I've mentioned before that, for one reason or other, people in the adoption community will occasionally come to me for advice. Bad idea, people. I once advised a co-worker to take naps under her desk. I am full to bursting with bad ideas that amuse me. Which isn't to say that I intentionally give bad advice; rather that I seem to be incapable of giving good advice because it simply isn't in me. I, too, take naps under my desk.
I digress. People will ask me for advice and sometimes I will offer it. Today I am offering advice to a group who have not asked for it, because someone has suggested that I am uniquely qualified to do so. I was asked by someone who works with birth mothers to advise women who have recently placed children for adoption. I asked what "recently" meant and was given a nebulous response that I promptly threw out. For our purposes today I want to go beyond the weeks and months immediately following placement, because I've beaten the dead horse that is post-placement grief for these many years and I'd like to find another carcass to swat at. I want to talk to women who are out of the fog that settles when relinquishment papers are signed, but who have not yet hit the one-year mark. If you fit into this category, what follows is for you. (If you don't, all I can tell you is that life is full of disappointment.)
So, you've placed a child for adoption recently but you have reached the point where you are awake and dressed more days than not and you're no longer crying yourself to sleep. Good job! I knew you could do it. I wish I could tell you that it's a calm ocean and clear skies from this point forward but it's not. For the rest of your life, you're going to have little moments where it hits you that you once placed a baby for adoption and how could you possibly have done that? Who does that?
You did. You did, and it was awesome, and you're awesome. So what if a tiny lost sock at the grocery store makes you teary-eyed. You made a family. You win. And, hey, free tiny sock.
Anyway. I want to tell you some things today that no one told me when I was where you are. I don't know if they qualify as "Things I Wish I'd Known" but they are things to know, in any case, and maybe you'll find them helpful.
So. (A needle pulling thread ...)
You're probably at the point where people no longer have to drag you bodily to social functions. You find yourself wanting to go out and see people, even if you are slightly terrified that adoption or your baby will become a topic of conversation. Be careful where you go and with whom. I said in a previous post that your surprise pregnancy was a symptom of a greater issue. I believe that. I wasn't living a happy, wonderful life when I got knocked up. There were so, so many other things going on.
I'd bet a tenner that it's the same case with you. Hence my caveat. If you go back to the same friends and situations you were in before, I hope you've got the birth control thing figured out because if you don't you're likely to end up pregnant again. I know (and dearly love) a number of repeat offenders. I'm not saying it's easy to change your life or lifestyle. I'm just saying, be careful. Placement can be a fantastic re-set button. Whatever agency or organization you placed through should offer post-placement counseling (if they don't, they should). Use it. Become a better person. Therapy is a beautiful thing. Figure out why you ended up where you did, and resolve to stay away from there from now on.
Here's a fun fact for you: for the rest of your life, people are going to misunderstand you and your story and adoption. It hurts right now when it happens. It bothers you a lot. It feels personal and offensive and is the catalyst for many a crying fit. You will hate everyone.
Here's another fun fact: it will bother you so much less as time passes. As you become more and more comfortable talking about adoption, correcting or dismissing people will take zero emotional toll on you. You will be much less defensive. You're still going to blurt out "placed" when someone says "gave up" but you won't tear up if they insist that their terminology is right or ask why you didn't want your baby. (I tell them it's because she threw up on my sofa. Bad joke. Sorry.)
You will also, in perpetuity, encounter people who think you made the wrong choice or that adoption damages children. Right now it hurts like hell when you hear this. It makes you angry and defensive and frustrated and you will rant. Oh, how you'll rant! But you will come to understand that it doesn't matter if everyone you meet for the rest of your life thinks you did a bad thing. You know you made the right choice, and your placed child is happy, and no one else's opinion matters or ever will.
Friends and family will ask about your placed child less and less. It will seem like you're the only one who cares or even remembers. This will bother you. Eventually this too will pass. I let it go with some people, and I brought it up with others. It turns out that many relatives weren't sure what I felt comfortable discussing. They weren't sure if mentioning Roo would be painful for me. The more I told happy stories about her and open adoption, the more questions they were comfortable asking. I still have relatives who pretend she doesn't exist. That's on them. I still love them and enjoy making them uncomfortable by showing pictures of Roo being her adorable self.
The media is never going to get adoption right. You'll be happier if you avoid movies and TV shows with adoption-related plots. I stopped watching the show "Glee" when a pregnant Quinn was counseled to give her baby to "Someone who really wants it." I knew when I heard that line that adoption wasn't going to be handled in a sensitive or accurate manner. I don't miss it.
I know some birth moms who go out of their way to watch movies and shows with adoption in them so that they know what bad ideas they're going to encounter and have to correct when they talk to people. If you want to do that, more power to you, but I hope you like the phrase "gave up" because you're going to be hearing it a lot. Also, let's compare our lists of things that "Juno" got so, so wrong. Mine is 15 items long.
Here's something I do wish I had known four years ago when I was approaching Roo's first birthday. It won't always be like this. The pain or the relationship or the need for visits and contact. It will all change, and it will be a good thing. My relationship with P and M is a continuously evolving thing. Because we are all adults and are willing to communicate openly and honestly, it gets better and better. I don't see Roo nearly as often as I used to. I don't need to. It's not that I wouldn't be happy to see her more often. It's more a matter of weeks and even months will pass and someone will ask when I last saw Roo and I'll think, wait, when did I see her last? The need to reassure myself that she's happy and healthy and loved is gone. The desire to see her and her family because I love them pops up every couple of months.
At some point you will realize that although your love for your placed child hasn't changed or dimmed a tiny bit, it fits into your heart differently. You feel that love for a person who is 100% someone else's child, someone you don't know as well as they do. You will realize it, and it will be beautiful.Your love won't feel like a beautiful burden. It will feel like a bird in flight.
I spent several years overwhelmed by the love that I have for Roo. There was so much of it and I didn't know what to do with it. I had a mother's love in my heart but I wasn't a mother. Then I saw this post on Humans of New York. A woman's dying husband told her to take the love she had for him and spread it around. I decided to do that with my love for Roo. It has made all the difference in the world.
There will come a time when having placed a child for adoption will cease to be most important thing about you. Your birth child will cease to be your whole world. It is scary and you might think it's never going to happen with you, because you love your child too much. But here's the truth: I love my Roo with every bit of my heart, and I will often pass several days without giving her more than a moment of thought.
It has to be this way. It's better for both of you. Your placed child deserves a birth mama who has used her experience as a stepstool rather than a crutch. Neither of you benefits if you spend the rest of your life obsessing and ruminating and crying. Even someone who loves and lives and breathes music has to turn it down sometimes and enjoy the silence. It's the silences that make music beautiful.
It's the time that I don't spend with Roo that makes our visits so precious to me. It's the weeks or months that pass without hearing her little voice that make every word she says my favorite word ever spoken. If I thought about her every second of every day, I wouldn't appreciate what a wonderful little person she is to think about.
When I was where you are now, I felt fractured without Roo. She was my whole heart and my whole life. She is neither of those things anymore. She is still infinitely dear to me and I think I'll always love her the best and the most. But I had to step back. You will too. Roo is P and M's daughter. For real. I had to let her be completely theirs to love her completely. I placed her on September 9th but I didn't let her go until nearly 2 years later. I didn't start to heal until then. I wasn't sure I would. I was afraid to step back and figure out who I was without her. I thought it would break me.
In letting her go, I became whole again.
You're going to get there, too. It's going to be beautiful. I can't wait for you to see.
Showing posts with label faq. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faq. Show all posts
Friday, May 9, 2014
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Visiting Hours
I just want to take a moment to express my stunned semi-disbelief at the
fact that Roo will be five years old this summer. Five! You guys,
seriously. I swear, she just barely learned to walk.
I got to see her a few weeks ago, which was fantastic. I mentioned this to one of my friends and she seemed unclear on what happens when I do see Roo, and I got to thinking how many times people misunderstand openness as it pertains to me and my relationship with Roo. So let's clarify at least the visiting part of that, and let's use a lot more words than are necessary because that's what we do here at The Happiest Sad. Well, that and the occasional meme.
First of all, let's clarify the word "visit." I'm not sure when or where I settled on that word to describe spending time with Roo. The word "visit" conjures up images from my childhood of spending time with my maternal grandparents. "We're going to visit Grandma and Grandpa DeWitt," my mom would say, and there was always this element of formality where you had to sit in a chair and make polite conversation and you weren't allowed to ask why everything in the curio cabinet smelled like an improbable cross between dust and aspergillis. Those visits certainly weren't much fun. The only good thing was that my grandfather - eleven years older and three times more patient than his wife - would eventually take pity on Little Jill and give her one of those miniature ice cream cups with the wooden spoon that fitted into the lid.
I am thirty years old but when I see those little ice cream cups I swear I can still feel my grandmother's disappointment looming over me like a rogue weather system. Bless her heart.
I digress.
What I really do, I think, is hang out with Roo and her family, but it sounds weird to say you're hanging out with a four-year-old, because if I'm honest she and I probably have different taste in movies and the last deep conversation we had was about gummy bears. So let's go with the word "visit" and pretend we grew up with the kind of grandmother who baked cookies and showed love. Bless her heart.*
Visits with Roo and her family are my favorite and they are awesome. There is no formality to them. It's just time spent with my friends. I use the word "visit" to describe any time I spend with Roo's family. I have been to dance recitals, we have all gone out for breakfast (and often lunch, and once dinner), and we have spent many happy hours at parks and playgrounds. The latter is where we hang out the most because it's the most fun for the kids
I got to see her a few weeks ago, which was fantastic. I mentioned this to one of my friends and she seemed unclear on what happens when I do see Roo, and I got to thinking how many times people misunderstand openness as it pertains to me and my relationship with Roo. So let's clarify at least the visiting part of that, and let's use a lot more words than are necessary because that's what we do here at The Happiest Sad. Well, that and the occasional meme.
First of all, let's clarify the word "visit." I'm not sure when or where I settled on that word to describe spending time with Roo. The word "visit" conjures up images from my childhood of spending time with my maternal grandparents. "We're going to visit Grandma and Grandpa DeWitt," my mom would say, and there was always this element of formality where you had to sit in a chair and make polite conversation and you weren't allowed to ask why everything in the curio cabinet smelled like an improbable cross between dust and aspergillis. Those visits certainly weren't much fun. The only good thing was that my grandfather - eleven years older and three times more patient than his wife - would eventually take pity on Little Jill and give her one of those miniature ice cream cups with the wooden spoon that fitted into the lid.
I am thirty years old but when I see those little ice cream cups I swear I can still feel my grandmother's disappointment looming over me like a rogue weather system. Bless her heart.
I digress.
What I really do, I think, is hang out with Roo and her family, but it sounds weird to say you're hanging out with a four-year-old, because if I'm honest she and I probably have different taste in movies and the last deep conversation we had was about gummy bears. So let's go with the word "visit" and pretend we grew up with the kind of grandmother who baked cookies and showed love. Bless her heart.*
Visits with Roo and her family are my favorite and they are awesome. There is no formality to them. It's just time spent with my friends. I use the word "visit" to describe any time I spend with Roo's family. I have been to dance recitals, we have all gone out for breakfast (and often lunch, and once dinner), and we have spent many happy hours at parks and playgrounds. The latter is where we hang out the most because it's the most fun for the kids
Roo always says hello to me. She says, "Hi, Jill!" and she smiles and it is awesome. Her big sister says hi to me, too, and I usually get a smile from their baby brother. M and I will talk and catch up for a bit until Roo insists that I play with her. "Jill, I want you to come play with me," she has said, and how do I say no to that? I can't. At that point I basically just let her boss me around for an hour or two. I have gotten so, so much sand in my shoes. You wouldn't believe it.
She has a very good if imagination when it comes to play, but she also has favorite things. Every playground we have been on has been a pirate ship. Roo seems to like the idea of a pirate ship. Once we made sand angels - maybe that's an Arizona thing, but it's like a snow angel only you're in the sand - and Roo's big sister said, "Hurry, get on the pirate ship, you're getting covered in water!"
Roo was feeling stubborn. She did not want to stop making sand angels. "I'll be fine," she told her sister. "I'm a mermaid." She's a problem solver, isn't she?
We are very often mermaids, or pirates, or mermaid pirates or pirate princesses. A few weeks ago when we were pirate princesses we used our rainbow power to subdue a particularly mean eel.
Roo likes to swing and climb and I have held her little shoes many, many times so she could climb better with bare feet. I always tell her how proud I am of her and I try to compliment her on that sort of thing more than on her general adorableness. When she climbed high even though she was scared, I told her she was very brave and that I was proud.
She knows that I love her but she is still a little kid, so when it’s time to
leave she gives me a cheerful, “Bye, Jill!” and runs off, and I usually have to stop
her for a hug. I always ask first if I can get a hug and if I can give a
kiss. She always obliges. I tell her I love
her and she will usually reciprocate.
I dearly love her siblings as well and so I will
give them hugs and tell them I love them, too, because it's true and because I don’t think any
child can ever hear enough that they are loved. After my last visit – a
few hours at a park, I told Roo and her sister
that I had fun and that I always have fun with them. “We have fun with
you, too,” Roo's sister said. So many warm fuzzies, you guys.
You might have noticed that at no point do I attempt to parent Roo or offer parenting advice to her parents. This is where a lot of people get confused. I think there's this misconception that openness is a shared custody agreement. So I want to be very clear: P and M are Roo's parents, one trillion percent. That's what I wanted for her. I'm just a friend of the family who happens to have birthed one of the family's kids for them. P and M are doing an awesome job at the whole parenting thing. It's not my place to interfere.
