God Didn’t Do This

This is normal, this happens….birth mothers do change their mind, there’s always that chance. Adoption reformers want more expectant mothers to give raising their baby themselves a chance, rather than succumbing to adoption industry coercion, manipulation and narratives.

Still, there is another side to such stories and so here is the point of view from the disappointment suffered by a prospective adoptive parents –

I would love to tell you that we have spent the last few days soaking in the joy of being new parents, but our birth mom changed her mind at discharge and they took our little girl. Instead of coming home to her room, she went home to an empty RV with only the outfit she was wearing. No crib, no clothes, no books, no bassinet, no nothing, her “home” is as empty as our hearts.

There is no greater pain than losing a child and while we’re so thankful that she’s okay; we have lost her and we’re not okay. The pain in our hearts hurts so deep that our bodies physically ache. We can’t eat or drink because it does not go past the lump in our throats. I have hundreds of messages asking about her and sending love and congratulations but I can’t even look at them. I don’t want to go in public, I don’t want to have to explain this, I don’t want to hear people say they are sorry.

We spent 5 months remodeling our house and getting her room ready, but now our house no longer feels like home. Carrying that empty carseat out of the hospital and into our house were the hardest steps I’ve ever taken in my life. I keep praying the birth mom will change her mind but I’m also truly struggling with my faith. How can God do this to us? What have I possibly done to deserve such heartache?

I’ve found my husband on the floor in her room reading her books and just sobbing. My son held me so close crying on my shoulder and said “mom you’re too kind for this world and it’s a blessing and curse, but please don’t let this change you. The world needs more people like you to be a light in the dark.” I quite literally melted to the floor, but how do you not let this change you??!?! I’m cold, I’m numb, I’m broken, I’m angry, I’m crushed, and I don’t even know how to start picking up the pieces and moving forward.

We need time, and I don’t know how long it will take or if I’ll ever find a way to get back to being me. I’m not going to be responding to anything gym, rescue, or school board related. Please don’t reach out for help right now because I can’t even help myself. Please pray for our hearts, please pray for the baby and her mother (we don’t even know what her name is because we asked her not to use our name.)

Please respect that we need time and space. I’m not going to be on social media and to be perfectly honest – I only picked up my phone just now to make this post, so people stop asking about her. I don’t know how she is, I don’t know where she is, and ever since our world came crumbling down around us, I don’t even know who I am. So please, just don’t ask.

Blogger’s Note – Welcome To The Empty Car Seat Club. The truth is, it is a privilege to bring a baby home from the hospital. When that baby is not actually yours, if you do bring the infant home, you are causing trauma for both – that baby and their biological genetic mother. I’m not surprised that the aftermath of such an unexpected change in plans is full of sadness, grief, an unfathomable feeling of loss, and a different life than was planned that must now be adjusted to. I wish the reality were easier to bear but the outcome was for the best. There is lots of time for that mom to surrender her baby but it becomes much less likely once she has the opportunity to bond with her infant.

Swear Vent and Color

I could be therapeutic. I have enjoyed coloring at various times in my life – don’t really have time now. I’m not an “angry” adoptee (just the child of two adoptees that found each other). However, this looks like a really fun way to release some emotions.

From LINK>Amazon where this book is available – The creators hope that being able to vent your feelings and thoughts in this Coloring & Journal book helps you along your healing journey.

Why an angry sweary coloring & journal book? Because punching people in the face is frowned upon, and anger isn’t great for your overall mental and physical health, if you hold on to it – so just let it all out !

As an adult adoptee that struggles with the 7 core issues of being adopted (loss, rejection, guilt and shame, grief, identity, intimacy, and mastery/control), I have created this therapeutic coloring book with angry quotes, original sweary coloring illustrations & patterns, journaling prompts and blank doodling pages (extra journal & doodle pages are included at the back).

A beneficial companion to therapy – the coloring pages will help reduce stress and anxiety, promoting mindfulness and reflection as you release your inner most angriest feelings about being adopted, adoption trauma, adoption laws, discrimination, and the adoption industry as a whole.

You don’t have to follow the journaling prompts, you can just write all your thoughts and feelings anywhere you please – this is YOUR healing journey and there are no rules.!

Helpful Tip – Don’t use felt tip markers – it might seep through to the next page. You can use colored pencils or even crayons, if you have them.

