite tunes to ease us into the evening.
Sharing my thoughts with you all, the stories that came after the book, and the ones that didn’t stay in it, was very special for me. Talking about this journey with all of you, this mixed crowd of those who’ve lived it and those who are only now becoming aware of the longer implications is important. And, it’s hard work.
Bein vulnerable is scary. Pushing buttons and saying hard things is uncomfortable. But honest conversations about adoption requires us to sit in squishy and frightening spaces. Places without clear definitions around them of what is right or wrong, good or bad. Because people are rarely just right or wrong, good or bad. We’re more complicated than that, but our survival instincts crave those easy boundaries. That’s the work I think this book accomplishes through all these many, beautiful voices who contributed to it. I’m so honored to have met you all and shared this journey with you. Thank you for your support! To those present to share in this joy that night, I’m so glad you came! To those who were there in spirit only, your presence was still felt.
Our hearts are full and let us please all remember to connect and trust in each other. By speaking our truths, one story at our time we can make our systems better. Thank you for being part of my life.
“Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it’s the only thing that ever has.” ~Margaret Mead
What does it mean to be truly child centered when considering adoption? It begins with listening, sincerely and without dismissal, to the adoptees involved. Most importantly, being child centered in adoption means that the interests of the adults are set aside, and the needs of the child are prioritized over all others. Quite often, this is not the way adoption is practiced in the US, although many like to think it is so.
It begins with our first, natural mothers.
I am angry at the way many birth mothers have been treated in the past and continue to be treated. During the baby scoop, some mothers were left to labor in hospital hallways because delivery rooms were only for proper married ladies. In 2005, when Shayanne (who readers will meet in Chapters 15 and 16) was in labor, she was left to lie for four hours in her amniotic fluid after her water broke. The dignity extended to these women has not improved as much as one might hope.
My natural mother may indeed have made some mistakes and used poor judgment. I do not romanticize her but see her for who and what she was at that time. I don’t know her full story, but from the non-identifying information in my file, she was an eighteen-year-old young woman with an abusive stepfather, and a boyfriend who couldn’t support her and wouldn’t marry her.
But she is more than just a sad story and deserved the opportunity to prove that. Automatically assuming her incapable of parenting me is a myth, and she likely would have made a good mother. My adoptive parents also made mistakes and, in spite of that, were good parents whom I love, respect, and cared for through the end of their days.
I am a product of both my first and raising parents. When people with power exert coercive pressures or treat my mother with a lack of care, harsh judgements, or disrespect, you are treating me the same whether you understand the truth of this or not. Biases about her and her situation create the belief about my “need” to be “rescued.” If her options are limited, and you think they deserve to be because she got herself into this predicament, then please recall a certain parable about people carrying stones in glass houses.
She had sex and may not have been as responsible as she could have been about using birth control. For some of these women the sex was not consensual. Now, this baby forming in her womb is unplanned for, but that does not mean she doesn’t want to parent. When you judge her, you are judging my existence. And because she was “irresponsible” I therefore need to be better provided for by others. Maybe some view her as no longer of the same value she was before. These biases were applied to my mother back in 1965 and are still present today.
Our society says to modern mothers, “You’re irresponsible and can’t possibly raise this child, so we’ll take better care of it than you can.” They deem that such children should be raised by another, more suitable, family. We pretend this is her choice, but others have manipulated her options and are profiting from her misfortune.
The outcome of an adoption means that barely out of the womb, I’m separated from the one person I need and know more than any other human being. This is done supposedly for my welfare, and people will say she did a good thing by being so noble and brave. Society then declares me lucky, and insists I agree.
Everyone needs to understand the bond between a natural mother and her infant is not a casual one, and that breaking us apart has consequences. An infant pays dearly for that separation and so will their mother. When we use adoption as part of our social safety net, we fail everyone involved. Financial hardship must not be the only factor in the equation of when an adoption occurs, nor should society or religiously imposed shame. If these are the only reasons an adoption may be happening and the mother wants to parent, then that adoption is unnecessary.
