Being a Birth Mother

When you search “birth mom articles" on search engines, you mostly find things written by adopted children. There isn’t much content for the birth mother who wants to find others like herself.

Where are all of us, I wonder? Hiding in the shadows?

I used to hide, too. I chose to place my youngest child into an open adoption in private. I went through pregnancy and delivery in secret, I had no friends or family present at the child’s birth, and I refused to acknowledge my secret shame to anyone because I hated myself for what I did. I didn’t start “coming out” with my darkest moments until after my birth son turned a year old.

I did what was right, sure, but I couldn’t bear thinking of how others would react. Others would never want to know that I was a monster. Because, to me, only a monster could walk away from a child knowing another woman would be called his mom forever...I hid myself from the world and hoped my facade of being a stable, brilliant mother and employee would suffice for onlookers. I wore a costume consisting of everything Mother of the Year should have and played my role.

You couldn’t possibly believe how exhausting it was.

Am I wrong for choosing not to hide anymore?

Should we be rightfully ashamed for the rest of our lives for not being enough for our children?

Is that why no one writes about the birth mom experience?

I don’t have the right answer for those questions.

What I do know is that it is hypocritical, if nothing else, for the world to celebrate adoptions without celebrating the fact that those of us who have wombs have had to make a lot of difficult decisions to bring adoptions to fruition. You cannot celebrate a winning sports team and pretend the hours of hard practice and injuries didn’t occur. You cannot cheer about a published book without mentioning the months (or years) of agony, tears, and frustration in writing and being published.

Bottom line: you can’t celebrate good things without acknowledging the hard parts.

Why do we do that as a society? Why do we only want the easy part highlighted? Because happier stories sell better?

I’m not okay with that.

I’m okay with being a birth mom; I'm not okay with being a birth mom, and those two concepts can coexist in my heart. I want people to know that children in adoptions did not grow themselves from a magical flower to be placed in perfect, loving arms. Birth mothers must not be forgotten in the joys of welcoming a baby to your family. Birth mother pain must never be brushed off as meaningless.

"They're the forgotten mothers who should be hidden when the proper mothers arrive to parent correctly," they say. "We are the horrible people who couldn’t handle parenthood.

To this I say:

We are the heroes you hear about from the adoptive parents, the ones to be celebrated for enormous sacrifices.

We hear you praise us for blessing a family that "deserved" a baby.

Without us, many dreams would have stayed dreams.

Where are we, though? Where are the rest of us?

The children come first, so the children must be discussed first. But I want to see the world stop and remember us sometimes, too.

Our pain is valid, difficult, and deserved entirely; we quite literally asked for it. We get that. But sharing what that loss did to us doesn't label us as heroes too often. I have taken verbal abuse by being called all sorts of profane names, while a small handful online will defend me and declare me selfless.

I love to respond to the profane individuals by asking, "So at what point am I heroic for giving a family a baby, and what point do I switch into being a slut who should have kept her legs closed?"

But to feel like I can’t be loud and proud about the worst thing I ever did is a further suffocation on the mental health of birth parents everywhere.

I could be, I suppose, but I'm not emotionally strong enough to cope with whatever cruelty may come my way.

Every situation in life is different, and when it comes to birth mothers, it’s both okay and not okay to tell us we did a good thing. We love to hear about the good, but we will reject the glory of our decisions at the same time. You don’t have to be afraid to talk to us about our pain, even if it's asked with the best intentions in helping. We might disagree with all the nice things you say about us, but we do like to hear that we aren’t monsters in everyone’s eyes. We want to be acknowledged and respected as much as a “normal” mother would be, but we’re afraid to shout about it. Usually.

I’m not afraid anymore. I want to shout it.

I am a birth mother. I hate myself for being as wonderful as I was to choose better for my child, and I love myself for my strength in that decision.

Adopted children and their stories are valid. Birth parents are valid. We are all valid, and we deserve to be open about it.

Everyone involved in an adoption suffers some level of pain, loss, trauma, or the scrutiny and downright nastiness of human beings passing judgment on lives they'll never have to feel the pain of living.

I choose to write about the pain so I can free myself, and I choose to put more content into the world about birth moms and our experiences so others might find comfort in knowing I feel how they feel. If I can help anyone else free themselves from the chains of despair in adoption stories, that’s all that matters.

In the end, we're still mothers.