Three Roots Adoption Blog

Coming full circle

2011-02-21T21:43:00.000-08:00

I've been quiet for awhile. My husband and I separated last month, and during the time leading up to that, and now the time immediately following, I've been in a bit of a scramble to find my footing and re-vision my life.

One thing I'm having trouble coming to grips with is becoming a single mom. Sure, D and I co-parent, but I still have the kids on my own a lot and it's ... well, a lot.

It's been pressing my guilt button about relinquishing my first daughter. Back then, one reason I believed vehemently that I needed to relinquish is that I thought being raised by a single mom would make my daughter seriously disadvantaged. I thought that we'd always be struggling financially, our lives would lack structure, and she'd always have a second-rate life.

And now here I am, with two young kids, struggling financially and lacking structure. And the clincher is, I chose this.

That's right, we had the whole family thing kicking. Two parents, double income, nice place to live, great meals every night, etc. And I chose to leave, which means that I chose the life for these two kids that I thought was absolutely not good enough for my first daughter.

That stings. I see now that it does affect the kids, but that they're still closely bonded to me and are actually doing okay. Despite financial struggle, we always have enough to eat and a roof over our heads. We do a lot of childcare swaps and are involved in a couple of supportive communities. It helps that their dad is so involved. But even as far as their experience with just me goes, we're actually okay. And I could have been okay with my first daughter. She would have been okay with me. I see that now.

Of course, I've done more than 13 years of growing up since that time, and the relinquishment itself was one of the biggest catalysts I've ever had in terms of personal growth. Without that experience, in which I had to pick myself up off the ground and go on living, I might not have had the faith in my resilience that allowed me to leave a marriage that wasn't working for me. I might have doubted the resilience of my children. I might have denied my ability to walk headlong into heartbreak and not lose faith.

And so here I am again at a junction that feels both familiar and foreign. I'm feeling a deep gratitude that this time I have the confidence, resilience, and support I need to know -- really know -- that we'll all be okay, together.

Gearing up for Mother's Day

2010-05-01T16:25:00.001-07:00

I'm getting pretty familiar with this feeling by now. It starts with a vague sense of feeling "off" -- a little preoccupied, moody, reactive. At some point the realization of what's happening seeps into my consciousness, and from there the calendar creeps forward in a mercilessly slow march until the actual date is here and then finally gone. This happens twice a year: Mother's Day, and her birthday.

I finally clued in this year after trying to choose a Mother's Day card for my mom in the grocery store. Every card I picked up wasn't right. I didn't like any of them. I got really agitated. Each of them transformed in my hands into the card I wasn't going to get from my firstborn, and I felt over and over the sting of being left out of the celebration.

The force behind that sting is both grief and guilt. Grief about missing my daughter and the acknowledgment of our bond, and guilt for not just being happy about the kids I'm raising and their heartfelt Mother's Day offerings. I should just be able to bask in that and have it be enough, right? I should hold my firstborn in my heart and KNOW that we have a bond. And that should make it okay this year. Should, should, should.

All of the shoulds threaten to bury my grief again. It is an old familiar feeling, being expected to move on and be happy with what I have. I expect this of myself. And although it's possible to move forward, whenever there's a should in there, my sadness over the loss of my daughter tries to duck and cover into its old burial ground.

This year, like other years, I struggle to free myself from the shoulds. Sometimes it has to be a conscious choice to allow grief to surface, as it is still more habitual to bury it deep inside and distract myself. Yes, I hold my daughter in my heart. Of course I do. And I do completely bliss out on my family's shower of affection on Mother's Day. That does not mean that the emptiness of the physical disconnection with my firstborn goes unnoticed, though, nor should it.

So what intention do I hold this year? This year, I aim to let go of the notion that I have to find peace within the paradox of Mother's Day. It is not peaceful inside -- it's a complex mix of wistfulness, sorrow, joy, gratitude. This year I intend to sit with the whole mess as it is, and let the day wash over me as it comes.