ALL ADOPTIONS CONTAIN TRAUMA
Separating an infant from its mother at birth is inherently traumatizing. These actions will affect both of them for the rest of their lives. This has been shown in a multitude of studies in mammals with rats and monkeys, and much study has been done on human beings. What is unknown is how and at what level that separation trauma and loss of attachment so early after birth will manifest in that adoptee’s life.
Many will say endlessly that the adopted adults they know in their life are fine. Many adopted persons reading this will agree. It is true that many such individuals are successful and appear to have no problems. But consider another view.
Adopted children grow up with messaging they are “chosen, special, and wanted.” If their nervous system is already geared around abandonment because this is how their primal instincts have interpreted their separation, one of the ways this can manifest is a highly driven need to be perfect. The preverbal trauma responds within their nervous systems and intrinsically motivates them to be sure they are wanted and kept. These individuals may be driven to be good or even the best at what they do, which can make them highly successful in their careers and lives, and are traits this society admires greatly.
An adoptee who wants desperately to be loved and to “fit in” with the world around them may develop a “chameleon” personality, which makes them highly malleable and likable to be around. This persona seeps into their being and does enrich their lives, in that they may have many friends and appear well adjusted. On the surface, the world interprets them as happy and maintaining great relationships.
One question worth asking is if the adoptee is more resilient, or did their adoptive parents bond with them more thoroughly, or did they disassociate from their pain in childhood so completely they are not in touch with their honest feelings? Does a chameleon personality know who it truly is or what they want from life? Or, what happens when a perfectionist who equates their success with love struggles with normal human failures?
The adoption competent therapists interviewed for the book all had stories of the 40-to-50-year-old adopted adult who wandered through their doors seeking help, believing they had always been fine. But then, a divorce or death occurred and suddenly they found themselves unable to cope as they had in the past. Feelings, long buried, surfaced in these moments, but if they don’t have the right help, it is hard to accurately diagnose what is going on.
RECONCILING THE COLLECTIVE DENIAL
There are so many good adoptive parents out there, my own included. They loved me unconditionally, celebrated my unique personality and differences, and never allowed me to be belittled or “othered” by anyone around me. They were always honest and, overall, got more things right in adoption than wrong. And people are people, and we are all beautiful and flawed in our own ways.
My father, as a school psychologist of his time, quoted the “blank slate theory” and believed it, as it was the dominant view then. Were he alive and still mentally active today he would be reading the work of Gabor Maté, Bessel van der Kolk, and others, and learning how wrong these older notions were.
It would crush him to know that his ignorance at the time may have harmed me or the formation of my little self while growing up. I wish he’d known. If his essence carries on in another plane of existence where he watches over us, I know he’s listening closely and is proud of me. The same is true of my mother. I love my raising parents and cannot regret being their daughter.
I don’t know the answers, but they begin by setting aside the false assumptions that have been built by the adoption industry and our culture’s simplified rhetoric that adoption is a beautiful way to build a family. As a fellow adoptee and good friend recently said, “We’ve all been bamboozled!”
The paradox arises from the idea that when adoption is necessary, it can be or at least should be beautiful. It should be. I want it to be beautiful! If you have a child who is unsafe in their home or truly cannot be raised by its natural mother, then being raised by a new family and given the ability to belong and be healed can be beautiful. But it is born of rupture, of trauma, and a loss so profound it must not be ignored. It is not the adopted child’s responsibility to make it beautiful. This depends on the adoptive parent’s ability to accept their child as he or she is, and understand they need to help them heal. When that occurs, adoption can fulfill its potential.
Healing is possible and necessary and, for many, is a life-long journey. For me it comes down to finding grace and understanding for everyone involved. My first mother and father could not figure out how to make it work, and the world they lived in was uninclined to assist. My adoptive parents loved me dearly, and I them, but collectively we didn’t know what we didn’t know.