I have been asked, along the custody line of thinking, if I get Roo all to myself at visits. I don't. There have never been any just-Roo-and-Jill visits and I'm totally okay with that. I love her whole family so, so much. I would be sad if I didn't get to see and spend time with them too.
I end up seeing Roo and her family every couple of months or so. This works out well for all of us. M and I text pretty frequently and keep up with each other on social media. We've worked together on adoption-related events in the valley so I see her often, which I love.
The other question I want to answer is whether visits are emotionally difficult for me. They are not. When I first placed I was worried that visits would be like placing Roo all over again - I'd get a few hours with her and then have to let her go. But visits have always been good for me, from the very first one. They allow me to see the good that came from the choice I made to place. I get to see firsthand that Roo is happy and loved and has an awesome life. I get to know her and be part of her life. I do cry when I drive home from a visit, but they're happy tears because I feel like I don't deserve the blessing of this amazing open adoption and yet I have them anyway.
Let's be honest - I do a lot of stupid things. I struggle to be a kind and compassionate person and I'm more narcissistic than anyone has a right to be in their thirties. If life were about fairness I would never see or hear from Roo again. Every single day I thank God for these blessings I don't deserve. I thank Him for letting me have her for a little while, and I thank Him for letting P and M have her forever. I am so glad she's theirs.
Every time I see Roo with her family, I remember why I chose adoption, and why if I had to do things over, I would choose it again without hesitation. As badly as it hurt at first, it doesn't hurt anymore. And Roo's happiness is worth it.
You might have noticed that at no point do I attempt to parent Roo or offer parenting advice to her parents. This is where a lot of people get confused. I think there's this misconception that openness is a shared custody agreement. So I want to be very clear: P and M are Roo's parents, one trillion percent. That's what I wanted for her. I'm just a friend of the family who happens to have birthed one of the family's kids for them. P and M are doing an awesome job at the whole parenting thing. It's not my place to interfere.
I have been asked, along the custody line of thinking, if I get Roo all to myself at visits. I don't. There have never been any just-Roo-and-Jill visits and I'm totally okay with that. I love her whole family so, so much. I would be sad if I didn't get to see and spend time with them too.
I end up seeing Roo and her family every couple of months or so. This works out well for all of us. M and I text pretty frequently and keep up with each other on social media. We've worked together on adoption-related events in the valley so I see her often, which I love.
The other question I want to answer is whether visits are emotionally difficult for me. They are not. When I first placed I was worried that visits would be like placing Roo all over again - I'd get a few hours with her and then have to let her go. But visits have always been good for me, from the very first one. They allow me to see the good that came from the choice I made to place. I get to see firsthand that Roo is happy and loved and has an awesome life. I get to know her and be part of her life. I do cry when I drive home from a visit, but they're happy tears because I feel like I don't deserve the blessing of this amazing open adoption and yet I have them anyway.
Let's be honest - I do a lot of stupid things. I struggle to be a kind and compassionate person and I'm more narcissistic than anyone has a right to be in their thirties. If life were about fairness I would never see or hear from Roo again. Every single day I thank God for these blessings I don't deserve. I thank Him for letting me have her for a little while, and I thank Him for letting P and M have her forever. I am so glad she's theirs.
Every time I see Roo with her family, I remember why I chose adoption, and why if I had to do things over, I would choose it again without hesitation. As badly as it hurt at first, it doesn't hurt anymore. And Roo's happiness is worth it.
*My grandmother loved me in her own way. She was just stubborn and set in her ways and didn't care much for my father, and I am like a short girl clone of my dad so I probably never stood a chance. She was a good mother to my mother and that's what matters at the end of the day, right?
Bless her heart.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
If You Want to Help a Birth Mother
In my local adoption community, I am seen as a success story. Not as any kind of hero or role model, but as a success. I placed my baby for adoption after a brief stint single parenting. I went through the messy grieving process and came out of it a better person. Four years later I have a career of sorts, an apartment, a car, and mental health. I am doing well. I have a good relationship with the child I placed and with her family. I've got 99 problems, but adoption ain't one.
I know way too many birth moms who can't say the same. I have seen open adoptions - and birth mothers - fall apart spectacularly. I am more acutely aware than ever that I hit the jackpot as far as adoption is concerned. I wish everyone could be so lucky.
I think this is why, in the last three months, I've been asked for advice by adoption caseworkers and their ilk. They all want to know the same thing: why did things work out well for me, and how can they ensure similar successes for the birth moms they work with?
I wish I knew. I am hesitant to give advice because every situation, every adoption is its own little planet. Every person is different and every adoption is different and things can change so quickly. I've never wanted to set myself up as an example of what to do or how to be. That makes me very uncomfortable, particularly when in adoption, two people can do exactly the same thing and end up with vastly different results.
I've tried to explain this, but still I'm asked, "What can we do to help birth mothers?"
I'm expected to have some exclusive insight as a birth mother. But all I can think of is how right after placement, there was almost no help on earth for me - not that there was none offered, but that nothing worked. The only thing that made me happy was seeing my baby girl and how well she was doing. I lived for her and for those moments. Other than that, there was too much going on to be helped by any single entity or program. I had too many different issues.
That's the real gist of it, isn't it? There are always too many things going on in a birth mother's life. We can talk all we want about how there ought to be support and programs to help women who have just placed a child for adoption deal with that issue. And I'm not saying those things aren't important. But what we're forgetting is that so often, an unplanned pregnancy isn't the overarching problem. It's a symptom. When a woman is facing an unplanned pregnancy in the kind of situation where she's considering and choosing adoption, the pregnancy isn't her problem. If you want to help a birth mom, you have to realize that.
I know way too many birth moms who can't say the same. I have seen open adoptions - and birth mothers - fall apart spectacularly. I am more acutely aware than ever that I hit the jackpot as far as adoption is concerned. I wish everyone could be so lucky.
I think this is why, in the last three months, I've been asked for advice by adoption caseworkers and their ilk. They all want to know the same thing: why did things work out well for me, and how can they ensure similar successes for the birth moms they work with?
I wish I knew. I am hesitant to give advice because every situation, every adoption is its own little planet. Every person is different and every adoption is different and things can change so quickly. I've never wanted to set myself up as an example of what to do or how to be. That makes me very uncomfortable, particularly when in adoption, two people can do exactly the same thing and end up with vastly different results.
I've tried to explain this, but still I'm asked, "What can we do to help birth mothers?"
I'm expected to have some exclusive insight as a birth mother. But all I can think of is how right after placement, there was almost no help on earth for me - not that there was none offered, but that nothing worked. The only thing that made me happy was seeing my baby girl and how well she was doing. I lived for her and for those moments. Other than that, there was too much going on to be helped by any single entity or program. I had too many different issues.
That's the real gist of it, isn't it? There are always too many things going on in a birth mother's life. We can talk all we want about how there ought to be support and programs to help women who have just placed a child for adoption deal with that issue. And I'm not saying those things aren't important. But what we're forgetting is that so often, an unplanned pregnancy isn't the overarching problem. It's a symptom. When a woman is facing an unplanned pregnancy in the kind of situation where she's considering and choosing adoption, the pregnancy isn't her problem. If you want to help a birth mom, you have to realize that.
Not that there's ever one single
underlying issue. There are dozens. Low self-esteem, co-dependence,
abuse, depression, anxiety, daddy issues … sometimes it's a combination.
But part of what makes placement so gut-wrenching is that you've got
the grief of placing a child layered on top of these other issues
that were never treated. In my personal experience, if you want to help a birth mom, you
have to help restore her sense of self-worth.
I'm not saying that every single birth mom has made horrible life choices or gotten herself into a bad situation. But the vast majority of those I have met (and I include myself in this number) ended up pregnant because a lot of other things were going on. My pregnancy was a symptom of a much larger problem.
I've always hated the term "crisis pregnancy" because it sounds like some sort of emergency or disaster. My pregnancy wasn't like that. The fact is that it saved my life. I was self-destructing spectacularly before I got pregnant. Roo saved my life. If I hadn't gotten pregnant, there would have been a crisis situation. If you want to help a birth mother, don't look at her pregnancy as a crisis. Look at it as an opportunity to make positive changes in her life.
So, adoption professionals, here's my advice to you. If you want to help a birth mother, stop looking at her as a birth mother. Look at her as a person. She had problems before placement and she's going to have them after. There is no one-size-fits-all help for her. Don't put her in a box. You can do better than that. She deserves better than that.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Birthdays
Roo just had a birthday. She's four years old. I have found that whatever age she is becomes my favorite age for a child to be. Every birthday she has is the best birthday.
I can't speak from experience but it seems to me that when you're a parent, your child's birthdays are a bit of a production. There are presents to buy and a party to plan and of course there will be cake, because as Julia Child pointed out, a party without cake is just a meeting. I suppose a lot of these things are up to the family and child in question, but regardless of what exactly goes on the point is that something goes on, because a child's birthday is special.
So, how do you celebrate the birthday of a child you gave birth to but are no longer parenting? I'd like to say that I've got it all figured out, and that my handbook on birth mothering is going to be published in the fall. But the truth is that I don't have a clue how you're supposed to celebrate the anniversary of the day you gave birth to someone else's child. I've done it four times and I still don't know what I'm doing.
The consensus among birth mothers I have talked to is that birthdays are hard. I've heard this from women with open adoptions and women with closed adoptions, from married birth mothers and single birth mothers, from those who've had children since placement and those who haven't. Even in the best of situations, birthdays can be bittersweet.
I don't know that I would classify Roo's birthday as a bittersweet day. I wouldn't want to paint it with such broad strokes. Every year has been different for me. I haven't had exactly the same feelings or done exactly the same thing. My emotional needs have been different each year as well, and my schedule, and Roo's family's schedule, and so many other things change from one July to the next.
Every year so far, I have had a visit with Roo around her birthday. Her family has been very kind in obliging with this, sometimes at the last minute (July 7th crept up on me this year). It's never been so important to me to see her on her birthday, but I like to see her within a few weeks of it, so that I can take a million pictures and give her presents and tell her how fantastic she is.
On Roo's birthday itself, I will inevitably look at pictures from when she was brand-new and I will cry unattractively and hold the blanket M made for me and allow myself time to be sad and miss my baby. The amount of time I spend feeling sorry for myself depends on the year. I think I was sad for about fifteen minutes last year, for instance, but this year I cried for over an hour. In my defense, I was alone for a lot of the day, and my mom was out of town, and my plans with a friend fell through, and I was stressed out because I was facing a 12-hour drive the next day.
In general I'm happiest when I treat Roo's birthday like an extra birthday for me. There are no presents, but I like to make a cake (I adore cake) and go out to lunch with my mother or a friend. I make an effort to look nice, because it is a special day. Anyone I talk to that day has to hear at least 15 Roo stories, and look at every picture of her I have on my phone. Actually, that tends to happen to anyone who asks, "How's Roo?" But people must not mind too much, because they keep asking.
For the most part Roo's birthday is a joyful day for me. I know that she's happy it's her special day, and it makes me happy that she's happy. There's just that little edge, that reminder in the periphery of my joy that although I have a mother's love for Roo, I am not her mother.* I celebrate her birthday without her.
But it's not such an odd concept to celebrate someone's birthday without them, is it? I think of my dad each year on his birthday. I make a cake for him, too. I look at pictures. I watch a movie or TV show that we used to watch together. I remember him and I miss him and I love him, even though he's gone.
It's the same with Roo, even though she's alive and well. Every day, but especially on her birthday, I remember her, and I miss her, and I love her. I celebrate in my own way, and if that way happens to vary from year to year, or even from hour to hour, so be it. The details aren't what's crucial. The important thing is that Roo was born, and she is amazing and lovely and fantastic, and the world is a better place because she's here. Everything else is just filler.
*I know I'm going to get the same comments I get every time I make this statement, the comments that I am still her mother, and people are certainly entitled to that belief, but I don't share it. I'm her birth mother, not her real mother. That's good enough for me.
I can't speak from experience but it seems to me that when you're a parent, your child's birthdays are a bit of a production. There are presents to buy and a party to plan and of course there will be cake, because as Julia Child pointed out, a party without cake is just a meeting. I suppose a lot of these things are up to the family and child in question, but regardless of what exactly goes on the point is that something goes on, because a child's birthday is special.
So, how do you celebrate the birthday of a child you gave birth to but are no longer parenting? I'd like to say that I've got it all figured out, and that my handbook on birth mothering is going to be published in the fall. But the truth is that I don't have a clue how you're supposed to celebrate the anniversary of the day you gave birth to someone else's child. I've done it four times and I still don't know what I'm doing.
The consensus among birth mothers I have talked to is that birthdays are hard. I've heard this from women with open adoptions and women with closed adoptions, from married birth mothers and single birth mothers, from those who've had children since placement and those who haven't. Even in the best of situations, birthdays can be bittersweet.
I don't know that I would classify Roo's birthday as a bittersweet day. I wouldn't want to paint it with such broad strokes. Every year has been different for me. I haven't had exactly the same feelings or done exactly the same thing. My emotional needs have been different each year as well, and my schedule, and Roo's family's schedule, and so many other things change from one July to the next.
Every year so far, I have had a visit with Roo around her birthday. Her family has been very kind in obliging with this, sometimes at the last minute (July 7th crept up on me this year). It's never been so important to me to see her on her birthday, but I like to see her within a few weeks of it, so that I can take a million pictures and give her presents and tell her how fantastic she is.