Support for surrogate mothers

2010-04-20T19:39:00.000-07:00

I've been knee deep in the world of adoption for several years, but assisted reproduction has grown to the point that I can't ignore it and its intersections with adoption.

It seems both old and new. Old in the sense that for centuries people have been finding creative ways to bring families together. This is a natural evolution of a concept that has been around forever. And yet it feels brand new as we make our way once again through the murky waters of medical history, genetics, and who should know what.

There's such a heavy focus on technology and making pregnancies viable, that some of the human aspects of it seem to fall by the wayside. Should people conceived this way know about their donors? Do the donors feel a missing connection to the offspring conceived using their cells? Are surrogate mothers getting any support after giving birth?

As a birth mother, I felt a societal expectation to get over it and move on, but at least there was some sympathy in there. "Poor thing, got herself into a bind. Tough situation. Well, it was best for the baby to go to another family and at least she gets pictures." Sympathy laced with pity, perhaps, but sympathy nonetheless.

Surrogate mothers are dealing with a tougher stigma, in some ways. We can't assume that they got into a bind and had to make a decision about a pregnancy that was already progressing. (Although financial pressures could affect the decision.) The pregnancy was intentional, but I'm guessing that may draw some opinions that are not unlike what birth mothers hear. "I could never do that!" or the other side of the coin: "That's so nice of her to do that."

While birth mothers get a bit of pity-laced sympathy, I'm not sure how much public support there is for the inevitable loss surrogate mothers feel when the child is born and goes home with the new family.

The biological connection may or may not be there, but the bonding during pregnancy is a force to be reckoned with. Technology cannot erase that.

Juno: Tidy characters, tidy ending

2010-04-06T20:34:00.000-07:00

I finally got around to watching the movie Juno over the weekend. As we sat down to watch it, my husband said, "Okay, listen. If anything comes up for you when we watch this and you need to cry, rant, whatever, go ahead. Also, please do not break the TV."

That turned out to be a fair request - it was hard to watch. Some parts hit too close to home and other parts just got under my skin. Of course there were funny parts too, and overall it was a well-done movie. But looking at the overall story and characters, what struck me the most was how the characters, especially Juno and Vanessa, were such obvious stereotypes.

Vanessa (the adoptive mother) is portrayed as an affluent, neurotic, and desperate woman who needs a baby to fulfill what she is convinced is her destiny to be a mother.

Juno, on the other hand, is a teenager inconvenienced by this whole pregnancy thing, and looking for a noble solution to help her get on with her life.

Throughout the movie, Juno is pretty flip about her baby. I kept waiting for her to soften toward her baby, talk to it, re-evaluate her decision, or lay around rubbing her belly. Once she picked a flower and circled it around on her belly for a second, she smiled through her ultrasound, and there were a few tears in the hospital after her baby was born, but that was about it. I've tried on the argument that she had to emotionally push her baby away because she knew they'd be parting, but that just doesn't cover it. She seemed unrealistically cool and witty about it.

Most birth mothers I know, myself included, had loving feelings and strong bonds with our babies, even though we knew we would be parting ways. I remember rubbing my belly, talking to my baby a lot, laughing as my belly shook with her hiccups, pressing gently on her pokey heels. Yes there was ambivalence, but that did not mean the absence of affection.

I would hate for someone who was adopted to watch this movie and make the assumption that his or her birth mother was so casual and detached about the pregnancy and birth. If my own daughter saw this and thought that's how she was regarded before she was born, I'd be crushed, and maybe so would she.

I was prepared for the ending after reading reviews of the movie, so the happy guitar-playing couple at the end didn't raise my hackles. My husband, on the other hand, sat there staring for a moment, and then threw his hands in the air and said, "WHAT?!"

Who's to say what would lie ahead for a girl like Juno? And who's to say that my own experience trumps this fictional story? I have to say, though, that when I compare real, honest birth mother stories to this one, the movie falls way short.

Of course, there is no Hollywood crew sweeping our own stories into tidy endings. But not every good story needs one.