I’ve worked hard on myself for years to heal from the more visible and clearly understood problems created through my adoptive mother’s alcoholism and my father’s denial of it. I’m grateful for the Adult Children of Alcoholics groups and mentors who helped me. Those wounds are still present, but the new information learned in writing this book has created an internal revolution that reveals more. In spelunking through the internal caverns of my implicit memories, I now understand my adoption’s impacts. I’ve always believed I was fine, and that adoption never affected me. Ironically, I’ve found new peace in understanding how it did.
New revelations surface where suddenly things fit. I have a chronic inability to understand when I need help from others, and don’t ask for help, ever. That tendency likely formed because when I was born and separated from my mother, my little baby brain thought she abandoned me. I received loving care but that was not enough, because no one understood I needed her, my first mother, and had no words to tell anyone. My implicit memory formed under the emotion of loss, and my cries never brought me the help I needed. Which made it very likely I was less able to bond to my already psychologically insecure new adoptive mother. We were both harmed by the lack of knowing.
I had another epiphany about my innate hyper-vigilism which many adoptees share. My nervous system is geared for subliminal stress. If life doesn’t create stressors for me, I will manufacture them because that is my normal. Even if things are calm, I feel an unease, waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop.
Putting these patterns of behavior into proper perspective has been revolutionary, because no other therapy has been able to touch these struggles. No one ever told me it existed. Now I know. Had I learned earlier, it is hard to compose an explanation for what might have been different.
Seeing all of this with a clear lens gives me the power and freedom to heal. Being around other adoptees and first mothers has been cathartic for my soul. In them I have a community and safety I never expected to find. Other powerful allies are the adoptive parents who have also moved into awareness of these complexities. I have new friends in unexpected places, with a highly diverse and loving band of brothers and sisters bonded by our trials. Each of us toils separately through our lives, but we are never completely alone because we know there are friends just a call away who understand. Healing in community is powerful, and I invite all within the constellation to join.
Appreciating something that is flawed, holding this duality of thinking and emotional intelligence is hard. My love for both my first and second set of parents is unending. It will swirl around and around and feed back upon itself escorted by an eternal fire. One that was lit inside of me first by my natural mother, then tended by my adoptive parents, and now lives under my care. It glows bright and steady and is mine alone, which is as it should be.
Adoption contains love and loss and forces the human spirit to entertain new ways to experience both of those emotions at the same time. This duality is always present. Adoption is a paradox.
The paradoxical treatment of birth mothers is even more confusing than what adoptees experience. Adopted children are told that their mothers loved them so much they gave them away, selflessly, to be raised by someone else when they could not. This is sometimestrue, although not always.
Birth mothers, however, receive much different messages. They are often told that they cannot possibly raise their child, or they are unworthy of the role. Consider this scenario: a young unmarried woman relinquishes her child due, in part or entirely, to these societal pressures. But what if in only a year or two after relinquishment she marries and begins a family. Isn’t it merely a trick of time and circumstance? What changed in terms of her ability to mother? To love and raise a child?
In one moment, she is worthless and unfit, then in the latter, celebrated as a “wonderful mom.” However, she is the same person. The line is drawn in the physical world—the house, the job, the financial stability that makes it less stressful to build a family. But these are not matters of the heart, yet the heart and soul are what is shamed.
Many birth mothers will say endlessly that if someone had supported them, just a little, they would have been able to keep their baby. Maybe that support can be physical, such as her partner or family rallying behind her, or emotional or financial help.
But once they have relinquished, they will hear from society and all around them that they were so brave and loving and noble for placing their child for adoption. They are also surrounded by the majority of women who say, “Oh, but I could never do that. Give away my newborn baby? Not me.” These contradictions cannot coexist, but they are the shoes that all birth parents are forced to wear.
Then they must watch all the world celebrate the adopting parents. There is joy and nothing but rainbows and sunshine for them.
