It was 2015, and just a few weeks after having placed my son in an open adoption, that I went to my first birthmom group therapy held by my adoption agency as one of two free sessions I was allowed. Me and the one other birthmother sat around a small table and shared how we were feeling, which was very similar since she had placed recently too, and it became apparent that we were at the same point of not healing. The wound was too intensely fresh; our bodies were still creating milk, we were both still in maternity jeans, and still crying ourselves to sleep every night. As she was describing to me her intense pain, and constant questioning of the decision she made, I felt this incredible kinship to her–I’d finally met someone who not only believed me, but fully understood every single ounce of my grief. I went again, a second time, and it was more of the same, gently asking how the other was doing, just to break down in sobs.
Beyond those two meetings, I felt a huge pit in my stomach when I woke up everyday. This grief only grew, and three years later, while everyone had hoped I had moved on, I grew desperate to find something different to get through this trauma, alive and whole. My search led me to a proper adoption/trauma therapist that had group therapy, and I could get one free session.
I remember sitting in a circle with seven other birthmothers, and for the second time ever, I felt truly understood. We were there for each other, holding space where no one else in our lives could ever understand. It was unimaginable to feel so validated, accepted and understood. But, upon leaving, I had a renewed fear when I realized that the grief we had discussed was still so apparent and fresh, even though the times of our placements had ranged from three years to twenty two years. I was in such a dark place, and to imagine feeling that way for twenty more years was unfathomable. There had to be something else, because while it was crucial for me to be able to feel the pain and grieve in a safe place, I needed to move forward and heal.
By some miracle, I found the adoption community on Instagram. I can’t remember who it all started with, but it snowballed from fellow birthmothers, to adoptive mothers who had babies my son’s age, then finally, adoptees.
It was in this time that I realized how calloused I had become towards APs, quite literally thinking of them as selfish, preying, baby-stealers. In my need for validation of my pain and loss, I turned to anger for anyone else. I had an unhealthy obsession of making them the bad guy. I was tired of seeing people bragging about how blessed they were by adoption, where my thoughts immediately turned to the poor birthmother who was probably in the deepest trenches of loss. I knew that the first step towards finding peace was to fix this perspective. I guarded my heart closely as I poured over posts and blogs from adoptive mothers about their motherhood, and their children. I decided to dive in head first and talk one on one with some of these mothers and pester them with questions until I could come to a conclusion about whether they could possibly love their child as much as I love my son. These conversations became sacred places of love, and understanding as they helped me see just how strong the love between a mother and a child are, whether by birth or by placement. I was shown how committed these beautiful mothers were to creating a strong bond with their child, giving them everything they could. They were making the best of their situation and journey as it was–and wasn’t that exactly what I had done by placing my son in the first place?
One of the scariest things about adoption is all the what-ifs, on each side of the triad. I got in my head about how perfect my son’s life is (because I chose this absolutely perfect couple for him) and how when he grows up and has the opportunity to come to me and ask me questions and I could finally tell him my story, I was afraid he would be so satisfied with how he turned out, that he wouldn’t need or want his history, especially, me. I became paranoid of the playground talk he’d surely hear his whole life, about me giving him away because he was unwanted, and that he would believe that. I went back to my new found community and found adoptees who were so intentional and honest with their story and perspective. I didn’t want to be coddled and reassured that surely, my son will grow to love me. I needed to hear what it would really be like for him, the explanations he’ll need from me, the questions which only I can answer that he deserves. I found from these adoptees, that no matter how good or bad their life was, or how much they love their (adoptive) parents, they still had that deep desire to know where they came from.
I have found so much peace and understanding by listening to the other sides of the triad. They continually help to fill in the gaps for me, showing me different perspectives and supporting me in my healing. I still have my days where I need to let out my pain, anger and grief the way only another fellow birthmother could understand, but I’m glad that once I come out of it, I have an incredible community to be a part of.
WRITTEN BY BECCA HOUSTON: Becca is a birthmother to a 5 year old son in an open adoption, living near Seattle, Washington with her sweet 2 year old baby girl. She is a bleeding heart and lover of photography, music and chocolate chip cookies. She has a deep passion for understanding all perspectives of the adoption triad through the community she found on Instagram, and although her story is different from the common narrative, she strives to connect deeply and empathize with everyone.