On Roo's birthday itself, I will inevitably look at pictures from when she was brand-new and I will cry unattractively and hold the blanket M made for me and allow myself time to be sad and miss my baby. The amount of time I spend feeling sorry for myself depends on the year. I think I was sad for about fifteen minutes last year, for instance, but this year I cried for over an hour. In my defense, I was alone for a lot of the day, and my mom was out of town, and my plans with a friend fell through, and I was stressed out because I was facing a 12-hour drive the next day.
In general I'm happiest when I treat Roo's birthday like an extra birthday for me. There are no presents, but I like to make a cake (I adore cake) and go out to lunch with my mother or a friend. I make an effort to look nice, because it is a special day. Anyone I talk to that day has to hear at least 15 Roo stories, and look at every picture of her I have on my phone. Actually, that tends to happen to anyone who asks, "How's Roo?" But people must not mind too much, because they keep asking.
For the most part Roo's birthday is a joyful day for me. I know that she's happy it's her special day, and it makes me happy that she's happy. There's just that little edge, that reminder in the periphery of my joy that although I have a mother's love for Roo, I am not her mother.* I celebrate her birthday without her.
But it's not such an odd concept to celebrate someone's birthday without them, is it? I think of my dad each year on his birthday. I make a cake for him, too. I look at pictures. I watch a movie or TV show that we used to watch together. I remember him and I miss him and I love him, even though he's gone.
It's the same with Roo, even though she's alive and well. Every day, but especially on her birthday, I remember her, and I miss her, and I love her. I celebrate in my own way, and if that way happens to vary from year to year, or even from hour to hour, so be it. The details aren't what's crucial. The important thing is that Roo was born, and she is amazing and lovely and fantastic, and the world is a better place because she's here. Everything else is just filler.
*I know I'm going to get the same comments I get every time I make this statement, the comments that I am still her mother, and people are certainly entitled to that belief, but I don't share it. I'm her birth mother, not her real mother. That's good enough for me.
Monday, July 15, 2013
FAQ: What About H?
Today I am going to answer a question that I have been getting a lot lately from people I know when I have been talking to them about adoption. It's a series of questions actually, and they're all about Roo's birth father, H.
I've mentioned him before and I used to mention him a lot, particularly in years past when I was still angry at him and wanted to hurt him for hurting me. I don't think I've mentioned him in quite a while, and I only really talk about him in therapy every so often, so newer readers of this blog and more recent acquaintances may not know much about him.
Parenthetically, if you're dying to know more about him and you're emotionally buoyant you can go back and read the posts tagged "boyfriend" but for today, all you need to know is that we met on MySpace in 2008 and that he is to this day the only man who has ever told me I was beautiful. (I don't know if he meant it or if he had just been single for longer than he liked. I suspect the latter.)
I digress.
Q (and Q, and Q, and Q, and Q): Do you ever hear from H? What does H think about the adoption? Does H get to see Roo? Do you want him to? Do you hate H?
A: I'm going to answer the last question first, because it's important, and I want to make it very clear: I do not hate H, and I never did. I used to be angry with him, and I used to want to hurt him because he hurt me and punish him for breaking my heart and leaving me alone and pregnant.
But I have an excellent therapist, and I have reached the point where 99% of the bad feelings are gone. I'm going to allow myself 1% because when I'm having a really bad day I sometimes still stew about how I had a baby with a guy and even that wasn't enough to make him stay, and what does that say about me? I must be completely unlovable.
Hey, we all have those days, right?
Right?
Just me?
Anyway. I have actually had many moments wherein I simply felt grateful to H for giving me Roo, because she is the best thing that ever happened to me. It occurred to me the other day (Father's Day, in fact) that I am terribly grateful for every single one of H's character flaws. Because if he hadn't been exactly the man he was four years ago, I wouldn't have placed Roo for adoption, and that would have been a shame.
I have never thanked him personally, because I haven't actually seen him in person since 2008 and we have not communicated since right after Roo was born. This does not surprise me or hurt me at all; he told me when I was pregnant that if I chose adoption he would essentially disappear.
I don't know how he feels about the adoption. I don't know if it's something that he ever thinks about. To the best of my knowledge he has never met Roo or had any contact with her parents. Do I want him to? I'm going to play politician and give a non-answer. I want what's best for Roo, and I trust P and M to make that choice. If the time comes when they feel that a relationship with H is in Roo's best interest, I will support that.* She's their child and it's their decision to make, not mine.
I don't know where H is now or what he's doing. I told that to a friend the other day and he said, "Isn't it weird? Someone can be such a big part of your life for a while and have such an impact on you, and then you don't see them again for the rest of your life."
It is weird. It is weird to think that I had a baby with this man, H, and he's no part of my life and never will be again. It's weird that our genes are forever merged in Roo, but that our lives are so separate. It's weird, but it's okay.
I used to think that I needed to confront him to find closure, which terrified me, but I was wrong. I've made my peace with him, and I hope that he's made his peace with me.
*I'll confess to the odd sporadic desire for H to meet Roo, but it's a selfish one. I sometimes think that if H ever thinks of Roo or adoption, it might be with anger or bitterness towards me and how things turned out. In my more fanciful moments I think that it would be nice if he could see her - see what a fantastic little person she is, how smart she is, how happy she is, how beautiful. It would be nice if he could see what a good thing came of our relationship and out of adoption. I think it might be beneficial. But beneficial to him and tangentially to me, not necessarily to Roo at this point. I'm glad it's not my call to make.
I've mentioned him before and I used to mention him a lot, particularly in years past when I was still angry at him and wanted to hurt him for hurting me. I don't think I've mentioned him in quite a while, and I only really talk about him in therapy every so often, so newer readers of this blog and more recent acquaintances may not know much about him.
Parenthetically, if you're dying to know more about him and you're emotionally buoyant you can go back and read the posts tagged "boyfriend" but for today, all you need to know is that we met on MySpace in 2008 and that he is to this day the only man who has ever told me I was beautiful. (I don't know if he meant it or if he had just been single for longer than he liked. I suspect the latter.)
I digress.
Q (and Q, and Q, and Q, and Q): Do you ever hear from H? What does H think about the adoption? Does H get to see Roo? Do you want him to? Do you hate H?
A: I'm going to answer the last question first, because it's important, and I want to make it very clear: I do not hate H, and I never did. I used to be angry with him, and I used to want to hurt him because he hurt me and punish him for breaking my heart and leaving me alone and pregnant.
But I have an excellent therapist, and I have reached the point where 99% of the bad feelings are gone. I'm going to allow myself 1% because when I'm having a really bad day I sometimes still stew about how I had a baby with a guy and even that wasn't enough to make him stay, and what does that say about me? I must be completely unlovable.
Hey, we all have those days, right?
Right?
Just me?
Anyway. I have actually had many moments wherein I simply felt grateful to H for giving me Roo, because she is the best thing that ever happened to me. It occurred to me the other day (Father's Day, in fact) that I am terribly grateful for every single one of H's character flaws. Because if he hadn't been exactly the man he was four years ago, I wouldn't have placed Roo for adoption, and that would have been a shame.
I have never thanked him personally, because I haven't actually seen him in person since 2008 and we have not communicated since right after Roo was born. This does not surprise me or hurt me at all; he told me when I was pregnant that if I chose adoption he would essentially disappear.
I don't know how he feels about the adoption. I don't know if it's something that he ever thinks about. To the best of my knowledge he has never met Roo or had any contact with her parents. Do I want him to? I'm going to play politician and give a non-answer. I want what's best for Roo, and I trust P and M to make that choice. If the time comes when they feel that a relationship with H is in Roo's best interest, I will support that.* She's their child and it's their decision to make, not mine.
I don't know where H is now or what he's doing. I told that to a friend the other day and he said, "Isn't it weird? Someone can be such a big part of your life for a while and have such an impact on you, and then you don't see them again for the rest of your life."
It is weird. It is weird to think that I had a baby with this man, H, and he's no part of my life and never will be again. It's weird that our genes are forever merged in Roo, but that our lives are so separate. It's weird, but it's okay.
I used to think that I needed to confront him to find closure, which terrified me, but I was wrong. I've made my peace with him, and I hope that he's made his peace with me.
*I'll confess to the odd sporadic desire for H to meet Roo, but it's a selfish one. I sometimes think that if H ever thinks of Roo or adoption, it might be with anger or bitterness towards me and how things turned out. In my more fanciful moments I think that it would be nice if he could see her - see what a fantastic little person she is, how smart she is, how happy she is, how beautiful. It would be nice if he could see what a good thing came of our relationship and out of adoption. I think it might be beneficial. But beneficial to him and tangentially to me, not necessarily to Roo at this point. I'm glad it's not my call to make.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
A Few Things You Should Know
I have a lot of new readers and new blog followers, and although many are familiar with adoption, just as many are new to it. Welcome! Adoption is rad.*
As someone who is well-acquainted with adoption I feel the burden of educating others. I considered doing some sort of FAQ, or a glossary of adoption terms, or something like that. But I feel like I've done it before. Today I want to clear up some misconceptions that I've encountered as I have discussed adoption with people whose first real introduction to adoption was me telling them that I'm a birth mother. The people who need to read this - friends and acquaintances who have said, "You have a blog? I'll have to read it some time" and then never do - probably won't read it, but I want to say it anyway.
So, let's get right to it.
I'm a birth mother; I placed a child for adoption. There is no need to apologize or feel sad for me. I'm neither sorry nor sad. If you're going to pity me, let it be for the fact that I'm too short to buy groceries without using low shelves as a stepladder, or because I'm pushing thirty and still single, or because I kind of can't afford to be alive right now. Those are the things that keep me up at night; those are the things I personally feel sad about. But adoption? SO not a sad thing! Adoption is a happy thing. Thinking of Roo makes me happy. So thank you for sympathy; it is appreciated. But it's not needed.
When people see pictures of Roo on my apartment wall or my phone or wherever, they will often say, "Is that your ..." and trail off awkwardly. I get that. What do you call someone's child who isn't their child? I usually just smile and say that yes, that's Roo, and isn't she gorgeous? I've never cared for the term "birth daughter." It's a mouthful. But it also doesn't feel right to just say that she's my daughter, because she's not. She's just my little Roo. Sometimes I will refer to her as "my baby" which feels a bit more comfortable, I think. She used to be my baby and it doesn't matter how old she gets or how tall she grows, I think I'll always think of her as my little Roo.
Roo is not my child. When I placed her I signed papers, and P and M signed papers, that made Roo the official, legal daughter of P and M. She's theirs. I do see Roo fairly regularly, but I don't "get" her for weekends or "have" her for outings. Adoption isn't a joint-custody agreement. I grew and delivered Roo and I love her dearly, but I am not her mama. And I am okay with that! Roo has what I wanted most for her. I don't need to be her mother to be happy. I am happy that she has the mother she does.
Also, I dearly love Roo's mom! I think I would be sad if I didn't get to see her when I see Roo. How weird would it be to just see Roo? I can't imagine saying to M, "Gosh, you're a wonderful mother, thanks for taking care of Roo, but do you mind if I take her to the zoo for a few hours without you? I'd like some alone time with her, without you in the way." Also, this feels like the sort of thing in which Roo ought to have a say, and although she knows I love her, she also knows that M is her mama, and I imagine that if she were at the zoo, Roo would be happiest pointing out the animals she knows to the woman who taught her their names.
That said, yes, I do get to see Roo every few months or so, as occasion warrants. I do not, however, get to see Roo "whenever I want," because that would be ridiculous. I don't think there's anyone on earth I can see whenever I want. Even my mother has limits. I have my own life and schedule, and P and M have theirs, and I certainly don't expect P and M to drop everything so I can see Roo whenever I want. I wouldn't want Roo to have parents who would disregard Roo's routine and that of her siblings just to cater to my whims.
Roo's adoption is open. Openness is a choice that was made. It is not a legal obligation and I wouldn't want it to be. P and M don't owe me anything. It's not about me. I've been told how nice it is that they let me see Roo, and I always think, "Yes, and it was nice of me to give them a baby." Niceness on either side isn't the reason for openness. It's about what's best for the little girl we all love so much.
Roo knows who I am. She knows that my name is Jill, and that I love her lots and lots, that I always kiss her cheeks about fifty times when I see her, and that she grew in my tummy. She doesn't get confused about who her mother is any more than a child who sees an aunt or grandmother regularly would get confused. Roo knows exactly who her mother is, and she knows who I am, and she knows that M and I are friends, and that we both love her. It's not complicated. People who think that openness confuses a child aren't giving children enough credit.
Yes, placing Roo was hard, and what an odd question that is - was it hard? When people find out my mother was widowed, no one ever asks, was it hard to lose your husband? Placement was so, so hard. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and I sincerely hope I never have to do anything harder because I don't think I could. But it is also the best, most amazing and wonderful thing that I have ever done. It was worth the hurt.
I have made many mistakes in my life (and I will probably make a lot more) but Roo isn't one of them. Having Roo is the absolute best thing I've ever done. If I could live my life over I think I'd make exactly the same mistakes again, because if even one little thing were different I might not have had Roo, and wouldn't that be awful? I can't imagine my life without her. I can't imagine the world without her.
And yes, I would absolutely, one million percent place her again with P and M. I couldn't have placed her with anyone else. Roo changed my life forever for the better. Adoption allowed me to return the favor.
*I am acutely aware that there is a constellation of very angry people in the world who would vehemently disagree with that statement. If you are among that number, this is not the blog for you; please go away.
As someone who is well-acquainted with adoption I feel the burden of educating others. I considered doing some sort of FAQ, or a glossary of adoption terms, or something like that. But I feel like I've done it before. Today I want to clear up some misconceptions that I've encountered as I have discussed adoption with people whose first real introduction to adoption was me telling them that I'm a birth mother. The people who need to read this - friends and acquaintances who have said, "You have a blog? I'll have to read it some time" and then never do - probably won't read it, but I want to say it anyway.