These contradictions and myths deserve to be pulled into the light of day and seen clearly. It begs the question—who are modern birth parents?
Demographics
The average age of a woman who places a child for adoption is 26 (range 10 – 49). This is according to a survey completed in 2023 by the National Council For Adoption (NCFA). It was completed using both focus groups and a nationwide survey of 1,160 birth mothers and 239 birth fathers in the United States.[1]
Birth mothers are no longer teen-aged girls “in trouble.” The age statistic shows they are more mature adults who hold jobs and, while young, are out on their own living responsible lives.
From the NCFA poll respondents, the ethnicity of those birth parents are:
Mothers Fathers
70% White 40% White
12% Black 20% Black
5% Hispanic 18% Native American
5% Asian/Pacific Islander 12% Hispanic
4% Native American 7% Asian/Pacific Islander
4% Multiracial 3% Multiracial
These expectant parents are also educated. 83% of the mothers polled had an Associate degree or some college, with 20% of them having a Graduate degree. Fathers also are generally well educated, with 64% of them having some college attendance, 14% of whom also have a Graduate degree.[2]
When asked about their religious status, 20% of the women and 14% of the men say they have no formal affiliation, although clearly the majority have some faith background. Also, 43% of the men report having been members of the military at some point, (not defining when in relation to the pregnancy). Another interesting response is that 16% of the women and 31% of the men report struggling with some sort of mental or physical impairment or disability, according to standards set by the Americans with Disabilities Act.[3]
The organization Saving Our Sisters (SOS) supports all members of expectant families and provides information and education to expecting parents considering adoption. From their internal statistics when looking at where birth mothers are living at the time before relinquishment, 50% of the women are living in an apartment. 24% are living with family members, 9% are unhoused, and the balance are in some other temporary living situation.
What is more interesting is that nearly 25% of them are married, and 58% of them are already parenting one child.[4]
All of this combines to paint a picture that does not align with what many people think of when they hear the term “birth parent.” They are not “druggies,” nor criminals or derelicts. They are functional, blend into society, and most people will not recognize their circumstances. Yet, they are struggling for some support, otherwise they would not consider adoption. It is this fact that needs to be better understood and addressed.
Myths and Lies
Myth: Birth parents want to be hidden.
One of the biggest myths of modern adoption is that birth parents want confidentiality. That has rarely been true. There are instances where because a woman is afraid of an abusive partner, she wishes for an anonymous, closed adoption, but this is infrequent. Overall, less than five percent of adoptions today are closed. Most are open to some degree.[5]
The harsh truth is that keeping birth parents powerless and nameless ghosts is convenient. Even during the Baby Scoop Era when millions of young women were pushed into relinquishment, they were never promised confidentiality. Keeping these women sidelined was easier for case workers, adoption agencies, parents, and everyone managing the adoption system.
If one visits the Concerned United Birthparents (CUB) website, they declare this clearly for all to see.[6] They advocate for changing laws that deny adopted adults access to their original birth certificates. One important quote from their site states, “We often hear well-meaning people cite “protecting birth/first parent privacy” in opposition to restoring equality to adopted persons.We believe those people are confusing privacy with secrecy. Privacy refers to the ability to control information about oneself. Secrecy is the deliberate act of hiding something from others even if they have a legitimate reason to access it. Secrecy is literally what state policy keeps legalized by failing to restore rights to adult adopted persons. It is their birthright to know the truth.”
Renee: There are still so many things wrong with the adoption process of sealing birth certificates. I never knew my son’s birth certificate would be sealed. I never knew why they wouldn’t let his dad, who was sitting in the hospital room, be put on the birth certificate. Mind you, this is 2011.
I said, “He’s right there. Everybody knows who he is, why can’t he be put on the birth certificate?” Now I know it’s because they see a little way for that secret to be kept. In Florida, my son can’t get his birth certificate currently. He can’t get it whether he is eighteen or eighty. He must go to court.