Well, the concept is there

2010-03-22T09:45:00.001-07:00

I got home last night from the American Adoption Congress conference in Sacramento, CA. This morning as the kids piled into bed with me, I told them all about my hotel room, described the huge silver platters of pastries they had set out in the morning, and I showed them pictures I took of an orange tree. I told them most of the time I was listening to people talk about adoption. My son looked confused. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Do you know what adoption is?

AJ: No.

Me: It's when a baby grows in one mommy's tummy, but then it goes to another family who raises it. So a long time ago, I had a baby in my tummy--

AJ: It was me!

Me: Yes, you grew in my tummy. So did you, E. But even before that, there was another baby who grew in my tummy.

AJ: I know! (pauses to think of her name). But you couldn't take care of her, right, Mom?

Me: I didn't think I could, no.

AJ: What else did you see at your conference?

Me: A beautiful cathedral. Do you know what that is? It's like a church, where Catholics go.

AJ: What's a Catholic?

Me: Similar to a Christian. Like Grandma and Grandpa. A Christian believes Jesus died to save them.

E: Grandpa died?

Me: No, he's alive.

AJ: Yeah, he's 62. But he's smaller than Dad, and Dad is only 39! When you're a grown up, your skin keeps growing but not your body.

And that was the end of that. We've talked about this quite a bit, but apparently I haven't used the word "adoption" much. I've educated them in the concept without attaching the language to it. Well, first things first.

Haiti's kids: What's in their best interest?

2010-02-09T19:16:00.000-08:00

I've been feeling compelled to write about the adoption of Haitian kids, but it's been hard to sort through all of my feelings about it. In times of crisis, we see the best and worst of everything. With the earthquake we're seeing massive humanitarian efforts coming from all parts of the globe to get supplies and medical care to the people there. We're seeing people working tirelessly to reunite families and help people find the basic necessities of life.

We've also seen people eager to get kids out of Haiti and adopted into American families, and in the case of one missionary group, they were willing to do it illegally without going through all of the processes designed to draw the line between adoption and kidnapping. When I was first reading the news accounts of how quick people were to try to get the kids out of Haiti, I kept wondering, Has anyone tried to find their families? Why are we giving up so quickly? It seemed to be a halfhearted attempt to locate family followed by a shrug and an airplane ticket.

The more progressive adoption practices would have us do due diligence in looking for creative ways to keep kids connected to their biological relatives, or even to their geographical area and culture, and then bring them to a faraway country only as a last resort. We must be aware of the added trauma, in the midst of chaos, that results when kids are abruptly removed from their home surroundings.

The urgency of the situation has caused confusion. These kids need basic necessities now, not in 6 months. It seems logical to bring them to the comfort of an American middle-class home. From an adoption perspective, though, it seems rushed to shuffle kids out of Haiti before anyone has had a chance to figure out if there's a way for them to stay.

The organization SOS Children's Villages is caring for many Haitian kids, according to this ABC News story. Their CEO, Heather Paul, says, "Sometimes Americans believe that children are better off in an American middle-class environment almost as a priority over being with their own family who are impoverished. I don't believe that. Children — they just love their families."

When we consider any type of adoption, the question always arises, "What's best for the child?" Do any of us ever really know what's best? And yet we're called on to act on behalf of a child before we can answer that question. Adoption is full of unanswerable questions, and the situation in Haiti magnifies this one.

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Does the doll know she's adopted?

2009-12-26T23:16:00.000-08:00

My 2-year-old got a Cabbage Patch Kids doll for Christmas, which she of course adores. She named it Snoopy and it gets rides in the stroller, diaper changes, and regular feedings. It came with a birth certificate and a blank adoption certificate that includes the adoption oath your toddler is supposed to take that they will love this doll and be nice to it, and then the child, supposedly, signs the adoption form, and THEN they get to be the mommy to the doll. Go ahead and roll your eyes with me. Well, at least it didn't include an ammended birth certificate, or require you to hide the original birth certificate so your doll won't have identifying information about which end of the patch it was plucked from.

