We exist before your very eyes.

“It felt like it was night all the time.”

Memarnia, N., Nolte, L., Norris, C. & Harborne, A. (2015) ‘It felt like it was night all the time’: listening to the experiences of birth mothers whose children have been taken into care or adopted, Adoption and Fostering, 39(4): 303‐317.

Imagine my surprise, when, 35 years after I placed my child for adoption, while looking for quotes about birthmothers, I find an autocomplete on Google that says “birth mother syndrome”. What in the name of all that is holy, is “birth mother syndrome”? I read a précis of it and wasn’t surprised by any of the things that were mentioned. It was a study of 70 women who ALL reported the same things. Obviously I would like to see a study with a much larger group, but I don’t think the outcome would change. There has not been a single person I have talked to about the trauma that birth mothers suffer that hasn’t had the things that were listed as the symptoms of the syndrome. And while my group of people spoken to is much less than 70, I have a feeling that it would continue to be the same things, over and over.

I have signed up for a storytelling class so that I can share my story. I have been told by more than one person that they think my story is important and needs to be heard. I tell people that Ryan is what made me pro-choice. Between the loss of bodily autonomy, the complete ignoring of me once they got my child, the absolute devastation of my soul and the understanding that a choice could have made all the difference in my life - I am going to be willing to speak to people about what it is to place a child and what it takes from us. The trauma that we all carry, mothers and children alike. And I have even discussed being a part of a counseling group as I am one of the few people who openly identifies myself as a birth mother and is willing to talk about it in public. I want people to understand all the choices. And that even means that I will be open and honest about never, ever suggesting someone choose adoption. If they choose it and need support, I will be there for that. But that it is horrific and damaging and no one should do it. I am hoping the storytelling class will give me a better way to say it.

The emptiness never goes away. It exists, below your heart, like a hole that can never be filled. Even when you find your child again, that hole will still be there, because that child is always gone, never to be found again.

My middle child is in academia and so helped me getting the study. I was horrified by the prices to read a paper for 24 hours. J is good at figuring such things out for me and so sent me a copy of the paper. I haven’t read it. I don’t know if I will or when I will. I am pretty sure I am going to because I want to know. I want to see the other people. I want them to be seen, because that’s something that I have discussed with people- birthmothers are the invisible part of the triad of adoption. The children and their proud “new” parents are obvious to anyone on the internet. Blogs about their adoptions and going overseas and baby showers and just every single aspect of it you can imagine. But birthmothers are absent from the discussion for so many reasons. A lot of the time it’s at their own choice.

One of the major reasons we are invisible is because the pregnancy itself was secret. Giving away the child and then telling people about it means people KNOW and in a lot of cases, that won’t do. That was the reason that no one in my family knew. Shame. And I know a lot of people go on and don’t tell their families that they build as they grow older. Children who never know that there is one that is missing. Spouses who think that their first child is the first child for both, when it’s not for her. Just a continuation of the out of sight is out of mind. If I don’t tell people about what happened, I don’t have to confront it over and over again. And explain myself over and over again. And be judged for what I did, over and over again. I became numb to it a long time ago. And I decided that I wanted to be a voice for the people who didn’t feel they could talk about adoption and being a birthmother, for whatever their reason. I am not the voice of every birthmother, but I am one who refuses to be ashamed, refuses to be silenced about it. The more we speak about the trauma that adoption visits on the adoptees and the birthmothers, maybe the more people will stop suggesting it as an alternative to abortion. Because it is so very NOT an alternative. Abortion is an alternative to pregnancy. Adoption is an alternative to parenting your child. And they are so far apart.

Another major reason that we don’t talk about birthmothers is because of the stigma of not parenting your child. There must be something so wrong with you if you didn’t choose to keep your child. And the story of someone’s adoption usually is either that the birthmother was a saint or a horrible person who shouldn’t have had a kid in the first place. And sometimes both in the same breath. I know I hammer at this one a lot, but it’s because it is the part that makes me the most angry. The lack of understanding of birthmothers and the way we are spoken about. My favorite is when someone starts the “horrible person” screed in front of me. Because they don’t know, can’t know and in a lot of cases, don’t care.

This is going to end rather abruptly and without a conclusion. I have much more to write as I spoke to two different people recently who spoke to me with such compassion and empathy about what I went through. One was another clinic escort who said some of the most amazing things to me. One was a person I tangentially work for who is an adoptee. When I told her I was a birthmother, Molly* turned around, with tears in her eyes, and gathered me in for a hug. We spent the rest of the day, BSing while we smoked. It is so rare to find another smoker, especially one who is so open to chatting about the trauma that we shared. The silliest thing I could have said, and I would have meant it so much, that if I had found that she was my daughter, I would have been so fucking proud to know her and be her mom. She told me her trauma and it broke my heart. I told her mine and it made her cry. Obviously, her story is not mine to tell, but culture and ethnic background denied, finding birthparents that are as flawed as any other human being, and in her case, even more so, all wrapped up in this young woman who I am proud to know and work with. But more about that later. The loving husband has returned with sustinance - KFC for everyone!

Rachel, Representative Deb Lavender 90th District, Yours Truly, and Roddie, in Jefferson City, at the Secretary of State’s office to drop off 370,000+ signatures to put abortion on the ballot to enshrine it in our state constitution. You may not be able to tell, but we were really, really proud of ourselves