PS – I don’t know if the creators or Amazon put those “censored” stickers on the book cover but this was the only illustration I found.

Being Fatherless

From Huffington Post LINK>I Was Told My Father Was A ‘Deadbeat.’ After He Died, I Found Out Everything I Knew About Him Was Wrong. “In the foster care system, being a fatherless daughter was the status quo.” by TJ Butler.

Growing up, all I knew about my father was that he was a “deadbeat.” My parents divorced when I was 4. He was a musician, playing bass in rock and country bands ― the only job he’d ever had ― and child support payments were always contentious. I remember Mom complaining that Dad would show up to the court hearings wearing torn jeans and T-shirts. In one hearing in the ’80s, she was awarded less than $70 for two children, based on his income. (blogger’s note – I remember being awarded $25/mo, when I didn’t ask for child support at my divorce because I knew he would never pay it and I wasn’t going to spend my life in court fighting for it.)

When I was a few years older, my younger sister and I spent an occasional weekend with him. I have little recollection of the infrequent visits, but I have colorful memories of his apartment. Framed Beatles albums covered the walls, sharing space with antique Civil War memorabilia and his many bass guitars. My stepmother, who I thought of only as “my father’s new wife,” was beautiful; the coolest adult I’d ever met. When I got my first period at 10, she was the one who explained how to use tampons.

Like my father, my mother entered a new relationship shortly after my parents divorced. But her boyfriend was an alcoholic, prone to verbal abuse and physical violence. At 13, I ended up in foster care, living in group homes and residential children’s centers. There was little talk of family reunification during those years; the night I left my mother’s house at 13 turned out to be the last time I ever slept there.

The group homes and children’s residential centers where I lived during my teens focused on independent living. As I neared 18, I learned about adulting: grocery lists, budgeting money for rent and utilities, and how to write a resume. In the system, communication with family members is regulated. Since I didn’t grow up with him and he didn’t seem interested, none of my counselors or my social worker encouraged me to have a relationship with my father. Being fatherless was just another box to check when I filled out questionnaires for therapy.

When I aged out of foster care, I was angry, but it was directed inward. Rather than hurting others, I hurt myself. There were drugs and alcohol, body piercings and tattoos, and years of nude modeling. A decade later, I had an epiphany that I couldn’t continue the way I was living and quit the adult business. I took out my piercings and had my most visible tattoos removed. I finished a BA in management, secured a corporate job with good benefits, and married my wonderfully supportive husband.

When my father died in 2011 of Parkinson’s with Lewy body dementia, I didn’t go to his funeral. My feelings were confusing. Why was I sad that a man I hardly knew passed away? It took some time to realize that I wasn’t crying over the loss of a father. Instead, it was the realization that now he’d never be able to change his mind and become my dad.

Moving forward, she decided she wanted to meet her half-brother. Rather than admit that she planned to drive 700 miles to see him out of the blue, she told him she had “a writing thing” near him and asked if he wanted to meet for coffee while she was in town. He agreed. She was excited and nervous, and eager to learn about what life was like growing up with their father. He began to fill in the blanks about their father. The person she’d known little about transformed from a deadbeat into a man. She learned how good-natured he was before he got sick and about how their house had been the magnet for kids in the neighborhood to hang out. He told her that he could see a lot of their father in her face. Since she felt she didn’t resemble the people on her mother’s side, she was thrilled to finally look like someone she was related to. (blogger’s note – this is a common experience among adoptees in reunion as well – having a genetic mirror.)

She goes on to share – I began seeing a therapist to work out some issues with my mother. Although it wasn’t family therapy and we didn’t connect, my perspective changed dramatically. I saw her as a flawed human, rather than simply a bad mother. This new way of thinking answered many questions about why I ended up in foster care and why she chose not to let me come home. This clarity has brought me some closure. She ends with how meeting her half-siblings was “about connecting with a family who welcomed me with open arms. Spending time with them gave me something that wasn’t even on my radar to wish for. For the first time in my life, it felt like I belonged somewhere.”

