Open Adoption Roundtable #34- Why did you chose adoption?

When it comes to all things adoption, up until last year, if I was asked about my adoption, my reaction was always the same:

Stone cold on the inside. Half, very fake smile, a nod and a quick exit from the room, or change of subject.  Rarely words would come out of my mouth. In fact, most of the time I could barely choke out, “I’m a birthmother”. When those words would come out, generally there was never a follow up, just an avoidance of the questioner’s gaze. I did not, and I would not talk about it with anyone, if asked. My reasoning was, “It’s not up for discussion. What’s done is done, and I don’t want any of those looks, or those unwarranted opinions that always come.”  Why discuss something unchangable? Why offer yourself up for commentary or judgment? People know about it, either from vague referencing, knowing me at the time of my life, or from the good ol’ grape vine. Other then that, I am a completely, and entirely closed book.

That speech is well used in my world; I’ve used it when referencing others finding out, or when someone makes a less then graceful remark regarding adoption and my decision to me. I used it, while in tears last summer, when the woman, my mother, who made me follow through on the adoption plan, had the audacity to say that we may have made a big mistake.  I have not wanted to talk about it, ever. Talking brings judgment. It brings discussion. It brings questions. Which brings explanation, and stirring up a pot of emotions, memories and scenarios that I have held so very sacred in my heart.  One day, I could speak about it over and over again, smiling, with no flinch of regret, or hurt. On other days, a smell will remind me of something regarding The Kiddo, and I’m out like a light, and lost to a world of rushing emotions. Instead of risking humiliation, I just seal myself up tightly, and refuse to go further then the need to know questions.

Even my husband, the man who is my best friend, who has seen me at my worst and my best thus far, has yet to hear my entire story. He knows if I want to talk, I will. He knows that any given time, something will come up, and I will discuss it with him, expecting no commentary, and when I am finished, the discussion is finished. If I want to talk about it, I talk about it.  He knows what pushing me does; it launches me into an uncomfortable space where I feel pressured, which brings about anxiety, and hot tears.

That all being said, I’m trying to change it. I’m trying to open up to even those who I trust desperately. I’m doing my own silent version of talking by writing these words. Sharing small tidbits of what makes my adoption story, my adoption story. My voice has been silenced for so many years, that it’s going to take a lot of time before I’ll stand in a room and confidently admit to being a birth mother, without a single flinch.  Maybe?

Perhaps my hesitancy to open up regarding the adoption in general is because it was not ever really my choice. How do you explain why you did something, knowing what you could have done, but didn’t do, to someone else who doesn’t grasp the intensity of the situation you were in at that point? Furthermore, how do I explain why I chose the path I did, when ultimately, it never really was my actual choice. It was a demand, an expectation, a prison sentence. I was just carrying out the direction I was given. 

I gather that a lot of my adoption anxiety is built firmly on a lack of trust; I was thrown into the realm of making an adoption plan rather then being allowed to have space to figure out what I truly wanted. Those who forced me into it should have been protecting me; my mother should have been asking more questions, attending meetings with me, instead she was silent, insulting, and refused to have anything to do with the process she insisted I had to act out. How do you open up about an experience that felt more like a type of emotional rape, rather then a pleasant situation where I was a person with a voice and a necessary opinion?

So no, I don’t discuss why I relinquished my parental rights in general. Good friends will tell you I am talking more. I am expressing anger in regard to ethics, and the lack of progress in the adoption industry as a whole. You’ll hear me discussing how terrible it is that this is a women’s issue that gets ignored widely, and needs more attention then we are giving it. You’ll hear me advocating for women to have access to education without bias, and an opportunity to figure out what is truly best for them. You’ll see me tear up when I think of adoptees who can’t access their records because they are locked up. But hear me talk, openly, candidly about why I chose adoption? Not likely.

Maybe one day I will. Maybe one day I’ll be able to say,

“You know, I didn’t really choose it. I was raised in a very religious home, and my parents were told that it was the only way to rectify the situation. I was told I had no other choice; give my baby away, or spend life on the street, or a life struggling with a family who would rather disown me then help me raise their grandchild. I felt caught, trapped, and torn. So I did what a good girl was supposed to do- I listened to the adults who were supposed to have a clue, only to realize, they had no idea what they had really signed ME up for. They moved on. I live with the scars, their scars. So no, I didn’t chose it. I just live it.”

Or maybe a quick two worded reply is really the best answer, afterall.

Open Adoption Roundtable #34