So, let's get right to it.
I'm a birth mother; I placed a child for adoption. There is no need to apologize or feel sad for me. I'm neither sorry nor sad. If you're going to pity me, let it be for the fact that I'm too short to buy groceries without using low shelves as a stepladder, or because I'm pushing thirty and still single, or because I kind of can't afford to be alive right now. Those are the things that keep me up at night; those are the things I personally feel sad about. But adoption? SO not a sad thing! Adoption is a happy thing. Thinking of Roo makes me happy. So thank you for sympathy; it is appreciated. But it's not needed.
When people see pictures of Roo on my apartment wall or my phone or wherever, they will often say, "Is that your ..." and trail off awkwardly. I get that. What do you call someone's child who isn't their child? I usually just smile and say that yes, that's Roo, and isn't she gorgeous? I've never cared for the term "birth daughter." It's a mouthful. But it also doesn't feel right to just say that she's my daughter, because she's not. She's just my little Roo. Sometimes I will refer to her as "my baby" which feels a bit more comfortable, I think. She used to be my baby and it doesn't matter how old she gets or how tall she grows, I think I'll always think of her as my little Roo.
Roo is not my child. When I placed her I signed papers, and P and M signed papers, that made Roo the official, legal daughter of P and M. She's theirs. I do see Roo fairly regularly, but I don't "get" her for weekends or "have" her for outings. Adoption isn't a joint-custody agreement. I grew and delivered Roo and I love her dearly, but I am not her mama. And I am okay with that! Roo has what I wanted most for her. I don't need to be her mother to be happy. I am happy that she has the mother she does.
Also, I dearly love Roo's mom! I think I would be sad if I didn't get to see her when I see Roo. How weird would it be to just see Roo? I can't imagine saying to M, "Gosh, you're a wonderful mother, thanks for taking care of Roo, but do you mind if I take her to the zoo for a few hours without you? I'd like some alone time with her, without you in the way." Also, this feels like the sort of thing in which Roo ought to have a say, and although she knows I love her, she also knows that M is her mama, and I imagine that if she were at the zoo, Roo would be happiest pointing out the animals she knows to the woman who taught her their names.
That said, yes, I do get to see Roo every few months or so, as occasion warrants. I do not, however, get to see Roo "whenever I want," because that would be ridiculous. I don't think there's anyone on earth I can see whenever I want. Even my mother has limits. I have my own life and schedule, and P and M have theirs, and I certainly don't expect P and M to drop everything so I can see Roo whenever I want. I wouldn't want Roo to have parents who would disregard Roo's routine and that of her siblings just to cater to my whims.
Roo's adoption is open. Openness is a choice that was made. It is not a legal obligation and I wouldn't want it to be. P and M don't owe me anything. It's not about me. I've been told how nice it is that they let me see Roo, and I always think, "Yes, and it was nice of me to give them a baby." Niceness on either side isn't the reason for openness. It's about what's best for the little girl we all love so much.
Roo knows who I am. She knows that my name is Jill, and that I love her lots and lots, that I always kiss her cheeks about fifty times when I see her, and that she grew in my tummy. She doesn't get confused about who her mother is any more than a child who sees an aunt or grandmother regularly would get confused. Roo knows exactly who her mother is, and she knows who I am, and she knows that M and I are friends, and that we both love her. It's not complicated. People who think that openness confuses a child aren't giving children enough credit.
Yes, placing Roo was hard, and what an odd question that is - was it hard? When people find out my mother was widowed, no one ever asks, was it hard to lose your husband? Placement was so, so hard. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life and I sincerely hope I never have to do anything harder because I don't think I could. But it is also the best, most amazing and wonderful thing that I have ever done. It was worth the hurt.
I have made many mistakes in my life (and I will probably make a lot more) but Roo isn't one of them. Having Roo is the absolute best thing I've ever done. If I could live my life over I think I'd make exactly the same mistakes again, because if even one little thing were different I might not have had Roo, and wouldn't that be awful? I can't imagine my life without her. I can't imagine the world without her.
And yes, I would absolutely, one million percent place her again with P and M. I couldn't have placed her with anyone else. Roo changed my life forever for the better. Adoption allowed me to return the favor.
*I am acutely aware that there is a constellation of very angry people in the world who would vehemently disagree with that statement. If you are among that number, this is not the blog for you; please go away.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
FAQ: Do I Want More Children?
November, if you haven't heard, is National Adoption Month - today, in fact, is National Adoption Day. In previous years I did a LOT of blogging to commemorate. Spoiler alert: that will not be happening this year. I am way too busy (those cat videos on YouTube aren't going to watch themselves). I've also been too busy to answer e-mail and my blog e-mail tends to be crazy anyway; if you've written to me in the past 6 months, don't give up hope, I will catch up eventually. I hope.
But I feel like I should do something for November, because I think adoption is really rad. So I'm going to steal - no, let's say, appropriate an idea from my friend Brittany. She's been answering frequently asked questions on her blog each week and I've decided to do the same. I already have a blog FAQbut it hasn't been updated in ages; I had a lot of anger issues when I wrote it and I think I'd probably explain things better if I were to re-write it and I think that I will eventually, but not right now. Wow, that was a beautiful run-on sentence, wasn't it? I think I might look into National Grammar Month; I need it.
Anyway. I have been asked other questions, by friends and acquaintances and by high school students who have been subjected to my story during their child-development classes. I want to answer some of them here. Today's question is courtesy of a teenager who apparently missed the phrase "I always wanted to be a mother" sprinkled liberally throughout my story.
Q: Do you want more kids some day?
A: Short answer, yes. Slightly longer answer, yes, absolutely, but I'd like to be married first.
I would not be me if I left it at that, would I? I love words too much.
I have always, always wanted to be a mother. I know that in today's modern world women are supposed to be ambitious and have their own careers and lives but I've never been that type-A. I think I'm unambitious out of self-preservation; I tend to take things to extremes and when something is important to me I give it 500%. Ambition would be the death of me. Being a wife and mother has always been enough of a goal in my mind. That's probably not the sort of thing a woman is supposed to confess to but there it is.
My pregnancy was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. It wasn't the way I'd planned on being a mother but I was disinclined to be picky. I wanted a baby and I was having a baby. Maybe it's because I know exactly why I made the decision I did, and because I know so many other birth mothers whose decisions were similarly selfless, but I am always surprised when someone assumes I placed Roo because I didn't want to be a mother. Placement had nothing to do with wanting to be a mother or not wanting to be a mother. It was about what was best for the little girl I love so much. It was a choice I made as a mother.
I very much want kids. I know that single women aren't supposed to say that because we come across as baby-hungry and people get these ideas that I instantly assess every date as a potential father, that I've picked out names for all my children, that I can't hear normal conversation over the sound of my own biological clock ticking. Judge me if you will, but I do want children. I would love to have children, and preferably before my fertility starts to nosedive. But I'm not going to do it by myself. If I don't get married, I'm not going to have more kids. I don't care how well-off I end up, how successful or happy or anything else. I will not be a single mother again. I wanted Roo to have two married parents who love each other. Why would I want anything less for any other children I might have?
There's a selfishness behind this determination as well. Here's another uncomfortable truth: my pregnancy was the absolute bloody loneliest time of my entire life. I don't think I've ever felt so alone and I hope I never do again. I hated going to doctor's appointments because I was frequently the only woman in the waiting room without a husband or boyfriend. I invited H to come with me at first but I stopped after a few months because it was obvious he was never going to. I would surreptitiously assess the relationships of the couples in the waiting room and, without exception, they seemed to love each other. It hurt. I'd stare at my hands and wonder what I had done wrong that the father of my child didn't even like me.
I will not go through that again.
I want children, but I don't -just- want children. I want more for my children than I can give them by myself. Which means that although I would dearly love to be a mother, it's probably not going to happen. I'm okay with that. Because I had Roo, and if she's all I ever get, she's enough.
But I feel like I should do something for November, because I think adoption is really rad. So I'm going to steal - no, let's say, appropriate an idea from my friend Brittany. She's been answering frequently asked questions on her blog each week and I've decided to do the same. I already have a blog FAQbut it hasn't been updated in ages; I had a lot of anger issues when I wrote it and I think I'd probably explain things better if I were to re-write it and I think that I will eventually, but not right now. Wow, that was a beautiful run-on sentence, wasn't it? I think I might look into National Grammar Month; I need it.
Anyway. I have been asked other questions, by friends and acquaintances and by high school students who have been subjected to my story during their child-development classes. I want to answer some of them here. Today's question is courtesy of a teenager who apparently missed the phrase "I always wanted to be a mother" sprinkled liberally throughout my story.
Q: Do you want more kids some day?
A: Short answer, yes. Slightly longer answer, yes, absolutely, but I'd like to be married first.
I would not be me if I left it at that, would I? I love words too much.
I have always, always wanted to be a mother. I know that in today's modern world women are supposed to be ambitious and have their own careers and lives but I've never been that type-A. I think I'm unambitious out of self-preservation; I tend to take things to extremes and when something is important to me I give it 500%. Ambition would be the death of me. Being a wife and mother has always been enough of a goal in my mind. That's probably not the sort of thing a woman is supposed to confess to but there it is.
My pregnancy was a surprise but not an unwelcome one. It wasn't the way I'd planned on being a mother but I was disinclined to be picky. I wanted a baby and I was having a baby. Maybe it's because I know exactly why I made the decision I did, and because I know so many other birth mothers whose decisions were similarly selfless, but I am always surprised when someone assumes I placed Roo because I didn't want to be a mother. Placement had nothing to do with wanting to be a mother or not wanting to be a mother. It was about what was best for the little girl I love so much. It was a choice I made as a mother.
I very much want kids. I know that single women aren't supposed to say that because we come across as baby-hungry and people get these ideas that I instantly assess every date as a potential father, that I've picked out names for all my children, that I can't hear normal conversation over the sound of my own biological clock ticking. Judge me if you will, but I do want children. I would love to have children, and preferably before my fertility starts to nosedive. But I'm not going to do it by myself. If I don't get married, I'm not going to have more kids. I don't care how well-off I end up, how successful or happy or anything else. I will not be a single mother again. I wanted Roo to have two married parents who love each other. Why would I want anything less for any other children I might have?
There's a selfishness behind this determination as well. Here's another uncomfortable truth: my pregnancy was the absolute bloody loneliest time of my entire life. I don't think I've ever felt so alone and I hope I never do again. I hated going to doctor's appointments because I was frequently the only woman in the waiting room without a husband or boyfriend. I invited H to come with me at first but I stopped after a few months because it was obvious he was never going to. I would surreptitiously assess the relationships of the couples in the waiting room and, without exception, they seemed to love each other. It hurt. I'd stare at my hands and wonder what I had done wrong that the father of my child didn't even like me.
I will not go through that again.
I want children, but I don't -just- want children. I want more for my children than I can give them by myself. Which means that although I would dearly love to be a mother, it's probably not going to happen. I'm okay with that. Because I had Roo, and if she's all I ever get, she's enough.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
FAQ: I Would Keep My Trap Shut
I used to get a lot of questions about my perspective on adoption. I probably still get a lot of them in my e-mail but I'm sorry to say I am several months behind on my e-mail. Anyway. There's a question I was asked more than once and I always meant to answer it but I never got around to it until now.
The gist of the question is this - what would I do if I disagreed with how P and M were parenting Roo? Would I say something? Would I try to get them to do things my way?
The very short answer is that I'd keep my trap shut, because how presumptuous would it be for someone without children to offer parenting advice to a couple with two children? I don't know what the heck I'm talking about. I have zero credibility.
Maybe not quite zero. (This begins the long answer, by the way.) I mean, I think I did okay in the time I parented. But before I had Roo, what I knew about parenting could fit in a text message. I didn't know what made a good parent, or what characteristics a good parent would have. When I started considering adoption, I made a list. It was short, but I thought it had the important things on it.
It wasn't until Roo was bigger - more than a year old - and I saw her interact with her parents - that I started to see things that were more important. P and M are good parents in ways that I never even would have thought of before. I find myself almost taking notes, thinking, "If I am ever blessed with children, I want to make sure I do this." It's not always things that seem big, either. It's little things, like the way they encourage Roo to speak for herself, even though she's very small. She is so confident for such a little thing. I know her parents taught her that.
Granted, I don't see or know everything. But I know P and M, and I know they are the very best parents for Roo. How could I think to question their parenting choices? The only thing that I can seem myself taking exception to is spanking. I don't think it's ever okay to hit a child (I know some of you are going to disagree with me here, but that's how I feel). When I was trying to choose a family for Roo, one of the first questions I asked was about discipline. There were a lot of areas in which I was willing to be flexible, but this wasn't one of them. I did not want Roo spanked. Ever.
In this, P and M and I are in accord. They believe there are more effective ways of disciplining a child. I was and am inclined to trust their authority on this because they already had parenting experience when Roo came along. I know that some birth moms want the children they place to be the first in the family, but I didn't want Roo to be the test pancake. I liked that she was going to have a sibling already, and that her parents knew what they were doing!
But even if they didn't, even if I happened to disagree with something or think they should do things differently, I would keep my trap shut. Because it is not my job to tell them how to raise their children. When I placed Roo with them, I did so trusting that they would act in her best interest. I did so, trusting them in general. If I thought they needed my parenting advice, I wouldn't have placed with them!