First, he has to reunite with me. He needs to find me. Then, he has to get my permission. (His letter is already written for him, and I keep it in a file.) But then, he’s got to go to court, and a judge has to say, “Yes. This is okay for you to have.” Which is ridiculous.
If one doubts the sincerity that birth parents wish to have their “privacy” undone, one need look no further for evidence than the numbers who join adoptee voices to lobby states to open access to their original birth certificates. The number of men and women who are advocating for that speaks volumes. Some recent examples are:
Connecticut Bill 6105 passed the state House in 2021, in part due to the Catholic Mothers for Truth and Transparency, CUB, and dozens of other support groups. In an article from the CT Mirror, “While we did not feel we had other options, we knowingly signed those papers. Most of us have never seen them. Our understanding, though, was that we were giving up all rights to our child. We did not know then, nor do we believe now, that we retained any kind of control over our sons’ and daughters’ right to get their original birth certificate as adults.” It goes on to say, “…House Bill 6105…is exactly the kind of legacy the Connecticut General Assembly should leave on our collective consciousness as a nation reckoning with its history of shaming women into the shadows of silence and secrecy. It starts with acknowledging truth and it ends with being on the right side of history. We promise.”[7]
Bill 2006 in Texas is a current issue that has been submitted for passage annually, since 2015. Each year, hundreds lobby the state but, so far, in vain. In 2017, birth mother Ann Bingham testified in her statement to unseal birth certificates, “Some argue that this bill violates birth mother privacy. Far from it.I did not have a voice, and I did not have a choice in my adoption,” she said. “Even those of us who have not lived in secrecy prefer private direct contact to the public exposure that is currently happening with DNA testing and social media. This bill protects our privacy by making our wishes clear and simultaneously gives adult adoptees access to essential medical and identity information.”[8]
Myth: Birth parents forget what happened and move on with their lives.
Another lie is that these parents go on to forget the child they have placed for adoption. A multitude of studies have shown that to be absurdly false for both birth fathers and mothers. They never forget their child. In fact, they are permanently scarred and pay a high emotional, physical, and psychological price. It is important to understand that both men and women will say “my son” or “my daughter” when speaking of the children they have relinquished. They are parents forever.
One survey conducted in 1984 cited that ninety six percent (96%) of a sample of 334 birth parents responded that they had considered searching for their relinquished child, and sixty five percent (65%) of them had initiated a search.[9] Birth parents grieve for their child for extremely long times. One study in 2007 showed birth mothers who were twelve to twenty years post placement still experienced feelings of grief and loss.[10]
Jennifer: No one prepared me for the postpartum physical experience, for the milk to come in, for the bleeding. I don’t know if that is a typical experience of a woman having a child, but I had no clue. That was almost trauma in and of itself because I didn’t have my child to make it okay—to make it worth it.
When a mother breastfeeds, both the baby and mother’s brain dumps dopamine. That’s just how we’re wired as human beings. I didn’t have that.
I remember the first night home without her, [my daughter]. Grief hit me, and it just felt like she died.
Renee: There was very little support afterwards. I had a few counseling sessions. I had one counseling session prior to the adoption, it was one forty-five-minute session with a lady who had placed a child for adoption. She pretty much told me that I knew exactly why I was doing, what I was, and that I was a cognitive realist. It was really something. Of course, her door was right next to the adoption agency door in the office building, so a bit of a relationship there but it was really, really tough going through all of that.
The immediate effects after that were the old me died. I say that all the time. I sat on my living room floor just dying, making these screams and sounds I’d never heard myself make. It was bad. It was a very, very dark time. I didn’t parent. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I wasn’t doing anything but just dying.
Myth: Birth parents never wanted to keep their baby.
The final myth that needs to go by the wayside is the idea that these birth mothers never wanted to parent in the first place. While clearly unplanned, most of them feel bonded, quickly, with their newfound pregnancy. They want to mother. They also constantly worry about their ability to provide the best possible life for their child.