Curiosity got the best of me and I went on the Cabbage Patch Kids website. They really go all out on the adoption thing. Instead of the price, they list the "adoption fee" for all of the "kids" they're selling, er, making "available for adoption." At the bottom of the page it says, "WHEN ADOPTING MORE THAN 5 KIDS, PLEASE CALL TO PLACE YOUR ORDER BY PHONE IN ORDER TO PROCESS CORRECT SHIPPING AND HANDLING CHARGES."

Fortunately, our particular doll was purchased (not "adopted") from QVC. And the giver of the favorite new doll did give me a heads up about the adoption papers and encouraged me to dismiss them or toss them in the trash. Knowing that, I made the choice to overlook (and, admittedly, mock) all of the marketing and just let my daughter enjoy her gift.

As for the doll's adoption paperwork, well...it's still sitting on the counter next to the recycling bin. It'll either get the nudge into the bin later this week, or I'll tuck it away for the day the doll is old enough for us to break it to her that her first mother was a cabbage.

Call me what you will

2009-12-16T22:33:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I find myself hesitating to write publicly because I'm afraid that if I use the "wrong" terminology, the response will focus on the words I chose and not on the message or intention behind what I write. There's much -- quite heated -- debate in the adoption world about what terminology to use to describe a woman who has a child that has been adopted into another family. Quite frankly, I think all of the terms I've heard thrown around aren't quite right.

It's hard to find a fitting qualifier for the word mother when describing who I am in relation to my firstborn daughter. Yet when I simply say that I am my daughter's mother, I feel like I am disowning my experience of being separated from my her, brushing aside her reality of being raised by another mother, and dismissing the mothering of her adoptive mother. I am not telling the truth about my story. Inside, it feels like a step in the wrong direction.

I use birth mother to describe myself in relation to my oldest child, even though I'm not entirely comfortable with that terminology. It's not a perfect description, but neither is natural mother, original mother, real mother, biological mother, or first mother. We are more than any of these terms.

In her post titled "They call me 'biological mother.' I hate those words." Lorraine Dusky writes:

I am all these things, and I have millions of sisters. Together we should be able to change the world. But if the language we use must be rigidly pure before we can agree to work together ... we will never get anywhere. We will continue to fight over matters that do not forward our cause. We will accomplish nothing.

What a relief to hear this expressed. When we argue about the nuances of language, we miss the point entirely.

I don't expect any of us to be able to cram the essence of our complex stories and relationships into a single term. I am not interested in long debates over terminology. I'd like us to support each other in the good faith that regardless of the language we choose, we're all working to tell the truth about our experiences, and trying to find the words to express who we know we are.

What research and reality TV can agree on

2009-12-07T23:14:00.000-08:00

There's a lot of buzz about the new show on ABC called Find My Family. I haven't seen it, and I have some technical issue going on with my computer that won't allow me to view the episodes online, but I've heard so many different opinions about it that I'm very, very curious. The show helps reunite people who were adopted with their birth families. Well, actually the show's description is careful not to mention adoption, but it does end up being a major theme.

From the site:
Each episode is full of moving moments and tears of joy, when mothers, fathers, daughters and sons who lost touch for decades are reunited. First we learn the emotional back stories of each family in search of lost relatives. Then with minimal information, the Find My Family team begins the difficult and often frustrating process of sifting through archives and tracking down records until they uncover the missing links.

Hmm, must be nice to have a team of investigative people from a major network working on your behalf. I can't comment on the content without watching it, but I'm happy to hear about any show that helps the general public understand the longing many people feel to connect with their families, and the subsequent challenges they face when trying to hunt down information that they need to find each other when records are closed, etc.

This show came right around the same time the Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute released a major study about whether adult adoptees should be granted access to their original birth certificates. The policy paper is pretty strong in its recommendation:
This publication, released in November for National Adoption Awareness month, represents the most comprehensive examination to date of one of the most controversial, emotional issues in the modern adoption world: whether adopted people, once they become adults, should have access to their original birth certificates. This report suggests that all states change their laws so that the answer is "yes."