This isn't to say that I think P and M are absolutely perfect in every way and that I am never, ever going to disagree with them. We're all human; it would be creepy if we agreed on absolutely everything. But it doesn't matter if I would do things differently. It's not my call. I know that they love Roo every bit as much as I do, and if they've decided on a course of action, it's not my place to question them. If I'm blessed with children of my own, I'll do things my way. P and M get to parent their children their way.
I love them, and I trust them.
The gist of the question is this - what would I do if I disagreed with how P and M were parenting Roo? Would I say something? Would I try to get them to do things my way?
The very short answer is that I'd keep my trap shut, because how presumptuous would it be for someone without children to offer parenting advice to a couple with two children? I don't know what the heck I'm talking about. I have zero credibility.
Maybe not quite zero. (This begins the long answer, by the way.) I mean, I think I did okay in the time I parented. But before I had Roo, what I knew about parenting could fit in a text message. I didn't know what made a good parent, or what characteristics a good parent would have. When I started considering adoption, I made a list. It was short, but I thought it had the important things on it.
It wasn't until Roo was bigger - more than a year old - and I saw her interact with her parents - that I started to see things that were more important. P and M are good parents in ways that I never even would have thought of before. I find myself almost taking notes, thinking, "If I am ever blessed with children, I want to make sure I do this." It's not always things that seem big, either. It's little things, like the way they encourage Roo to speak for herself, even though she's very small. She is so confident for such a little thing. I know her parents taught her that.
Granted, I don't see or know everything. But I know P and M, and I know they are the very best parents for Roo. How could I think to question their parenting choices? The only thing that I can seem myself taking exception to is spanking. I don't think it's ever okay to hit a child (I know some of you are going to disagree with me here, but that's how I feel). When I was trying to choose a family for Roo, one of the first questions I asked was about discipline. There were a lot of areas in which I was willing to be flexible, but this wasn't one of them. I did not want Roo spanked. Ever.
In this, P and M and I are in accord. They believe there are more effective ways of disciplining a child. I was and am inclined to trust their authority on this because they already had parenting experience when Roo came along. I know that some birth moms want the children they place to be the first in the family, but I didn't want Roo to be the test pancake. I liked that she was going to have a sibling already, and that her parents knew what they were doing!
But even if they didn't, even if I happened to disagree with something or think they should do things differently, I would keep my trap shut. Because it is not my job to tell them how to raise their children. When I placed Roo with them, I did so trusting that they would act in her best interest. I did so, trusting them in general. If I thought they needed my parenting advice, I wouldn't have placed with them!
This isn't to say that I think P and M are absolutely perfect in every way and that I am never, ever going to disagree with them. We're all human; it would be creepy if we agreed on absolutely everything. But it doesn't matter if I would do things differently. It's not my call. I know that they love Roo every bit as much as I do, and if they've decided on a course of action, it's not my place to question them. If I'm blessed with children of my own, I'll do things my way. P and M get to parent their children their way.
I love them, and I trust them.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
How To Irritate an Adoptive Mother
I've found that in adoption circles, I am known as the "Happiest Sad Chick" but more specifically I'm remembered for two pieces of writing: my piece on cold risotto, and my rant called "How To Irritate a Birth Mother."
I've gotten quite a bit of e-mail lately on the latter; I can only assume I have new readers who have only recently discovered it (Hello, new people!). A few weeks ago, I heard from one of those new readers, Sharon. She is the mother of an absolutely darling little girl named Ava, who was adopted. Sharon blogs about adoption and other things at I Believe in Miracles. (I love this post from a few days ago.)
Sharon contacted me to see if it would be okay if she pulled from "How to Irritate a Birth Mother" for her blog, and I was very interested to see what she came up with. You can read the results here: *click*
I loved reading Sharon's take on some of the stupid questions I get. I suppose that it's naïveté on my part that I never considered adoptive parents having to answer stupid questions about birth parents, too. In this respect I suppose I'm lucky - I only have to answer stupid birthmother-related questions. Couples who have adopted get stupid adoptive parent-related questions AND stupid birthmother-related questions.
Click on over to Sharon's blog for her take on stupid questions, and stay for a while to read some of the inspiring things she's written about adoption. Parenthetically, she lives not far from a place called The Lion Park so her blog also has pictures of Ava petting a lion cub. You have no idea how jealous I am :)
I've gotten quite a bit of e-mail lately on the latter; I can only assume I have new readers who have only recently discovered it (Hello, new people!). A few weeks ago, I heard from one of those new readers, Sharon. She is the mother of an absolutely darling little girl named Ava, who was adopted. Sharon blogs about adoption and other things at I Believe in Miracles. (I love this post from a few days ago.)
Sharon contacted me to see if it would be okay if she pulled from "How to Irritate a Birth Mother" for her blog, and I was very interested to see what she came up with. You can read the results here: *click*
I loved reading Sharon's take on some of the stupid questions I get. I suppose that it's naïveté on my part that I never considered adoptive parents having to answer stupid questions about birth parents, too. In this respect I suppose I'm lucky - I only have to answer stupid birthmother-related questions. Couples who have adopted get stupid adoptive parent-related questions AND stupid birthmother-related questions.
Click on over to Sharon's blog for her take on stupid questions, and stay for a while to read some of the inspiring things she's written about adoption. Parenthetically, she lives not far from a place called The Lion Park so her blog also has pictures of Ava petting a lion cub. You have no idea how jealous I am :)
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Unrealistic Expectations, Take Two
I was asked once if I felt like my blog gave couples unrealistic ideas about what to expect from an adoption. You can read about that here. Here's the flip side of that question.
Are you worried that a birth mom might read your blog and get the wrong idea about adoption? It's not a happy-sad, it's a sad-sad, and I think you are making a mistake by not telling that part of it.
Um, have you read my blog?
If you think my view of adoption is a bit too rosy, I suggest you go back in my archives to September of 2009. I was NOT happy. I was a wreck. It was not sunshine and ponies. It was hell. It's certainly not anymore, but I was very unhappy for quite a while.
I can see where you might think that I mislead people about adoption if I were to set myself up as the official birthmother spokesperson. If I claimed that I spoke for others, then yes, I would absolutely be guilty as charged.
But I've never claimed to speak for anyone other than myself. My blog is about my experience with adoption. Yours may differ, and that's fine. Yours will differ, in fact. Each adoption is unique. No other birth mother is going to have the exact experience I had. Adoption can be a wonderful thing, but much like a weight loss program, results may vary.
I credit my readers with being smart enough to know that this blog is just one person's story - mine. I've never once had anyone tell me that my story misled them or gave them incorrect ideas about adoption or what placement is like. If anyone has felt that way, they've kept it to themselves. But I think I've made it abundantly clear that adoption is hard. I certainly don't think anyone is going to read my blog and think that placement is one big party.
If you have a burning question for me, e-mail me at thehappiestsad AT gmail DOT com or use the Formspring widget in my sidebar.
Are you worried that a birth mom might read your blog and get the wrong idea about adoption? It's not a happy-sad, it's a sad-sad, and I think you are making a mistake by not telling that part of it.
Um, have you read my blog?
If you think my view of adoption is a bit too rosy, I suggest you go back in my archives to September of 2009. I was NOT happy. I was a wreck. It was not sunshine and ponies. It was hell. It's certainly not anymore, but I was very unhappy for quite a while.
I can see where you might think that I mislead people about adoption if I were to set myself up as the official birthmother spokesperson. If I claimed that I spoke for others, then yes, I would absolutely be guilty as charged.
But I've never claimed to speak for anyone other than myself. My blog is about my experience with adoption. Yours may differ, and that's fine. Yours will differ, in fact. Each adoption is unique. No other birth mother is going to have the exact experience I had. Adoption can be a wonderful thing, but much like a weight loss program, results may vary.
I credit my readers with being smart enough to know that this blog is just one person's story - mine. I've never once had anyone tell me that my story misled them or gave them incorrect ideas about adoption or what placement is like. If anyone has felt that way, they've kept it to themselves. But I think I've made it abundantly clear that adoption is hard. I certainly don't think anyone is going to read my blog and think that placement is one big party.
If you have a burning question for me, e-mail me at thehappiestsad AT gmail DOT com or use the Formspring widget in my sidebar.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Boundaries
Today's post is lifted from my Formspring because I've been too lazy to write out anything new. But I thought it was a good question, and I don't know how many people ever look at my Formspring (I forget sometimes, myself) so I thought I'd borrow (also, I may have edited it a bit).
Anyway. Here's today's question:
Did you and P&M have a formal discussion about boundaries or did everyone just get it? How do you guys handle behaviors or situations that make the other feel uncomfortable?
We've never had a big talk about boundaries that I can think of but I also don't think we all just "get it." Little things have come up here and there and when they do we very respectfully say, "This isn't working for me/us, this is why, this is what would be better."
Communication about this sort of thing can be very awkward and intimidating, you're always worried about hurt feelings or saying the wrong thing (or maybe that's just me). And in the interest of brutal honesty, in a couple of instances my knee-jerk reaction was to take it personally, but I got over it because I know that it's not meant to be anything personal. I know that P and M love me no matter what, and they want the very best for Roo (which includes her having parents who don't feel uncomfortable about things with her birth mother).
I know that before placement, and during placement itself, we always hear that adoption is about love. Well, it's about love after adoption too. P and M have been very good about addressing things and at the same time emphasizing that they still love me and care about me. I try to do the same. When I start to feel awkward or worry about things, I remind myself of that. And I remind myself that they're not just a couple I placed with. They are Roo's parents, and she loves them, and they love her. It helps keep things in perspective.
Allow me to state, as I have before, that our relationship certainly isn't perfect (whose is?), and that your results may vary. But, short answer, it's sort of a situational thing. I trust them to let me know if I overstep my bounds.
Anyway. Here's today's question:
Did you and P&M have a formal discussion about boundaries or did everyone just get it? How do you guys handle behaviors or situations that make the other feel uncomfortable?
We've never had a big talk about boundaries that I can think of but I also don't think we all just "get it." Little things have come up here and there and when they do we very respectfully say, "This isn't working for me/us, this is why, this is what would be better."
Communication about this sort of thing can be very awkward and intimidating, you're always worried about hurt feelings or saying the wrong thing (or maybe that's just me). And in the interest of brutal honesty, in a couple of instances my knee-jerk reaction was to take it personally, but I got over it because I know that it's not meant to be anything personal. I know that P and M love me no matter what, and they want the very best for Roo (which includes her having parents who don't feel uncomfortable about things with her birth mother).
I know that before placement, and during placement itself, we always hear that adoption is about love. Well, it's about love after adoption too. P and M have been very good about addressing things and at the same time emphasizing that they still love me and care about me. I try to do the same. When I start to feel awkward or worry about things, I remind myself of that. And I remind myself that they're not just a couple I placed with. They are Roo's parents, and she loves them, and they love her. It helps keep things in perspective.
Allow me to state, as I have before, that our relationship certainly isn't perfect (whose is?), and that your results may vary. But, short answer, it's sort of a situational thing. I trust them to let me know if I overstep my bounds.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Formspring Revisited: Single Parents
I was asked this question months ago and I thought it was a good one.
Are you friends with any single parents? Is that hard?
I am friends with two single mothers, but they're both also birth mothers, so that situation isn't hard. Both chose adoption for their second children because they knew firsthand how hard single parenting was. I respect them greatly. I think that the decision to place must be that much harder when you're a mother already, and you know you can be a single parent.
Beyond those I consider friends, I am acquainted with several single mothers, and I don't wish to sound insensitive, but seeing how hard their lives are makes me happy that Roo doesn't have to deal with the drama of having a single mom. So, far from it being hard for me, it actually helps reinforce the decision I made. I don't envy them their lives for a second. If it works for them, fine, but it's not something I wanted for myself or for my baby.
That's how I feel now. Things were different when I was pregnant and considering adoption. Seeing single mothers was a lot harder. I always sort of felt that adoption was right, and I was certainly pressured by some people to choose adoption. I'd see single moms, many of them younger and less stable than I was, and I'd think, how come they get to keep their babies and I don't? Why did they get congratulations when all I get is warnings and unsolicited advice? It seemed grossly unfair. It still does, actually. I am a firm believer that if a woman announces she's pregnant, she should be congratulated almost no matter what her circumstances (almost, because sometimes bad things happen that result in a pregnancy). I don't care if she's single, on welfare, living in a van down by the river and has five other children. Babies are awesome. Congratulations are in order (she's already pregnant, so being a jerk about it, even if you feel she's made a mistake, won't change a darn thing).
I digress.
It bothered me that the girls I'd worked with at the hair salon, girls barely out of their teens with strange tattoos and piercings and ex-con boyfriends, got to keep their surprise babies and I, essentially a good, responsible girl, had to give mine up.
But I don't feel that way any more. I wouldn't trade lives with any of them. I didn't give my baby up. I gave her the best life I could. I didn't want her to have a single mother, even if that single mother was me.
Are you friends with any single parents? Is that hard?
I am friends with two single mothers, but they're both also birth mothers, so that situation isn't hard. Both chose adoption for their second children because they knew firsthand how hard single parenting was. I respect them greatly. I think that the decision to place must be that much harder when you're a mother already, and you know you can be a single parent.
Beyond those I consider friends, I am acquainted with several single mothers, and I don't wish to sound insensitive, but seeing how hard their lives are makes me happy that Roo doesn't have to deal with the drama of having a single mom. So, far from it being hard for me, it actually helps reinforce the decision I made. I don't envy them their lives for a second. If it works for them, fine, but it's not something I wanted for myself or for my baby.