Interviews and studies all show a consistent story. The reason why an expectant couple, or woman, decides to place their baby for adoption is because they don’t feel they can give their child the life it deserves. How that looks to each of these people is different, but the theme is similar. Adoption was the last option when all other avenues had been exhausted.
[1]Birth parent research. National Council For Adoption. (2023, July 20). https://adoptioncouncil.org/pdfviewer/birth-parent-research/?auto_viewer=true#page=&zoom=auto&pagemode=none
[2]Birth parent research. National Council For Adoption. (2023, July 20). https://adoptioncouncil.org/pdfviewer/birth-parent-research/?auto_viewer=true#page=&zoom=auto&pagemode=none
[3]Birth parent research. National Council For Adoption. (2023, July 20). https://adoptioncouncil.org/pdfviewer/birth-parent-research/?auto_viewer=true#page=&zoom=auto&pagemode=none
[7] Eileen Woebse McQuade and Karen Galarneau Quesnel. (2022, March 5). Opinion: Catholic birthmothers to legislators: Help us heal. CT Mirror. https://ctmirror.org/2021/05/12/catholic-birthmothers-to-legislators-help-us-heal/
[8]The long fight for adoptees to gain access to their original birth certificates in Texas. Texas Standard. (2023, September 6). https://www.texasstandard.org/stories/texas-adoptee-original-birth-certificates-donna-campbell/
[9] American Psychological Association. (n.d.). Apa PsycNet. American Psychological Association. https://psycnet.apa.org/record/2013-42267-008?doi=1
[10]Impact of adoption on birth parents: Responding to the adoptive placement. Impact of Adoption on Birth Parents: Responding to the Adoptive Placement – [[:Template:Adoption Wiki]]. (n.d.). https://adoption.com/wiki/Impact_of_Adoption_on_Birth_Parents:_Responding_to_the_Adoptive_Placement
Mother’s Day is a triggering day on the calendar for many people. For those of us impacted by adoption, it can be ten times that on the Richter scale. As an adoptee who has sought more information about my first mother, I’ve now compiled a cluster of anniversaries that begin in late April and last until mid-May.
I was born April 21, 1965, and formally relinquished on April 30, just ten days later. After signing the papers in court that morning in Spokane, Washington, my understanding is my mother boarded a train that night headed back to the only home she had in North Dakota. I’ve often envisioned my bereft young mother running away from that terrible scene as fast as she could.
My adoptive mother died on May 6th, 2017, and my adoptive father on May 15th, 2004. I was the only child of my raising parents, and I believe also from my first mother. I can be grateful for my loving family and still be curious about where I come from. These two wishes can, or at least should, be able to peacefully coexist. Living as an adopted person is inherently paradoxical.
***
In my late fifties with my parents gone, I’ve reached out to my first mother. I’d like to see her, know her if she will let me. Or at least, understand more of my heritage, parentage, and birth right.
Born as I was in Washington State, it is one of only fourteen that allows adopted adults to have access to their original birth certificates. This is how we find her. From what I can see, she married later in life and has no other children. My birth father is unnamed. Even with DNA testing there is no clear path to learn who he might be. It is still a mystery, and she is the only one who can unlock that information.
I’ve sought advice, therapy, and talked with other birth mothers. Two years ago, I made my first attempt to reach her. I sent a carefully worded letter. Full of grace, love and understanding. I told her that whatever happened she had done her best. That good people had raised me, and I’d had a good life. That I loved her no matter what, never resented her, and would always hold space for her in my heart. I opened the door if she wanted to communicate in any way and included a few photos.
No response.
The wondering never ends. Did she receive my letter? Tracking says that yes, someone at the home did. Maybe they travel and are gone a lot? Maybe her husband is controlling or cruel and hid my letter from her. What if she has dementia? What if something else happened to her and she is ashamed for me to see her? These useless but never-ending thoughts whirl. I want to hope for the best but prepare for the worst. What if she really doesn’t care and never did? My conversations with other mothers who have relinquished children to adoption say otherwise. But really, what if the blessing is that she did not raise me?