Adoptees Becoming Mothers

One writes – Was just writing an email to my toddler daughter’s email account (it’s my way of preserving memories in lieu of a baby book) and realized: WOW. I couldn’t believe my birth mother gave up her own flesh and blood as a newborn when I held my daughter for the first time, but I also can’t believe how she’d give up these amazing toddler moments now either. And it’s not like she didn’t know…she had two children of her own already! Just a big F YOU to her. I’m so upset the more children I have, the more I watch them grow. I don’t understand it. I never will. And as much as I guess I love her? I’m still angry. And hurt. Even after all the conversations and heart to hearts. It is all just words. She still gave up her own baby. Later, she adds – I was an affair baby. So I was adopted simply because of who my father was. She had the resources (financially) to keep me. She just didn’t want the shame. If my birth mother had given me up due to lack of resources, I think I would feel much differently. Because that is a system problem, and a society problem. Not so much a personal one.

Another writes – I was pretty “healed” from my adoption trauma until I had my son. It ripped open wounds I forgot I had and gave me a WHOLE new perspective at just how f*cked up both of my moms were. We deserved better and I just remind myself all the time that my baby (possibly babies in the future) will NEVER know that kind of pain.

Yet another – My birth mom kept me for 4 months then put me up for adoption after she found out she was pregnant again. She went on to have and raise 4 children total including the one she was carrying when I was surrendered. I have 5 kids myself and it’s very hard to understand, as a mother.

And this – I know that my birthmother was placed under incredible pressure and everyone told her that if she loved me, she would relinquish me. And, also told her they would put her out on the street if she did not. She did not have access to other voices or assistance. She said no one told her that her body would ache for me and she would spend her life yearning for me. When I see comments from adoptees or former foster care youth that have experienced birthmothers who did not seem to grieve their loss, I feel terrible.

One notes – when we finally got to the point that I could have this talk with my mother, this is the same sentiment she shared. She had a lot of problems and wasn’t much of a mother when I was born. She thought I was getting a better home and a better life. The sadness in her voice when she realized the trauma I endured was… a lot to handle.

And this – I bought into the whole narrative of being grateful for being rescued. I was sure I didn’t even care to know my mother. Then I became one myself. I think that’s the first time it hit me. Whether she was anything special or not, I WAS. I was a precious new life. I should have been protected. I should have been shielded. I should have been wanted enough to cause whatever action was necessary to keep me. I wasn’t. And that’s HER loss… but it was my loss too.

Another – Having my own kids made me so angry about being given up voluntarily and utterly denied the comfort and co-regulation that I needed as a baby and that I saw my kids needing (and of course receiving from me). My birth mother had her reasons, and I quite like her, but ALSO on behalf of tiny, baby me: f- her. Having reasons doesn’t erase the trauma she caused.

One adopted at 7 hours old in a closed adoption writes – My birth mother already had a 2 year old, and gave me up. Then, she had 3 other kids after me. The reasons she gave me will Never. Be. Enough. Being a mom with two kids and seeing all the milestones etc…it just makes me confused and angry all over again, when I think about it. I still have trauma, I’m in counseling but I will never get over it or the feelings, and I will always have unanswered questions because the answers won’t be good enough.

From a mother who gave up her child – I did not know at all the trauma that it would cause my child. There were so many people in my ear telling me how beautiful adoption is and how I’m doing the “right thing” for my daughter. If I would have known then, what I know now, I would have NEVER put my child through that. I was conditioned to believe (based on my own shame and the false positivity all around me) that I was not worthy of caring for my baby. It pains me because it was never about her not being enough, but thinking I wasn’t. There is not a second that goes by where I am not wishing I was having those moments with her and I am mad that I robbed myself and mostly her of that.

Another echoed this – I believed that my son would hate me for keeping him instead of placing him. I believed that by placing him I was doing the very best for him because he would have stability and 2 parents. I never thought that anything bad would happen as a result of placing him. Of course, so many years later, I realized that I could have kept him and we would have been fine. But in 1973, at age 18, I didn’t know.

A woman writes – I have a sister in law who arrived here from an international adoption (and her adopted parents still deny any trauma). They adopted her at 18 months, changed her name and brought her to the US. When we had our own son and he was around that age, it made it so hard to believe that someone thought it was okay to just pretend like the first 18 months didn’t exist. I try to be a very trauma informed person, but having my own child and then thinking about adoption – opened my eyes so much more than anything.

One mother shares – I seriously considered placing my third child for adoption…. Not because I didn’t love him, but it was an unplanned pregnancy and I was already suffering postnatal depression and feeling so incredibly inadequate as a mother to the two toddlers I had; I loved him so fiercely and deeply that I desperately wanted a better mother for him than I believed I was capable of being. At the time, I didn’t really know anything about the trauma it would have caused him.