That's how I feel now. Things were different when I was pregnant and considering adoption. Seeing single mothers was a lot harder. I always sort of felt that adoption was right, and I was certainly pressured by some people to choose adoption. I'd see single moms, many of them younger and less stable than I was, and I'd think, how come they get to keep their babies and I don't? Why did they get congratulations when all I get is warnings and unsolicited advice? It seemed grossly unfair. It still does, actually. I am a firm believer that if a woman announces she's pregnant, she should be congratulated almost no matter what her circumstances (almost, because sometimes bad things happen that result in a pregnancy). I don't care if she's single, on welfare, living in a van down by the river and has five other children. Babies are awesome. Congratulations are in order (she's already pregnant, so being a jerk about it, even if you feel she's made a mistake, won't change a darn thing).
I digress.
It bothered me that the girls I'd worked with at the hair salon, girls barely out of their teens with strange tattoos and piercings and ex-con boyfriends, got to keep their surprise babies and I, essentially a good, responsible girl, had to give mine up.
But I don't feel that way any more. I wouldn't trade lives with any of them. I didn't give my baby up. I gave her the best life I could. I didn't want her to have a single mother, even if that single mother was me.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Encore?
When you're a birth mom, you're going to get certain questions. Plenty of them are stupid and insulting and irritating, but you get used to them after a while. You come up with your own carefully crafted responses or ways to brush them off, and they're neither a big deal, nor very thought-provoking.
But some of the questions you get are worth sincere responses, and some of them are worth pondering. I get asked one of those questions every now and then - if I could go back and do it all over again, would I still place Roo with P and M? The answer is, absolutely, unequivocally yes. I would do it again in a second, no question. It has been the best thing in the world for Roo, and things haven't worked out too badly for me, either.
There's another question that sometimes goes along with the first, and it's one I want to answer today. If I found out tomorrow that I was pregnant, would I choose adoption again? Of course, if I found out tomorrow that I was pregnant, I would probably feature prominently in a number of medical journals as the first case of human parthenogenesis. (I cannot even believe that word passed my spell check.) I'm stronger now than I used to be. I can't conceive (no pun intended) of ever again being in a position where I would have to consider adoption.
I don't mean to disparage any birth moms who are in that position, though. Every person and every situation is different. I am NOT going to judge. I know of a strong, amazing woman who has placed two children. I am in awe of her strength. But in my case, with the person I am now, if I'm ever pregnant again, my husband is going to be the first person I tell.
But let's just say that's not the case. Let's pretend I ended up in a similar situation to the one I was in a couple of years ago. Would I place a second child for adoption? Obviously, things have worked out well with Roo's situation. I'd like to say that because of that, a repeat scenario would automatically mean adoption, no question, and the decision would be easy.
I'm not sure it would. I'm sure that adoption would be among the first thoughts to cross my mind, but I doubt very much that the decision would be an easy one. Adoption is never an easy choice. I still remember the acute pain of placement. It's not so far behind me that I can't remember it with clarity. I don't think I could quickly decide to put myself through that again. When I told family members I was pregnant, they all seemed to think the right choice was obvious - of course I was going to place my baby. How could I even think about anything else?
I could think about other things because I loved my baby so much already, and I wanted to be her mommy. Just thinking about being separated from my little girl was too much for me to handle when I was pregnant. It was too upsetting. I would love a second child just as much, and want to be his or her mommy just as badly. I don't think it would be a single iota less painful to consider adoption the second time around. I think it might actually be more painful, because I'd imagine that doing it all a second time would bring back the pain of the first time, and I would miss Roo that much more.
Would adoption be an automatic, a given? Absolutely not.
But the fact is, this hypothetical second child would deserve everything that Roo deserves. How could I deny baby #2 the things I insisted on for Roo? Baby #2 would be just as precious, just as loved - just as deserving of the kind of life Roo has. How could I justify placing Roo but parenting a second child? I couldn't. My own pain would be as selfish a reason the second time as it was the first.
I think that ultimately I would have to place a second child, too, for the sake of that child and my own peace of mind. But it would be an agonizing process, and knowing what I was in for would likely make it that much worse. That's why I am never going to be in that position again. I didn't enjoy it the first time. It's not going to happen again.
But some of the questions you get are worth sincere responses, and some of them are worth pondering. I get asked one of those questions every now and then - if I could go back and do it all over again, would I still place Roo with P and M? The answer is, absolutely, unequivocally yes. I would do it again in a second, no question. It has been the best thing in the world for Roo, and things haven't worked out too badly for me, either.
There's another question that sometimes goes along with the first, and it's one I want to answer today. If I found out tomorrow that I was pregnant, would I choose adoption again? Of course, if I found out tomorrow that I was pregnant, I would probably feature prominently in a number of medical journals as the first case of human parthenogenesis. (I cannot even believe that word passed my spell check.) I'm stronger now than I used to be. I can't conceive (no pun intended) of ever again being in a position where I would have to consider adoption.
I don't mean to disparage any birth moms who are in that position, though. Every person and every situation is different. I am NOT going to judge. I know of a strong, amazing woman who has placed two children. I am in awe of her strength. But in my case, with the person I am now, if I'm ever pregnant again, my husband is going to be the first person I tell.
But let's just say that's not the case. Let's pretend I ended up in a similar situation to the one I was in a couple of years ago. Would I place a second child for adoption? Obviously, things have worked out well with Roo's situation. I'd like to say that because of that, a repeat scenario would automatically mean adoption, no question, and the decision would be easy.
I'm not sure it would. I'm sure that adoption would be among the first thoughts to cross my mind, but I doubt very much that the decision would be an easy one. Adoption is never an easy choice. I still remember the acute pain of placement. It's not so far behind me that I can't remember it with clarity. I don't think I could quickly decide to put myself through that again. When I told family members I was pregnant, they all seemed to think the right choice was obvious - of course I was going to place my baby. How could I even think about anything else?
I could think about other things because I loved my baby so much already, and I wanted to be her mommy. Just thinking about being separated from my little girl was too much for me to handle when I was pregnant. It was too upsetting. I would love a second child just as much, and want to be his or her mommy just as badly. I don't think it would be a single iota less painful to consider adoption the second time around. I think it might actually be more painful, because I'd imagine that doing it all a second time would bring back the pain of the first time, and I would miss Roo that much more.
Would adoption be an automatic, a given? Absolutely not.
But the fact is, this hypothetical second child would deserve everything that Roo deserves. How could I deny baby #2 the things I insisted on for Roo? Baby #2 would be just as precious, just as loved - just as deserving of the kind of life Roo has. How could I justify placing Roo but parenting a second child? I couldn't. My own pain would be as selfish a reason the second time as it was the first.
I think that ultimately I would have to place a second child, too, for the sake of that child and my own peace of mind. But it would be an agonizing process, and knowing what I was in for would likely make it that much worse. That's why I am never going to be in that position again. I didn't enjoy it the first time. It's not going to happen again.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Unrealistic Expectations
Someone e-mailed me a question a few weeks ago and I've been sort of sitting on it since then, unsure of exactly how to answer it because I'm unsure of exactly what the point of the question was.
But I've been thinking about it, and I've got an idea or two about what I want to say, and so here it is.
The question (I've paraphrased):
Do you ever think that your blog might give birthmothers an unrealistic idea about openness and their relationship with their baby's adoptive parents? Or that potential adoptive parents might get wrong ideas about their birth mom's maturity and the relationship they might have?
My knee-jerk response is to be a bit defensive - understandably, in my opinion. My story and the people in it are all precious to me, and I turn into an angry mama bear if I feel like my adoption story is being criticized at all. Take exception to me and my personality and attitude if you want, but you'd just better leave P and M out of it.
But as I've thought about it, I think I can sort of see where this question is going. Mine is a happy adoption story. Maybe it seems too good to be true to people who have had unhappy adoption experiences. Of course, I think y'all know how I feel about people who let their bad experiences ruin things for the rest of us. But I thought, maybe the question-asker is in the pre-placement phase of adoption and isn't sure what to expect. I like that point of view better, and that's the one I will respectfully address here.
As I said, Roo's adoption story is a happy one. It started off as a happy sad, and now it's mostly a happy happy. This is my blog, and I tell the adoption story I know best. I've tried to emphasize that my story is just that: mine. I don't pretend to speak for anyone else, or set myself up as an example of how everyone's adoption should be. I'm not saying, this is how your adoption should be, or how it could be. I'm saying, this is how mine is - it's imperfect, but it works.
I'm acutely aware that my situation is what many would consider a best-case scenario. I know that a lot of people aren't as lucky as I am in that regard. But you know what? There are a lot of negative, angry adoption stories clogging the internet, and I feel like my happy story helps to balance them out.
Every adoption is different, because every person is different and they're going to relate to other people differently. My story - Roo's story - is the way it is because of who I am, and who P and M are. The only adoption in the world that is going to be like Roo's is ... well, Roo's. I do think that maybe my story is an example of the potential that there is in an open adoption and of the kind of growth and healing that openness can foster. If all the parties involved are mature and willing to communicate with each other and be honest, open adoption can be an amazing, wonderful thing.
But it depends on who you are, and where you are in life, and if you're willing to work for it. You get out of a relationship just what you put into it. I'm not going to say that my relationship with Roo's parents is perfect - far from it, with my lousy people skills! - but I do feel like it gets better as time passes. It is continually evolving, and I do feel like we're in a place where if anything needed to change or needed to be said, it could probably be changed or said. I think that's the important thing - not that we're at some level of openness that others perceive to be ideal, but that what we've got works for us, and that we're comfortable discussing things when we need to.
I'll say it again - my relationship with P and M is far from perfect. But no relationship is perfect! Not a single one. People are imperfect. I am an abysmal communicator, and I made mistakes early on in our relationship that I'd take back if I could. But we love each other. They are Roo's parents, and I love them. No matter what happens, I know that P and M love me, too, and most important, they love Roo. I'm not going to say that love conquers all, but it helps.
So, I guess the short answer (I'm no good at those) is that, no, I don't think it does. I'm going to credit my blog readers with being smart enough to know I'm just one person writing about one experience.
But I've been thinking about it, and I've got an idea or two about what I want to say, and so here it is.
The question (I've paraphrased):
Do you ever think that your blog might give birthmothers an unrealistic idea about openness and their relationship with their baby's adoptive parents? Or that potential adoptive parents might get wrong ideas about their birth mom's maturity and the relationship they might have?
My knee-jerk response is to be a bit defensive - understandably, in my opinion. My story and the people in it are all precious to me, and I turn into an angry mama bear if I feel like my adoption story is being criticized at all. Take exception to me and my personality and attitude if you want, but you'd just better leave P and M out of it.
But as I've thought about it, I think I can sort of see where this question is going. Mine is a happy adoption story. Maybe it seems too good to be true to people who have had unhappy adoption experiences. Of course, I think y'all know how I feel about people who let their bad experiences ruin things for the rest of us. But I thought, maybe the question-asker is in the pre-placement phase of adoption and isn't sure what to expect. I like that point of view better, and that's the one I will respectfully address here.
As I said, Roo's adoption story is a happy one. It started off as a happy sad, and now it's mostly a happy happy. This is my blog, and I tell the adoption story I know best. I've tried to emphasize that my story is just that: mine. I don't pretend to speak for anyone else, or set myself up as an example of how everyone's adoption should be. I'm not saying, this is how your adoption should be, or how it could be. I'm saying, this is how mine is - it's imperfect, but it works.
I'm acutely aware that my situation is what many would consider a best-case scenario. I know that a lot of people aren't as lucky as I am in that regard. But you know what? There are a lot of negative, angry adoption stories clogging the internet, and I feel like my happy story helps to balance them out.
Every adoption is different, because every person is different and they're going to relate to other people differently. My story - Roo's story - is the way it is because of who I am, and who P and M are. The only adoption in the world that is going to be like Roo's is ... well, Roo's. I do think that maybe my story is an example of the potential that there is in an open adoption and of the kind of growth and healing that openness can foster. If all the parties involved are mature and willing to communicate with each other and be honest, open adoption can be an amazing, wonderful thing.
But it depends on who you are, and where you are in life, and if you're willing to work for it. You get out of a relationship just what you put into it. I'm not going to say that my relationship with Roo's parents is perfect - far from it, with my lousy people skills! - but I do feel like it gets better as time passes. It is continually evolving, and I do feel like we're in a place where if anything needed to change or needed to be said, it could probably be changed or said. I think that's the important thing - not that we're at some level of openness that others perceive to be ideal, but that what we've got works for us, and that we're comfortable discussing things when we need to.
I'll say it again - my relationship with P and M is far from perfect. But no relationship is perfect! Not a single one. People are imperfect. I am an abysmal communicator, and I made mistakes early on in our relationship that I'd take back if I could. But we love each other. They are Roo's parents, and I love them. No matter what happens, I know that P and M love me, too, and most important, they love Roo. I'm not going to say that love conquers all, but it helps.
So, I guess the short answer (I'm no good at those) is that, no, I don't think it does. I'm going to credit my blog readers with being smart enough to know I'm just one person writing about one experience.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Why?
Most of this is lifted from my Formspring but I'm still without Internet access so I thought I'd cheat a little to tide y'all over until I can post regularly again.
There's a question that I seem to be getting a lot lately - why did I choose adoption after nine weeks? What changed for me? I've probably been asked at least three times in as many weeks. I'm not saying it's an unreasonable question. I can see why people might be curious. Of course, I've always felt like my blog was pretty self-explanatory. But then I went back through some of the archives – not much of it, because I hate my own writing in retrospect, but the pertinent stuff – and I discovered that I've been a bit nebulous about this particular issue. I apologize.
