There was a time in my life that I thought adoption was a very good thing.

As a child, I took my truth about adoption from made for TV movies, after school specials and young adult novels, where it was novel to think about “those people” and imagine what it might be like to have such mystery and bittersweet glamour in one’s life. The few classmates who I knew who were adoptees didn’t have much to say that altered my opinion, nor did I have a reason to ask.

As a lost 18 year old, I accepted that adoption was a “win-win” scenario and the perfect answer to my seemingly controversial and life ruining pregnancy. In a situation where an unsupportive family, no decent prospects, a troubled past, and a non responsive baby daddy made me a textbook case of “not ready to parent” kind of mother, I dolefully followed the directions of the helpful agency and, with great resolved for a life better than I could give him, relinquished my son at birth.

As a young adult, getting on with my life, finishing school, marrying, having a second son; I still thought that adoption was a reasonable choice, a great selfless sacrifice on my part, and was a decision that more smart women facing unplanned pregnancies should explore.

As a birthmother, determined to still do what was best for my mysterious “out there somewhere, don’t really know who adopted him or what his name is son” , I – with the first rays of cable high speed internet access – started my journey into the online adoption community so that I could “prepare for his maybe reunion”. Now mind you, as OK I was with Max’s adoption, I was still not-so-patiently counting the years and every birthday was a bittersweet milestone for another year past was another year of lost memories, but I could not even admit such a loss then.  I still was doing what I thought I ought to as a good birthmother, playing the role and a good birthmother makes herself available of her relinquished child’s needs. That’s what I was taught to do.

And then something happened.

All the things that I believed about adoption were not really true.

Or they were for other people who weren’t birthmothers like me, or maybe maybe not my son, but as Obi Wan Kenobi says, “”So what I told you was true… from a certain point of view.”

Unfortunately, that view would never naturally be seen from my eyes again. Once your eyes adjust to the light, the darkness is too dark.

Online, I found myself suddenly with people who were angry about adoption and they, quite frankly, scared me.  Some of their stories were just so heart wrenching. They were rightly, I felt, full of sorrow, but it wasn’t that they just felt anger over their situations, but that they dared speak as if I was like them in some way.  And really, in my mind, nothing could be further from the truth. These other mothers, they were often forced to give up their children at birth. I wasn’t like that. I choose adoption for my son. It had been my wise decision.

They made me so angry with their accusations. They made me cry with frustration and shake so hard I could not type on the keyboards.

It was really really hard, but somehow I stayed with it. I don’t know why. I could have just run away, but that is what I do. If something gets to me on that emotional and that deep of a level, I stay with it and wonder why. When I stopped defending my own situation, and I started to just read what was being said, I began to see that I had never allowed to see or really feel what being a birthmother really was like. I had been perfectly conditioned not to feel for myself, and in regard to adoption, always put myself last. And I can’t put all the blame on the agency, or even society, or my son’s father,  or even my family, for much of it was mine, but I could now see, that even in the most “perfect” of all circumstances, it was, for me, far from the perfect long term outcome.

Then, some adoptees respected said that they wish they had been not relinquished. Then, some, now my online friends, begged me to never tell my son that I had no regrets about my decision to place my son should I ever meet him.

It would hurt his feelings they said. It meant, to an adoptee, that I was happy I had been away from him all those years.

And suddenly, the situation that was perfect, this adoption, this thing that I endured for his sake, that was to be better; it occurred that this wise decision of mine could have created a whole slew of issues for the very person I was trying to protect. It was a horrible feeling.

It was the most alien of feelings.  It was a long process of listen to the other points of view from adoptees and other mothers, and then, later on, learning to see adoptive parents as people too.  I would carefully think about what upset me most, let the ideas run over my brain, shake up what I had thought to be true. I would try on all these different feelings about adoption and it was almost a process of trying on new clothing. I had no idea what would fit,. What would feel comfortable, but I tried on each new feeling. And I explored what it would mean to my life.

I refuse to apologize for allowing my feelings about adoption to be changed.

I believe it would be much more ignorant and falsely stubborn if I had ignored new findings and held fast to what allowed me to sleep at night. It feels 100 % right that I speak out about my truth, my feelings, my story and I hold nothing back.

I figure, if a mother who has lived “the perfect’ birth mother scenario.. IE” I was young enough, but still old enough to make my own decisions, I went on and “turned my life around” afterwards, I have been happy, my son has been happy, we had a lovely reunion, everything pretty much has been played out like a .. well a good bittersweet made for TV movie…if *I* that “perfect” birthmother, can turn around and say..

“No, nothing horrible happened to us, it worked out just like it should and , nope, I still think that the adoption industry and current accepted adoption practices still need a heck of a huge reformation.”

Then maybe someone will listen to me and expand their point of view about adoption and what it means to be birthmother.

That would be a very good thing.

To quote Star Wars again:

“…you’re going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view….”

I don’t know what you cling to. I don’t know your point of view. But if you will allow me, I have some truths to tell.

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Claudia goes on and on even more  about living her life as a birthmother over at her blog;  Musings of the Lame.