I'm not sure how often major research organizations and network reality TV intersect, but strangely enough, in this case it looks like they're in agreement that access to more information is the way to go.

National Adoption Day

2009-11-19T16:38:00.000-08:00

This coming Saturday is National Adoption Day, where courts across the U.S. will finalize thousands of adoptions of children in foster care. According to the official National Adoption Day site, over 25,000 children have been adopted from foster care on this day over the past 10 years. It's also a day of celebration for families who adopt.

As a birth mother, the day comes and goes with mixed feelings. I hope my daughter is celebrated in her family, big time. Like any mother would, I want her to feel a sense of belonging, and to feel cherished. It's hard for me to personally celebrate an event that separated us....but at the same time, I want her to have the best celebration party in the whole entire world.

I think the original intent for National Adoption Day was to complete foster care adoptions and get them moved through the legal system. I wasn't aware of that aspect of it until I visited the official site to get information on Adoption Day celebrations for an article I was writing for Peppers & Pollywogs. I thought it was just a day that adoptive families celebrate with their kids. I think it can be both.

I'm not sure where birth parents fit into National Adoption Day. In open adoptions, it would definitely be appropriate to acknowledge the birth parents on any day that focuses on the child's adoption. Beyond that, we can use all this public focus on adoption to reflect on our stories, have conversations about our experiences, and continue to advocate for ethics and openness in adoption. You know, the same as any other day.

What open adoption means to my family

2009-11-03T12:30:00.001-08:00

Speaking of openness in adoption...

My 4-year-old has been doing a lot of processing about this. I mentioned in an earlier post that he was expressing concern that he'd have to go live with another family and have another mom. When I brought up the subject with him a day or so later, he admitted that he was still worrying about this. I asked if it had anything to do with his older sister, and he ran into his play room and started throwing his trains around, begging, "Why can't I see her? I just want to meet her! Why can't I?"

In the car on the way to preschool later that morning he was still muttering to himself, trying to make sure he got it all straight. "You couldn't take care of her? Is that right, Mom?" he finally asked. So I explained yet again about what my life was like back then and that I didn't think I had what a baby needs, and how my life is much different now and I know I can take good care of him and his sister." He said, "Oh!" in a bright and cheerful voice. I could practically hear a bell ring and see a lightbulb light up in his brain.

It was difficult to not have answers to all of his questions about when (or if) he'll be able to meet his older biological sibling. I don't have any information about what she knows about our family, or if she has any interest. Sometimes I get frustrated with all of my wondering.

But I'm realizing that while I don't know much about the degree of openness in Sweet Pea's family and am not in charge of what they choose to share with me, I have a tremendous opportunity to set the tone in my own family. I choose for us to be very open about adoption. Very. To me this means more than just answering the occasional stray question. It means that I initiate conversations and stay with them through emotions and reactions. That I circle back around and circle back around until I'm convinced that we are really finished with a topic for now. It means that I explain myself over and over, in different ways, until we together find the real question and then come to the answer.

Adoption advice from "Dear Prudence"

2009-11-03T11:48:00.000-08:00

Last week Slate.com ran a Q&A about relationships in an open adoption in their "Dear Prudence" column. Scroll down to the last question on the page. A parent writes in after his or her daughter, who was adopted through an open adoption, expresses that she doesn't want to see her birth family right now.

Prudie wisely suggests that this girl not be forced to see them if she needs to pull back, but that her parents maintain contact with the birth family -- if she wants to renew those relationships later, she can. Sounds reasonable to me.

Prudie threw me for a loop at the end, though, when she suggests that the adoptive parents just tell the birth family that "as she's becoming a very busy teenager, you're going to take a break from the get-togethers."

As a birthparent, I would be pretty confused to suddenly have the parent suggest that the child was suddenly too busy for contact with me.

At the same time, what a tricky situation! How do you tell the birth family that your daughter needs some space from the visits?

