My first son is 16, the same age that I was when I learned of his existence. When, as a fearful teenage girl, I was faced with a decision that would affect my life, his life, and our extended family.
Back in the early 2000s, open adoption as we know it today was not nearly as common. It took some real hunting to find another first mother that I could sit down and talk openly and candidly with, asking so many questions about her experience, before my own son’s placement.
Birth was a trauma. I hardly remember the details because I was in such resistance to him actually leaving my body to ultimately be with another mother. Everything in me wanted to remain pregnant indefinitely so that he would never be away from me. But, as all pregnancies go, labor did come. He was born, a beautiful, healthy, dark haired, blue eyed, treasure.
When I walked away from the hospital, leaving him with his new family, every part of me, down to each pore, ached with grief. I was confident that what I was doing for him was loving and the right thing for both of us, but that didn’t make it any less painful or unnatural feeling.
My son’s family sent me photos, gave updates and invited me to come out to see him, and a few times I did. Each time I drove away after a visit it felt like I was reopening a wound and that my heart was bleeding. For weeks after I would function with a dark cloud, a heaviness, around me that felt impossible to shake off. My child was not with me. My life felt empty in many ways.
So many things were triggering. I would hear a baby cry out in the grocery store and I would instantly turn towards the sound, my head knowing that it wasn’t my baby, but my maternal instincts had switched on in spite of my empty arms. In my 20s my close friends started having their own children and each time I held those newborn babies my eyes would fill and my heart ached for my baby. When the years started ticking by and it began to seem like I would never have children or a family of my own, I questioned if I had given away the only baby I would ever birth, in spite of my longing to be an active mother. These pains were spread over the course of several years, and each occasion was a reopening, a picking off of a scab, over a festering wound. An injury that continued to need time, attention and care to fully heal.
Now, 16 years later, I would say that I am in a new place, my wound is healed, although an invisible scar is in its place. What once brought me so much grief and pain no longer stings. The triggers that made my wound itch no longer have that effect over me. I find great joy in visiting my son and his family whenever possible and I no longer grieve the loss of him like I once did.
There is no magical answer as to how or why I have gotten to this place other than TIME. Real healing, the deep surgery of the soul, takes TIME. There is no swift, fast track option.
I recently followed an Instagram rabbit trail to a blog post by a beautiful, young adoptive mom who was pictured with her husband and toddler, holding a newborn baby girl they had adopted, with the first mother alongside them at a professional photography session. The young girl was clearly just a couple of days postpartum, standing in weary contrast next to this beaming, Insta-perfect family. Upon seeing her, my eyes filled with tears as I thought “all she wants to do is hold her baby…”
Everyone is different, every story unique. However, after observing the growing trends in open adoptions and reflecting on our current cultural climate of instant gratification and resistance to anything that actually takes time to marinate and process, I fear that the current tide of open adoptions is doing a disservice to first parents. There are some unrealistic, and in some cases, insensitive and unhealthy expectations on these young women who are more vulnerable than ever. Many of these young women are coming from dysfunctional situations already and will not necessarily have the support systems in place to ensure healing in the ways that they need; many just want to be accepted and understood. They will say and do anything to please those around them, even at the expense of their own emotional health and restoration after grief.
My gut instinct is always to go to the defense of first mothers, especially those that are new to the club. The research is in and indicates that adopted children generally function and develop into healthier adults when there isn’t a big question mark or mystery around their family of origin. Smart, informed adoptive parents should attempt to include healthy first parents in their family’s story.
I suppose my word of caution and experience being 16 years post placement in an open adoption is for both first and adoptive parents to allow this journey the time and space that each party needs so that ultimately complete healing can occur. Not a fast-tracked, microwave version, but security and peace that only TIME can bring to a wound and loss such as this. Give all members of the triad the space to sit in the tension of joy and grief- they can coexist! Life brings so many seasons and griefs that can magnify and minimize along the journey. The loss of a child, even through adoption into a loving home, will bring a wound to a first mother, it is unavoidable. Healing takes time, but is totally possible! Will there be a scar on the other side? Yes, but a beautiful one.
We have gone from sending young women away to monasteries to give birth in secret and never see their children again to me being able to bring my son’s little half brothers to his football game, sitting in the stands with his adoptive family and linking arms cheering for this boy that we all love so much.
It has been worth every tear.
It has been worth the wait.
Beka Overby is a bio mother who, at 16, placed her first son, Levi, with an amazing, loving family. Over the years their relationship and open adoption have grown and evolved into a beautifully balanced partnership of families. Beka and her husband Seth are musicians living in SE Portland, Oregon and have two small boys, Jones and Shepherd.
Clemencia“Real healing, the deep surgery of the soul, takes TIME.“ I absolutely love and connect with this! Time & bravery… thank you for sharing your heart.