Eleven years of staring and I finally spoke. To my mother's confusion, one day I stood up from the kitchen table, smacked my fists down, and hollered, "Mom? I AM a good girl!" She looked at me funny and said, "Okay Courtney." That was the beginning of an amazing journey of understanding, forgiveness, grieving, and healing between both of us.
Leading a support group recently, the birthmothers were each taking turns telling me their stories and introducing themselves. By the time the fifth birthmother finished with her story I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry because at the end of EVERY introduction I heard from EVERY birthmother, "I didn't have the financial means to take care of my baby and I know I did the right thing."
Once they were all done I asked them to all come with me to the window. At the window I pointed out into the parking lot at a brand new Ford Windstar mini-van. I said, "It's no Mustang, but it's mine. I never would have thought I'd own a mini-van, much less be able to pay for it." Then, I pulled out my wallet and first showed them a picture of my husband dressed in his Marine Corps Dress Blues. I said, "This is my husband who I married four years after I surrendered my son. He now works for an Aerospace Corporation and makes enough money for me to live out my dream from home. Then, I showed them the small picture I keep of the recent vacation my husband and I went on to Puerta Vallarta and I said, "Just this last March James and I flew our kids to California where they stayed a week with their grandparents and we took off for Mexico and spent a week at a resort." Then, lastly, I pulled out the pictures of my children. "This is Amanda, born just two years after I surrendered my son. This is Brandin, born just two years after Amanda. This is Samantha, born exactly two years after Brandin. Each of them have everything they could want and more. And I get to be their mother. I have a nice car, I own my own home, I work for myself and own my own company. I go to soccer games, and the p.t.a and I have a husband who adores me. The only thing I don't have ... is my son. If I did have him, I'd have the financial means to raise him."
So ... after all of that I sat back down in my chair and said, "Now ... let's talk about why we really surrendered our children." Several of them broke down, released of their previously pressured responses. We talked about abusive relationships, lack of self-worth, fear, and pressure. All in all, we stopped trying to justify our choice, and we began working through it.
" ... at least I get to see my baby, that's the one thing that keeps me going," says Faith, a newer birthmother
Another birthmother in an open adoption writes, "I just can't believe this has happened to me. I've read the stories and it does happen, but I can't believe that I didn't even see this coming." After two years of operating in a fully open adoption, out of the blue the adoptive parents requested that the visitation cease. The birthmother goes on to write, "This has made me question why I surrendered and what my reasons were. I am devastated."
Justifying our relinquishments based on our involvement with our children and their families is frightening. Relationships have their ups and downs, communication is hard work, and often times people just can't follow through. If we put all of our emotion into the responses and actions of others we are sure to be disappointed. If we make choices based on the promises and abilities of others ... we may discover unnecessary regret. Using the actions of others to justify our choices, and not justifying our choices based on our own actions, can lead to even more painful issues. We place our entire belief system into the hands of others and feel helpless, but we don't have to do this. By evaluating the root reasons we relinquished, for our children and for ourselves, we accept responsibility for our choice. Regardless of what others did or do we can work through our issues and find peace in acceptance of what is, and gain the strength needed to challenge ourselves to change the future.