I cling tightly to the only photo I have of her – the black and white senior yearbook picture that mirrors me so closely I can barely stand it. She is frozen in time at that moment and only she can come to me and breathe her essence into the scene in my head. Without that I know this is only one piece of her story.
***
Two years have gone by, and there is a conference I’m attending in the same city she lives in. So again, with much thought and care I write to let her know I am coming and when. I say I will meet her anywhere, that I understand her husband may not know her past. Three more weeks pass by with no reply, and I head to the event.
***
One day after leaving, a letter from her arrives at my home. She says she loves me, does not wish to hurt or reject me, but she does not want to meet. Her family around her do not know and while she says she loves me, she asks that I respect her wishes.
I was devastated and so was my husband back at home having to share this letter from afar. I also knew I needed to protect my heart, be kind to the wounded little child inside of me. And, to know I would be Okay. I never needed her affirmation and see clearly this has only to do with her grief, shame, and limitations. Not my baggage to carry.
This is adoption’s greatest toll – to have people unable to reach across the divide created by stigma, fear, and guilt. I’ve spoken to many adoptees and their first mothers who have reunited. These wounds caused by their separation are never fully healed, even by coming together again.
***
Two days later, a friend in tow, we drive to the address I have for my mother. We had planned this day for weeks in advance, well ahead of her letter waving me off. But we’re here, so why not go and at least see where she lives. It’s a lovely townhome in a nice suburb. I’m glad to see her stable and doing well for herself in her later years.
The house appears to be buttoned up tight, shades drawn, no sign of anyone home. A few doors down, my comrade in the lead, we find a nice elderly lady who chats and lets us know why yes, she knows my mother and her husband. Time-shares she says. We ask a few questions, and she tells us they booked a last-minute trip to Washington – left a few days ago and coming back later next week.
She ran away. While unknowable for certain, it is the most probable explanation. It is the one that feels true. Just like that night on the train fifty-nine years ago. Unable to face my presence or explain her true past she could not risk exposure. She has hidden my existence from her husband for decades.
Her secret will remain safe, and I will push her no further.
***
I head home to my life and plan to move forward as I always do. I speak with my good friends and know I did everything right. I was respectful. I will honor her wishes and set this aside for now. It just didn’t work out. There was no luck in the stars this time. However, other forces have worked against us.
Adoption is a lie. We believe we are saving one family from the judgement and immoral indignities of an unplanned-for child. That a more deserving and financially sound family will better provide for the baby. We also believe we are taking greater care of society by creating a superior family. But the aftermath is one of destruction.
As I try to see this all with a clear lens there are no answers. She cannot undo what was done to her, and right now may still be shielding herself from the pain of those realizations. What was clear in the non-identifying information from the Salvation Army (they so graciously allowed me to have) is that she was in love with my father and wanted to marry him and keep me.
She has tamped down that pain so far into her inner self she cannot face it. And while the situation of what she endured was horrendous, it was also not my fault.
***
Two more dates have been added to the calendar now in this landmine of a season. Spring is supposed to be the time of renewal and growth. I wish my mother would grow forth to know that there truly is love awaiting her on the other side of the abyss.
Her letter was mailed on April 23rd, two days after my birth. Surely, even with her shaky penmanship, she noted the timing? It arrives at my home on Friday the 26th. And I knock on the door of an empty house on April 29th, the day before she released me to God and the powers swirling around her all those decades ago. Demanding she relinquish me.
This isn’t over. She may still find her way. But only she can claim what is also still her right – to show up for Mother’s Day. To allow herself to own that title. And I’ll be here with an open door if she does.
** This story initially appeared in CUB Communicator in the May, 2024 Spring Edition.