Finally, this perspective from someone in the field – I have worked with vulnerable children for over twenty years. I have worked with many women who have decided to relinquish their children. This discussion makes things seem like it is an easy decision for a birth mother and there are so many factors involved for each situation. I can’t ever stand in someone else’s shoes and judge the choice that is made. I have spent years with young children / teenagers and young adults in orphanage care (that was in an Asian country) and have tried to be a support to them as they have expressed their anger and hurt, watched them struggle as they have tried to figure out their whys and their who am I questions. My heart aches for these women, it aches for these children. The system is so broken and I don’t have any answers but I don’t want to make assumptions about birth mothers either. Adoption is messy. The world likes to paint this beautiful picture about adoption that is not reality.

Conceived In A Mental Hospital

Gloria Taylor

My adoptee father was never interested in learning about his origins. I get it. Sometimes, DNA testing brings an uncomfortable truth to light, as it did for this woman. She shares her story at Right to Know >LINK Gloria Taylor.

Gloria writes that “In 2019 I finally got the nerve to confront my then 89 year old mother when she came to visit from California. Little did I know when I asked the question that I would experience another shock. It turned out the man I believed to be my biological father was instead my uncle. His younger brother was my BF. My mother met him while working at a State Mental Hospital where he was a patient. All that played over and over in my head was I was conceived in a mental hospital. I felt like I was trapped in someone else’s nightmare.”

“I felt sick, and I remember thinking not my perfect mother. Suddenly the memories of my childhood came rushing in; never feeling like I belonged, overwhelming sadness, not looking like anyone in my family, and always feeling something was off about me. I was crushed. I was surprised to learn I am 52% European, 40% African (with 9 % being Afro Caribbean), 5% Asian, and 3 % Hispanic. I was shocked to learn of the Asian, Caribbean, and Hispanic heritage.”

She further shares – “I have always had this self loathing destructive side. I would look in the mirror and think how ugly I am. I often thought about suicide, and I would cut my arms to relieve the pressure in my head. I still struggle with finding something good about myself. I have always self identified as black, although it was always apparent in my family growing up we were of mixed ethnicity. My maternal grandmother was also multiracial. Discovering my ethnicity breakdown, led me down a another road of emotional turmoil. I’m still trying to figure out where I ethnically fit. At this point in time I choose to identify as mixed.”

She ends her essay with this – “I am no longer angry, and have forgiven my mother. I understand there are things that happened in her life that probably led her down this road. I think sometimes we forget our parents are human too. I still can’t seem to find my place in either family, and feel I exist in a space somewhere between both worlds. I grieve for all that was lost, but am hopeful that in time I will find my place.”

I hope that in time, she finds peace.

ADOPTIVE PARENT FRAGILITY SELF-TEST

Thanks to LINK>The Adoptee Diary.

Ask yourself the following:

1. Do I feel defensive when an adoptee or (birth/first) mother says “adoptive parents tend to…?”

2. Do I feel angry when people tell me I benefit from Adoptive Parent privilege — that the adoption industry works in my favor, or that my socioeconomic class and/or race enabled me to adopt?

3. When an adoptee or mother talks about adoption, do I feel defensive because they’re describing things that I do or think?

4. Do I feel angry or annoyed by the above questions?

5. Do I have a history of embracing Hopeful and/or Adoptive Parent behavior that I now feel ashamed of, so I need to show people that I’m no longer “like that”?

6. Does saying “not all adoptive parents” or similar phrases make me feel better when someone calls Adoptive Parents out for something?

7. Do I expect an apology when I feel like I’ve been unfairly accused of poor Adoptive Parent behavior?

8. Do I feel better when I say, hear, or read, “every (adoption) experience is different?”

9. Do I try to convince adoptees and mothers that they’re wrong about adoption by pointing out people from their position in the triad who agree with me?

10. Do I feel the need to talk about my own hardships (such as infertility, a “failed” adoption, or a difficult childhood) when an adoptee or mother talks about their pain?

11. Do I think the adoption community would benefit if people stopped talking about the hard stuff, were more supportive, learned from “both sides,” or focused more on the positive?

12. Does being told that something I say, think, do, or otherwise value is harmful make me want to shut down, leave, or express my discomfort/displeasure in some way?

13. Do I feel the need to state that I have friends/family who are adoptees when someone points out problematic behavior?