I got the question in my Formspring a few weeks ago but I sort of let it float for a while because for some reason, I didn't like the way it was asked. I'm not blaming the asker. I think I was in a funny mood when I read it, and I get a bit defensive about my placement story. I think to me it felt a little accusatory – like I'd changed my mind about wanting to be Roo's mother after having the job for a while, which absolutely wasn't the case. I didn't feel differently. If there was a difference, I wanted it even more than I did right after she was born.
This is a topic that is very dear and precious to me, and so I want to say this carefully and not write down the wrong thing. It's important! How can I best explain this without sharing things that are sacred to me?
Let me phrase it thus: I always knew what Roo deserved, and what she needed. My biggest obstacle to choosing adoption was my fear that it would undo me, that the pain of placement would be more than I could bear. Of course, nine weeks of motherhood is only going to sharpen that kind of pain, isn't it? And I reckon it did, although it's the only way I know. I don't know what it would have been like to place right after Roo was born.
I wanted to be Roo's mommy as soon as I knew she was growing in my belly. I want to make that much abundantly clear. It was never an issue of me changing my mind about being a single mother. Rather, the more time that passed, the more my love grew for that little girl, and the more I loved her the harder it became to deny her what I knew she needed the very most.
When Roo was seven weeks old, I came to realize something important. I realized that although adoption might mean abject misery for myself, not choosing adoption meant abject misery for Roo and for me. I had caught glimpses over the weeks of what Roo's life might be like as she got older, and they terrified me. I came to the point where I knew I would never be able to forgive myself, to live with myself, if I didn't do what was best for my precious baby.
There are other factors and elements that are too personal and private to share, but that's the short version. Basically, I'm a little slow - sometimes it takes me a while to do the right thing. But I did eventually, and that's what's important. I have never regretted it for a second. I would place Roo with P and M again in a heartbeat.
There's a question that I seem to be getting a lot lately - why did I choose adoption after nine weeks? What changed for me? I've probably been asked at least three times in as many weeks. I'm not saying it's an unreasonable question. I can see why people might be curious. Of course, I've always felt like my blog was pretty self-explanatory. But then I went back through some of the archives – not much of it, because I hate my own writing in retrospect, but the pertinent stuff – and I discovered that I've been a bit nebulous about this particular issue. I apologize.
I got the question in my Formspring a few weeks ago but I sort of let it float for a while because for some reason, I didn't like the way it was asked. I'm not blaming the asker. I think I was in a funny mood when I read it, and I get a bit defensive about my placement story. I think to me it felt a little accusatory – like I'd changed my mind about wanting to be Roo's mother after having the job for a while, which absolutely wasn't the case. I didn't feel differently. If there was a difference, I wanted it even more than I did right after she was born.
This is a topic that is very dear and precious to me, and so I want to say this carefully and not write down the wrong thing. It's important! How can I best explain this without sharing things that are sacred to me?
Let me phrase it thus: I always knew what Roo deserved, and what she needed. My biggest obstacle to choosing adoption was my fear that it would undo me, that the pain of placement would be more than I could bear. Of course, nine weeks of motherhood is only going to sharpen that kind of pain, isn't it? And I reckon it did, although it's the only way I know. I don't know what it would have been like to place right after Roo was born.
I wanted to be Roo's mommy as soon as I knew she was growing in my belly. I want to make that much abundantly clear. It was never an issue of me changing my mind about being a single mother. Rather, the more time that passed, the more my love grew for that little girl, and the more I loved her the harder it became to deny her what I knew she needed the very most.
When Roo was seven weeks old, I came to realize something important. I realized that although adoption might mean abject misery for myself, not choosing adoption meant abject misery for Roo and for me. I had caught glimpses over the weeks of what Roo's life might be like as she got older, and they terrified me. I came to the point where I knew I would never be able to forgive myself, to live with myself, if I didn't do what was best for my precious baby.
There are other factors and elements that are too personal and private to share, but that's the short version. Basically, I'm a little slow - sometimes it takes me a while to do the right thing. But I did eventually, and that's what's important. I have never regretted it for a second. I would place Roo with P and M again in a heartbeat.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
"Dating" a Birth Mom
I was asked a few months ago for a bit of advice. I get asked for advice not irregularly, which is both flattering an intimidating. I don't feel like I know enough about anything on earth to give advice. But people will ask me anyway, and I try to come up with something useful to say.
Anyway. A few months ago, a hopeful adoptive mama e-mailed me. She and her husband were going to meet with a potential birth mother, and she was a nervous wreck. I can't blame her. I'd be nervous, too. And in fact, I was. I'm pretty sure that's what I ended up saying in the e-mail. As nervous as a couple might be, the potential birth mom is just as nervous. It's a pretty intimidating meeting for everyone involved. You want it to go well. You want to make a good impression. You want the other party to like you. Granted, the potential birth mother's got the upper hand here, because the decision is hers to make. But that doesn't mean she's not in a cold sweat at the thought of meeting a couple.
I remember being terrified at the prospect of meeting hopeful adoptive couples. I wanted them to like me, but not because I might give them a baby. I wanted them to like me because they thought I was a good person. I'm sure the couples I met got their hopes up a bit, and I'll confess that I did as well. I'd heard stories from other birth moms about how they felt when they met the couples they eventually chose, and I was looking forward to a heavenly choir of my own, or at least a bit of déjà vu. Neither of which I got with P and M, by the way.
I digress.
I've often found parallels between dating and waiting for placement, and there's another one here - it's overly simplistic and highly imperfect. But even so. Think of meeting with a birth mom as a sort of first date with someone you've met on-line. The comparison isn't a perfect one, obviously, because a birth mom doesn't meet every couple she has contact with. But as far as meeting with a potential birth mom goes, remember, you are attempting to start a real-life relationship, same as you would with dating.
When you were dating, would you assume that every person who asked you out wanted to marry you? Probably not. You're asked out because he or she wants to get to know you better and see if there's the potential for a more meaningful relationship. Likewise, a meeting with a potential birth mom doesn't necessarily mean she's ready to pick you. It means she's thinking about you and wants to meet in person to get better acquainted.
So, let's say you've been on a first date with someone and you had a great time. Maybe they had a great time, too, and they'll call you again and you'll enjoy another date. That would be wonderful, wouldn't it? But say that, although they had a good enough time, they're not particularly interested in a repeat performance. Would you take it personally? Would you see it as a sign that you'll never date again, never marry? Would you feel like this person was your only chance at dating, and give up?
I hope not. You might feel sad at first, and wonder what you did or said that made them lose interest. But I hope you'd feel better in a day or two and realize that just because this person doesn't want to go steady with you, doesn't mean no one else ever will, and it doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. You needn't take it personally.
Again, it's not a perfect parallel, but try to keep my clumsy analogy in mind when meeting with birth moms. If you meet with a birth mom once and never hear from her again, try not to take it personally. Odds are, it's nothing you did or said. She simply didn't feel you were right. It's no one's fault. And it doesn't mean you'll never be chosen.
One of the couples I met when I was pregnant had actually met with seven birth moms before being chosen. If they'd given up after I moved on, they wouldn't be parents today. But they had a little faith, and they persevered, and today they have a darling one-year-old girl who is their whole world.
It's okay to be nervous. It's okay to imagine what-ifs. It's perfectly okay to want to make a good impression, and I'd be worried if you didn't think, this could be the one. But it's also okay if this isn't the one. It's okay (or will be, anyway) if it doesn't work out. You might not think so right away. But don't lose hope. Just because this woman isn't your child's birth mom, doesn't mean you'll never be chosen.
I feel like this is probably some of the least-useful advice I've ever given, but I hope it was a little helpful just the same.
If you're in the mood for mostly-useless advice, drop me a line at thehappiestsad AT gmail DOT com.
Anyway. A few months ago, a hopeful adoptive mama e-mailed me. She and her husband were going to meet with a potential birth mother, and she was a nervous wreck. I can't blame her. I'd be nervous, too. And in fact, I was. I'm pretty sure that's what I ended up saying in the e-mail. As nervous as a couple might be, the potential birth mom is just as nervous. It's a pretty intimidating meeting for everyone involved. You want it to go well. You want to make a good impression. You want the other party to like you. Granted, the potential birth mother's got the upper hand here, because the decision is hers to make. But that doesn't mean she's not in a cold sweat at the thought of meeting a couple.
I remember being terrified at the prospect of meeting hopeful adoptive couples. I wanted them to like me, but not because I might give them a baby. I wanted them to like me because they thought I was a good person. I'm sure the couples I met got their hopes up a bit, and I'll confess that I did as well. I'd heard stories from other birth moms about how they felt when they met the couples they eventually chose, and I was looking forward to a heavenly choir of my own, or at least a bit of déjà vu. Neither of which I got with P and M, by the way.
I digress.
I've often found parallels between dating and waiting for placement, and there's another one here - it's overly simplistic and highly imperfect. But even so. Think of meeting with a birth mom as a sort of first date with someone you've met on-line. The comparison isn't a perfect one, obviously, because a birth mom doesn't meet every couple she has contact with. But as far as meeting with a potential birth mom goes, remember, you are attempting to start a real-life relationship, same as you would with dating.
When you were dating, would you assume that every person who asked you out wanted to marry you? Probably not. You're asked out because he or she wants to get to know you better and see if there's the potential for a more meaningful relationship. Likewise, a meeting with a potential birth mom doesn't necessarily mean she's ready to pick you. It means she's thinking about you and wants to meet in person to get better acquainted.
So, let's say you've been on a first date with someone and you had a great time. Maybe they had a great time, too, and they'll call you again and you'll enjoy another date. That would be wonderful, wouldn't it? But say that, although they had a good enough time, they're not particularly interested in a repeat performance. Would you take it personally? Would you see it as a sign that you'll never date again, never marry? Would you feel like this person was your only chance at dating, and give up?
I hope not. You might feel sad at first, and wonder what you did or said that made them lose interest. But I hope you'd feel better in a day or two and realize that just because this person doesn't want to go steady with you, doesn't mean no one else ever will, and it doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you. You needn't take it personally.
Again, it's not a perfect parallel, but try to keep my clumsy analogy in mind when meeting with birth moms. If you meet with a birth mom once and never hear from her again, try not to take it personally. Odds are, it's nothing you did or said. She simply didn't feel you were right. It's no one's fault. And it doesn't mean you'll never be chosen.
One of the couples I met when I was pregnant had actually met with seven birth moms before being chosen. If they'd given up after I moved on, they wouldn't be parents today. But they had a little faith, and they persevered, and today they have a darling one-year-old girl who is their whole world.
It's okay to be nervous. It's okay to imagine what-ifs. It's perfectly okay to want to make a good impression, and I'd be worried if you didn't think, this could be the one. But it's also okay if this isn't the one. It's okay (or will be, anyway) if it doesn't work out. You might not think so right away. But don't lose hope. Just because this woman isn't your child's birth mom, doesn't mean you'll never be chosen.
I feel like this is probably some of the least-useful advice I've ever given, but I hope it was a little helpful just the same.
If you're in the mood for mostly-useless advice, drop me a line at thehappiestsad AT gmail DOT com.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Formspring Revisited: Brothers and Sisters
Note: this past week has been insanely busy, and I started but never finished six different posts. I plan on finishing them eventually, but I felt bad for neglecting my blog, so I thought I'd post something I wrote a few weeks ago and had floating around in the queue.
It's that time again - time for me to answer a question I've already answered! I'm awesome that way. In case you're wondering, I have considered setting my Formspring up so that whenever I answer a question, it updates my blog. But I don't like the idea of my blog doing anything behind my back. Plus, I usually think of better answers after I've already given answers, and this is another way for me to say exactly what I want to say.
When I answer e-mailed questions on my blog, I paraphrase. I'm going to do a little of that with my Formspring questions, just because sometimes I don't like the way people word things.
How would you feel if Roo's parents adopted again? Would you be upset?
I would never be upset. I wanted Roo to have siblings. I know that a lot of birth moms want their babies to be the first child in the families they place with, so they'll get more attention or whatever. I felt that way at first, but I also worried about my child being sort of the test subject for brand new parents. I know that someone's got to be the guinea pig, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it being my little girl! Also, I wanted siblings for Roo. Many couples who certify to adopt never actually do, and the ones who are blessed with a child have no guarantees that they'll ever end up with more than one child. The thought of Roo being an only child made me sad. When I considered P and M, I liked that they already had a child, because Roo got an instant big sister, and the two of them together are the cutest thing in the world. Even if P and M never do adopt again, Roo and her sister have each other, and they're both adopted, so they have that in common. They're both doubly loved.
So, would I be upset if Roo got a little brother or sister? Just the opposite - I'd be very happy for P and M, and in fact I hope they do adopt again if they want to. I think I'd be a bit sad for them if they wanted to but didn't for whatever reason. I always wanted a little brother or sister, so I would love for Roo to have one or two.
As I said, couples who adopt once have no guarantees they'll adopt again. A such, many couples begin the re-certification process as soon as they possibly can, to give themselves as much time and as many chances as they can to be chosen - and sometimes opportunities to adopt come up before a couple is certified again. I guess that's where my only worry came in, and it's long since past. Although I can't imagine it happening now, I worried for a bit that a chance to adopt again would come up when Roo was still very small, and that as an infant she would have to compete for parental attention with a newborn. But it was only a passing worry, and it passed.
Roo's mom and dad are wonderful parents, and I hope they end up with as many children as they'd like.
It's that time again - time for me to answer a question I've already answered! I'm awesome that way. In case you're wondering, I have considered setting my Formspring up so that whenever I answer a question, it updates my blog. But I don't like the idea of my blog doing anything behind my back. Plus, I usually think of better answers after I've already given answers, and this is another way for me to say exactly what I want to say.