14. Do I feel the need to prove that I’m one of the good ones?

15. Do I feel that my opinions and perspectives about adoption should be given equal weight to that of an adoptee or mother, that I have something unique and important to contribute to the adoption conversation, and/or that it is unfair to be told to listen more than I speak?

16. Do I feel the need to defend myself on any of the above points?

If you answered yes to any of these questions, you are dealing with Adoptive Parent fragility. Take time to reflect on why you feel the way that you do. Take time to listen to adoptee and mothers’ perspectives. Adoptive Parent fragility is a hindrance to healing because it prevents adoptees/mothers from being able to engage Adoptive Parents in honest conversation without also having to bear the burden of catering to Adoptive Parents’ emotional comfort. At its worst, Adoptive Parent fragility can cause an emotionally unhealthy situation for adoptees/mothers because of the power dynamics and the weight of being responsible for Adoptive Parents’ feelings, while not having space to express their own. If we cannot talk honestly about the issues, then we cannot make progress.

March Makes Me Think Of My Dad

My Dad

With the arrival of March, came thoughts about my father. He was an adoptee, as was my mother. Like my mom, he never knew anything about his familial origins. When he died, he had a half-sister living only 90 miles away who could have told him so much about his birth mother. Sadly, he never wanted to know and counseled my mom not to go searching that it might be like opening a can of worms – fisherman that he was all of his life.

My dad was sociable and outgoing which had me reflecting on my dad’s own father – Rasmus Martin Hansen, who was born in Denmark and immigrated to the US in the 1920s. He was a married man having an affair at the time my dad’s mother conceived him. It does not appear that he ever knew he had a son and my dad was the only child he ever fathered (as far as is known LOL). What I know of him is that he was also outgoing and sociable. He was the dock master at a yacht club in San Diego until his untimely death from a heart attack while driving home. He had many celebrity friends who even came for his funeral.

So, my dad comes by his fisherman genes honestly by way of this other fisherman who was his father. My dad is also a Pisces (as was his father) and was born just a few steps away from the Pacific Ocean near San Diego. He just was as he was conceived and born to be. He passed away February 3 2016. I do miss him dearly.

While he could be a lot of fun as a father – gave me a dirt bike to ride when I was still a school girls and took us for rides in his dune buggy in the desert sandhills of El Paso Texas where we grew up – he could also be infuriating and at times when I was growing up, truly terrifying (while never laying a hand on us). Even so, though I did get angry at him and would give him a piece of my mind quite honestly on many occasions, it never diminished a deep love I had for him. After all, when my unwed teenage mother turned up pregnant with me – he did not abandon us.

His birthday is so close to St Patrick’s Day that I have never forgotten it and so he was given the middle name of Patrick when he was adopted (his birth name was Arthur Martin Hempstead – the first a family name, the middle his dad’s name and the surname, his unmarried mother’s surname). Interestingly, I have learned that my Grandfather Rasmus’ birthday is very close (March 10th) to my dad’s and so, I think of both of them with the arrival of March.

Twenty Things

I saw this recommended in my all things adoption group – “For adoptive parents: my adopted daughter asked me to read this recently. It has been really helpful to me, but also to our relationship. It gives us a framework for talking about how she feels and what she needs from me. I’ve learned so much, but there’s still so much to learn.”

Found this review in an interesting place – LINK>”nightlight Christian Adoptions.” Not a place I would normally think to look for any adoption insights. The review says that the author is an adoptee herself as well as a speaker and adoption trainer. She has written a book specifically about what adopted kids wished their parents knew. This list will give you amazing insights – whether you are an adoptive parent, an adoptee, or are considering adoption … and these insights can also apply to kids in the foster care system and foster parents.

Here’s the list of the 20 things –

1. I suffered a profound loss before I was adopted. You are not responsible.
2. I need to be taught that I have special needs arising from adoption loss, of which I need not be ashamed.
3. If I don’t grieve my loss, my ability to receive love from you and others will be hindered.
4. My unresolved grief may surface in anger toward you.
5. I need your help in grieving my loss. Teach me how to get in touch with my feelings about my adoption and then validate them.
6. Just because I don’t talk about my birth family doesn’t mean I don’t think about them.
7. I want you to take the initiative in opening conversations about my birth family.
8. I need to know the truth about my conception, birth, and family history, no matter how painful the details may be.
9. I’m afraid I was “given away” by my birth mother because I was a bad baby. I need you to help me dump my toxic shame.
10. I am afraid you will abandon me.
11. I may appear more “whole” than I actually am. I need your help to uncover the parts of myself that I keep hidden so I can integrate all the elements of my identity.
12. I need to gain a sense of personal power.
13. Please don’t say that I look or act just like you. I need you to acknowledge and celebrate our differences.
14. Let me be my own person, but don’t let me cut myself off from you.
15. Please respect my privacy regarding my adoption. Don’t tell other people without my consent.
16. Birthdays may be difficult for me.
17. Not knowing my full medical history can be distressing for me.
18. I am afraid I will be too much for you to handle.
19. When I act out my fears in obnoxious ways, please hang in there with me and respond wisely.
20. Even if I decide to search for my birth family, I will always want you to be my parents.

Not everyone (especially adoptees) are fans – “Eldridge is not an ally of adopted people! On one of her disturbing Facebook pages, she regularly deletes comments by adoptees, and blocks them if they dare to point out the nonsense she’s been sharing. I can see why adoptive parents would like her content.

Secrecy v. Privacy

I belong to a group that almost 20 years ago divided into a “tell/don’t tell” perspective. I often wonder how that has worked out for the don’t tell group. And if it has served, at what point might their offspring do a inexpensive DNA test and thereby learn the truth – that they were lied to their entire childhood. I’m glad we never thought to go in that direction.

My blog today is inspired by an article in Psychology Today LINK> Secrecy v. Privacy in Donor Conception Families, subtitled Walking the fine line between privacy and secrecy is inherent in donor families. Some of the differences – Privacy is the choice to not be seen, while secrecy is based in fear, shame, or embarrassment. Privacy involves setting comfortable and healthy boundaries. Carrying a family secret is a heavy burden. Donor families based in honesty and transparency have more meaningful and deep relationships.

In that group I mentioned, we each recognized a right to privacy for each other and honoring their right to privacy demonstrated our respect for their choice and was a foundation for trust among us. Withholding information for fear of the consequences implies a negative kind of secrecy. Secrets require a lot of emotional energy and are a heavy burden to carry. Secrecy undermines trust and is therefore harmful within relationships. Privacy, which includes creating healthy boundaries is generally beneficial. Learning when and how to create boundaries is a good lesson to teach one’s children, especially in this age where information seems to flow so readily and once out there, can’t be taken back.

The stigma of infertility is still very present in society and is often the reason why a couple may not want to be open about how they were able to conceive their children. Yet there is also a sense of social responsibility that has mattered to me from the beginning. Women are generally NOT fertile beyond a certain expiration date. When someone conceives at such an advanced age as I did (46 and 49), that could give the wrong impression to another younger woman that they have more time in which to begin their family desire fulfillment than they probably do. There are always exceptions to anything age related but that is a general rule. Much harder to conceive after the age of 40. I conceived very easily in my 20s.

Many children not told the truth about their origin – whether it was adoption, a donor facilitated conception or an illicit affair – still feel that there was something being withheld from them. When they discover the truth, they often feel anger. Even with the more modern openness, such origin stories are still not the norm. Many who are aware of their status may have little opportunity to talk about it to others who understand. Some may not have the language to speak about their experience.

I have given my children the gift of 23 and Me testing and accounts. Both their egg donor and their genetic father are there. This has led to questions from relatives of the donor to one of my sons. My advice to him as tell them to ask their donor about whatever they are curious about. When one donates genetic material, they must be aware that questions may arise in the future. It is only natural. Still, it was my perspective it is up to her as to what or how much she wishes to tell one of HER own relations about the circumstances. Having the 23 and Me channel gives my sons a method of privately communicating with their donor. I also frequently show them photos of her and her other children, so they are more aware of these persons with which they are genetically related. Distance prevents closer, in person relationships at this time, though they have met her in person more than once. I have an interestingly close, psychic and emotionally connected, relationship with my sons. My belief is that it comes from a combination of carrying them in my womb and breastfeeding them for over a year plus being in their lives pretty much 24/7 for most of their childhood (though there have been brief absences for valid reasons).

Almost Aborted ?

This story got my attention – LINK>My Family Oversimplified My Brother’s Adoption Story by Carrie McKean in The Atlantic. She writes –

My brother arrived in my life like the rain always did: after fervent prayer and petitioning. With the matter-of-factness of a child suddenly convinced of her cosmic power, I greeted God with a new request: “Can I have a little brother or sister?” True story from this blog author – before our sons were conceived, I prayed for my husband to want children. The rest is obvious (though I never told him about those prayers).