When I answer e-mailed questions on my blog, I paraphrase. I'm going to do a little of that with my Formspring questions, just because sometimes I don't like the way people word things.
How would you feel if Roo's parents adopted again? Would you be upset?
I would never be upset. I wanted Roo to have siblings. I know that a lot of birth moms want their babies to be the first child in the families they place with, so they'll get more attention or whatever. I felt that way at first, but I also worried about my child being sort of the test subject for brand new parents. I know that someone's got to be the guinea pig, but I wasn't sure how I felt about it being my little girl! Also, I wanted siblings for Roo. Many couples who certify to adopt never actually do, and the ones who are blessed with a child have no guarantees that they'll ever end up with more than one child. The thought of Roo being an only child made me sad. When I considered P and M, I liked that they already had a child, because Roo got an instant big sister, and the two of them together are the cutest thing in the world. Even if P and M never do adopt again, Roo and her sister have each other, and they're both adopted, so they have that in common. They're both doubly loved.
So, would I be upset if Roo got a little brother or sister? Just the opposite - I'd be very happy for P and M, and in fact I hope they do adopt again if they want to. I think I'd be a bit sad for them if they wanted to but didn't for whatever reason. I always wanted a little brother or sister, so I would love for Roo to have one or two.
As I said, couples who adopt once have no guarantees they'll adopt again. A such, many couples begin the re-certification process as soon as they possibly can, to give themselves as much time and as many chances as they can to be chosen - and sometimes opportunities to adopt come up before a couple is certified again. I guess that's where my only worry came in, and it's long since past. Although I can't imagine it happening now, I worried for a bit that a chance to adopt again would come up when Roo was still very small, and that as an infant she would have to compete for parental attention with a newborn. But it was only a passing worry, and it passed.
Roo's mom and dad are wonderful parents, and I hope they end up with as many children as they'd like.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Up the Hill
I was asked some time ago about grief after placement. More specifically, I was asked what changed for me. What is it that helped me get past the worst of the pain, helped me to turn around, to feel happy again. I've been thinking about it for a while. I wasn't sure I wanted to answer, because it is a story that is meaningful to me personally but that might sound kind of ridiculous when written out. But I thought I'd give it a try anyway, in the hope that maybe someone will read it who is hurting, and I can help them hurt a little less.
The days right after placement were absolute hell for me. To say that I was unhappy would be an understatement of epic proportions. After a week or so, and after the first visit, things got a little easier, but I certainly wouldn't say life got a lot easier after that. It didn't. It sucked less. As time passed, pain started to seep away little by little like a slow leak.
And then, a few months after placement, I hit a standstill. I wasn't as depressed as I'd been immediately post-placement, but I didn't seem to be getting any happier, either. My hike back up the hill of mental health hit a roadblock. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get more than halfway up said metaphorical hill.
It was frustrating, and with that frustration came a number of other little things that acted as a mini landslide, which succeeded in knocking me back down the hill a few feet. I managed to climb back up to the peak I'd reached previously, but nothing in heaven or earth worked to get me to the top of that darned hill. I was ready to give up and pitch a tent.
I grew more and more frustrated and when the opportunity arose to do a school outreach presentation I nearly didn't take it. How, I thought, was I supposed to tell class after class of teenagers that adoption had made me happy when I didn't feel happy at all? I was beginning to think I was never going to be really happy ever again.
But something inside of me wouldn't let me say no, and so off I went, with a caseworker or two and a birth mom who had placed nearly 8 years ago. The birth mom, N, was someone whose story I'd heard before on more than one occasion and I liked and respected her. Since placement, N had married and had three children, and her story gave me hope for my own future. In my crabbiness, I think I'd have snapped at any other birth mom I might have presented with but for some reason I didn't mind N.
I told my story first, and if I was slightly less enthusiastic than normal no one noticed or at the very least no one said anything. After I finished, I gave a small smile and took my seat as N told her story.
It was the same story I'd heard her tell many times before, and I found myself drifting a bit. Then she got to the end. She told the kids that she had worried that the pain of placement would ruin her forever, that it would break her, and she would be forever broken.
Then N said three words I'm sure I must have heard before: "I'm not broken."
Such small words, but she said them with such force, such conviction that I felt them in my soul. I knew N wasn't just repeating a phrase she'd heart before. She was stating the absolute, irrefutable truth. She was NOT broken.
I can't explain it, but those three words changed something in me that day. They grew both roots in my heart and wings to carry them to my mind. They echoed in my head for hours. "I'm not broken."
Was I broken? I didn't want to be. I desperately didn't want to be. It felt wrong to me that I should go through so much pain and heartache and not come through it a stronger, better person. Being broken seemed wrong.
I decided something important that day. I decided that no matter how long it took me to climb that dratted hill, I would climb it. I would not give up, because I was not broken either.
The day N said those words - "I'm not broken" - was a turning point in my grief. I don't think it was until she said them that I realized I wasn't broken, either. I could be, if I so chose, but I didn't have to be broken, not for a second, if I didn't want it. I decided I didn't want it.
That's not to say that my pain is all gone or that there are no hard days and no tears. Certainly there are hard days! Certainly I cry! I still grieve a little. I think I'm entitled to; after all, my heart was broken. My heart was broken. But I was not.
My Father in Heaven asked me to exercise more faith than I thought I possessed and place my precious daughter with two people I had never met. He gave me the strength to do it. He saw me through the hard times afterward. I am not broken. He fixed me. I am whole.
The days right after placement were absolute hell for me. To say that I was unhappy would be an understatement of epic proportions. After a week or so, and after the first visit, things got a little easier, but I certainly wouldn't say life got a lot easier after that. It didn't. It sucked less. As time passed, pain started to seep away little by little like a slow leak.
And then, a few months after placement, I hit a standstill. I wasn't as depressed as I'd been immediately post-placement, but I didn't seem to be getting any happier, either. My hike back up the hill of mental health hit a roadblock. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to get more than halfway up said metaphorical hill.
It was frustrating, and with that frustration came a number of other little things that acted as a mini landslide, which succeeded in knocking me back down the hill a few feet. I managed to climb back up to the peak I'd reached previously, but nothing in heaven or earth worked to get me to the top of that darned hill. I was ready to give up and pitch a tent.
I grew more and more frustrated and when the opportunity arose to do a school outreach presentation I nearly didn't take it. How, I thought, was I supposed to tell class after class of teenagers that adoption had made me happy when I didn't feel happy at all? I was beginning to think I was never going to be really happy ever again.
But something inside of me wouldn't let me say no, and so off I went, with a caseworker or two and a birth mom who had placed nearly 8 years ago. The birth mom, N, was someone whose story I'd heard before on more than one occasion and I liked and respected her. Since placement, N had married and had three children, and her story gave me hope for my own future. In my crabbiness, I think I'd have snapped at any other birth mom I might have presented with but for some reason I didn't mind N.
I told my story first, and if I was slightly less enthusiastic than normal no one noticed or at the very least no one said anything. After I finished, I gave a small smile and took my seat as N told her story.
It was the same story I'd heard her tell many times before, and I found myself drifting a bit. Then she got to the end. She told the kids that she had worried that the pain of placement would ruin her forever, that it would break her, and she would be forever broken.
Then N said three words I'm sure I must have heard before: "I'm not broken."
Such small words, but she said them with such force, such conviction that I felt them in my soul. I knew N wasn't just repeating a phrase she'd heart before. She was stating the absolute, irrefutable truth. She was NOT broken.
I can't explain it, but those three words changed something in me that day. They grew both roots in my heart and wings to carry them to my mind. They echoed in my head for hours. "I'm not broken."
Was I broken? I didn't want to be. I desperately didn't want to be. It felt wrong to me that I should go through so much pain and heartache and not come through it a stronger, better person. Being broken seemed wrong.
I decided something important that day. I decided that no matter how long it took me to climb that dratted hill, I would climb it. I would not give up, because I was not broken either.
The day N said those words - "I'm not broken" - was a turning point in my grief. I don't think it was until she said them that I realized I wasn't broken, either. I could be, if I so chose, but I didn't have to be broken, not for a second, if I didn't want it. I decided I didn't want it.
That's not to say that my pain is all gone or that there are no hard days and no tears. Certainly there are hard days! Certainly I cry! I still grieve a little. I think I'm entitled to; after all, my heart was broken. My heart was broken. But I was not.
My Father in Heaven asked me to exercise more faith than I thought I possessed and place my precious daughter with two people I had never met. He gave me the strength to do it. He saw me through the hard times afterward. I am not broken. He fixed me. I am whole.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Formspring Revisited: What the H?
I'm not very good at remembering people's names. Or, if I remember their names, I don't remember their faces. For some reason, these rather important things are hard for me to get the first time or two. But one thing I always remember about a person I meet is his or her birthday.
Tomorrow is H's birthday. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I seem to get a lot of questions about H on my Formspring. Here are a few of them, in honor (if that's the right word) of his birthday.
On your blog what does H stand for? I mean it is obviously the birthfathers name but what is it?
I decided a long time ago I was never going to use my ex's name on my blog, and I haven't changed my mind. H stands for Him. Simple as that.
If you are my friend on Facebook (be my friend?), and you look back far enough, should you ever be that bored, you can find him. But I don't use his real name here and I never will. If you are dying of curiosity and would like a hint, I'll tell you that his name is also a verb.
Did the birth father help you pick a couple to place with?
Hahaha!
No, he certainly did not. He was willing to be involved as much as the law required if I single parented, but if I went with adoption he didn't want a thing to do with me or the baby. And then it turned out he didn't want a thing to do with me during the pregnancy anyway.
So, no. He wasn't involved at all. With anything, least of all the adoption.
I'm not sure how much of a fan of adoption he ever was, actually. I had him served with paperwork that said I planned on placing, and he let it slide. He later accused me of manipulating him out of signing it, and told me that if I was thinking about adoption, I should just sign all my rights over to him. Because apparently to him, if I was considering adoption, it meant I didn't care about the baby and just didn't want to be a mother. Blah.
Was the birth father there when the placement happened?
He wasn't. When I placed, I hadn't seen him for nearly a year.
Does the birth father get the same openness you do?
Not that I'm aware of. I haven't seen him in almost two years and I haven't communicated with him in more than one year, so I can't be sure, but it would very much surprise me. I don't think Roo's parents even know his last name. Well, maybe they do. I can't remember everything I told them about him. I would certainly tell them if they wanted to know. But I'm not aware of any contact.
Tomorrow is H's birthday. I don't think I'll ever forget that. I seem to get a lot of questions about H on my Formspring. Here are a few of them, in honor (if that's the right word) of his birthday.
On your blog what does H stand for? I mean it is obviously the birthfathers name but what is it?
I decided a long time ago I was never going to use my ex's name on my blog, and I haven't changed my mind. H stands for Him. Simple as that.
If you are my friend on Facebook (be my friend?), and you look back far enough, should you ever be that bored, you can find him. But I don't use his real name here and I never will. If you are dying of curiosity and would like a hint, I'll tell you that his name is also a verb.
Did the birth father help you pick a couple to place with?
Hahaha!
No, he certainly did not. He was willing to be involved as much as the law required if I single parented, but if I went with adoption he didn't want a thing to do with me or the baby. And then it turned out he didn't want a thing to do with me during the pregnancy anyway.
So, no. He wasn't involved at all. With anything, least of all the adoption.
I'm not sure how much of a fan of adoption he ever was, actually. I had him served with paperwork that said I planned on placing, and he let it slide. He later accused me of manipulating him out of signing it, and told me that if I was thinking about adoption, I should just sign all my rights over to him. Because apparently to him, if I was considering adoption, it meant I didn't care about the baby and just didn't want to be a mother. Blah.
Was the birth father there when the placement happened?
He wasn't. When I placed, I hadn't seen him for nearly a year.
Does the birth father get the same openness you do?
Not that I'm aware of. I haven't seen him in almost two years and I haven't communicated with him in more than one year, so I can't be sure, but it would very much surprise me. I don't think Roo's parents even know his last name. Well, maybe they do. I can't remember everything I told them about him. I would certainly tell them if they wanted to know. But I'm not aware of any contact.
Thursday, November 4, 2010
The Question Every Birth Mom Gets Asked
This one's borrowed from my Formspring, and I've expanded the answer. I have a feeling this is going to happen a lot this month.
When you found out you were pregnant did you think about getting an abortion?
Short answer: nope.
Long answer: Define "consider." Did abortion cross my mind? Absolutely. Was it ever an option for me? Absolutely not.
H let me know that he would have been okay with an abortion. I seem to recall that he offered to pay for one if that's what I chose. I've told that to people and they all seem to think it was just awful of him. I don't, because I know him (or rather, I thought I used to). I believe that was just his messed-up way of trying to help.
But ever since I was aware of things like unplanned pregnancies and abortions, I have known that I could never, ever have an abortion. I've always found abortion to be very morally yucky. I wanted Roo before I even found out I was pregnant. Nothing in this world could have changed that.
When you found out you were pregnant did you think about getting an abortion?
Short answer: nope.
Long answer: Define "consider." Did abortion cross my mind? Absolutely. Was it ever an option for me? Absolutely not.
H let me know that he would have been okay with an abortion. I seem to recall that he offered to pay for one if that's what I chose. I've told that to people and they all seem to think it was just awful of him. I don't, because I know him (or rather, I thought I used to). I believe that was just his messed-up way of trying to help.
But ever since I was aware of things like unplanned pregnancies and abortions, I have known that I could never, ever have an abortion. I've always found abortion to be very morally yucky. I wanted Roo before I even found out I was pregnant. Nothing in this world could have changed that.
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