Then, our old family doctor in a neighboring town, a man familiar with my mom’s longing for another baby, asked if my parents would like to adopt a newborn boy. It was to be a private, closed adoption, as requested by the infant’s birth mother, who faced an unexpected pregnancy in a rigidly conservative and nosy town.

In truth, I don’t think my parents ever knew much about the circumstances leading to my brother’s adoption. They never met William’s mother, so the doctor was the only narrator, which left plenty of room to fill in the story’s gaps with details that suited them.

At a local crisis-pregnancy-center fundraising event, when her brother was already a teenager, her father called her brother up to the stage and announced – “His birth mom wanted to get an abortion, but the doctor wouldn’t do it.” It was the perfect fairy tale for the occasion, featuring a thwarted villain, clear protagonists, and a satisfying resolution. She writes that she joined in the applause. We were the heroes. We’d saved him. We would save them all, if we could.

She admits that – For most of my adulthood, I haven’t thought much about the fact that my brother was adopted. But in the aftermath of Roe v. Wade being overturned, I find myself considering his entry into my life yet again. Watching the gleeful moods of many in the pro-life community post-Roe, I see glimpses of my past. Believing that your brother was “almost aborted” has a way of crystallizing one’s convictions. Growing up in a conservative evangelical community, I was taught that morality was black-and-white. It was an orderly worldview with no room for messy complications; those were hidden behind closed doors.

She goes on to share – People like me were “single-issue voters,” and the voter guide in my church bulletin told me which politicians were pro-life. Just like so many within the pro-life movement today, we were blinded by our convictions to the uniquely complicating circumstances and considerations in each unwanted pregnancy.

In the middle of the extremes of a polarized country, the majority of Americans believe that at the least, abortion should be legal in some circumstances and illegal in others. Many lawmakers seem more interested in pleasing a vocal base than they are in having nuanced and thoughtful policy discussions. No person should be reduced to a political pawn. When it comes to aborted or not – we can’t objectively weigh the life we have against the one we don’t. Even in my case, I can’t weigh what my life might have been like had I been given up for adoption because I was not.

Regarding her brother’s adoption, she recognizes regarding his birth mother that – It is possible that adoption was her Plan A, despite the story we grew up hearing. Or maybe she wanted to keep her baby, but her parents pressured her into a different decision. In my own family, my mother pressured my sister to give up my niece. My youngest sister was always going to give my nephew up for adoption. Both were true of the birth mothers in my own family.

The story’s author says – These days, considering that my brother’s mother might have bravely endured a set of circumstances she never wanted because she had no other choice sends my emotions spinning wildly. I move through anger, indignation, and sorrow for the circumstances she faced, for the personal agency she might have been denied, for the losses my brother and she have always had to live with, for the persistent grief that comes from severing a primal relationship. But the spinning can stop in only one place: gratitude for the abortion she did not receive, for the brother that I have. For the family that we’ve made.

Adoption tends to run in families – I know it has in my family – abundantly. The author adopted her youngest daughter. At the age of 10, this girl has begun to grapple more and more with the fact that she doesn’t look like the rest of her family. Her adoptive mother notes – “For weeks, she’d been dissecting our family tree and figuring out how everyone fit together.”

One day this daughter said to the author’s adopted brother – “You’re not my real uncle,” she said, keeping her voice falsely nonchalant and tossing her head so that her long black hair fell to cover half her face. “Because you’re not my mom’s real brother.” He quickly glanced up and caught the author’s eye. They both heard what she was saying between the lines about herself and her place in their family. The author realized that her brother knew better than she ever could, what this daughter was feeling, so she stayed quiet and let him respond.

“Hey,” his voice softened as he leaned over to gently bump her shoulder with his. She didn’t budge. He playfully kicked her cheetah-print Converse with his mud-caked work boot and she finally looked up to catch his eye. “I’m here, aren’t I? Doesn’t get more real than that.” I looked up at the sky and blinked back tears. His voice, gentled by his West Texas drawl and infinitely tender heart, landed like rain on the brittle places.

Of course, as this girl matures, there will be more questions. It is good that there is another adoptee in the family that she will grow up close to as those questions demand answers.