I admit it, I lean toward wanting more openness in adoption, whenever it's safe and appropriate to do so. On that note, if openness is the goal, like it appears to be here, what if that goal extended to all of the people involved? Open adoption is about more than just speaking freely with the child.

I'm sure that not everyone would agree with this approach, but another option would be to tell the birth family that the child has expressed that she would like some space from the visits. You don't know fully what that's about, but you'd like to honor it while she processes whatever it is that's on her mind. You'll be sure to give updates every couple of months and you'd like to be sure to maintain the connection with them, regardless.

It may cause some hurt feelings or protests, but it's truthful and kind. A step in the right direction, in my opinion.

Even though I don't agree 100% with Prudie's advice, I am actually really happy to see that talking about adoption is becoming common enough to make it into a popular column.

The promise of permanency

2009-10-27T23:10:00.000-07:00

Today as I am pulling into our parking spot, my 4-year-old son says suddenly, "Mom, I don't ever want to live with another family. I don't want to have another mom."

I shut the car off and turn to look him in the eye. "Sweetheart, you will always be in our family. And I will always will be your mom, as long as I'm alive."

This is the second conversation we've had about the topic this week. I'm not sure where this came from, but I'm going to bring it up tomorrow to see if I can get him to talk about what he's afraid of. It's possible that he's processing what he knows about this mysterious older sister that we talk about sometimes, the sister that started out as my baby and then went to live with another family. He sometimes asks if he can see her, and he wants to know why he can't. He asks when he will be able to see her. A couple of times he's asked why she doesn't live with us.

When this comes up I try to emphasize all of the differences between then and now. "When she was born a long, long time ago I was young and things were very different. I couldn't take care of her the way that I take really good care of you and E. So she is being raised in another family." I keep fighting the urge to tell him that our family will be together forever and I'll never be apart from him. I walk the fine line between reassuring him that I'm here to stay and making false claims about my own immortality.

Today he sits in his carseat and thinks about it some more. "Even when I'm a grown-up, I can still be in our family?"

"Yes," I tell him emphatically,"Even when you're a grown-up I'll still be your mom and you'll still be my son." I find these words strangely reassuring myself.

"I can still live with you when I'm a grown-up?" He sounds hopeful now.

Okay, I see where this is going. Poor kid, he's probably also worried about outgrowing his place in our family.

I explain that even when he's a grown-up I will still be his mom, just like Grandma is still my mom. And even if he lives by himself or with another grown-up, and even if he has his own kids, we will still all be a family.

He looks out the window for a moment, and then his face gets a big grin. "Even when I'm a giant and need a giant house?" He laughs and I laugh and that's it. For now.

Support an adoption charity with your Halloween shopping

2009-10-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

The Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption has a great idea for Halloween this year. You can get a book of Wendy's Jr. Frosty coupons for only $1 from participating Wendy's restaurants, and the proceeds benefit the foundation.

The foundation provides a lot of resources both pre- and post-adoption, and seems to focus quite a bit on supporting foster care adoption. They also have free resources available to help businesses become adoption-friendly workplaces, along with a list of the most adoption-friendly workplaces of the year.

I'll probably still buy candy to hand out with the Jr. Frosty coupons just to satisfy the instant gratification expectations of Halloween. Regardless, I love this idea! We'll have to see whether the kids mind that these are slightly less tangible than a candy bar, but I'm guessing with all of the other candy they get, it might actually be nice to have another treat to look forward to later. This also means less candy around the house -- a good thing for everyone!

Looking through the lens of your life's work

2009-10-11T15:18:00.000-07:00

Last week I came down with a cold, and when I looked at my schedule I felt totally overwhelmed. I hadn’t realized how much I have my life planned out moment by moment, until each piece of my schedule was re-evaluated for how much energy it was going to take. It was humbling to see how much I have been expecting myself to exert day after day, with very little unscheduled, unstructured time. When I went through and started cancelling things, it felt so good!

The tricky part is that my schedule is typically packed with things I genuinely like and want to do. I want to spend time with my family. I want to see friends. I cherish my time with my writing circle. I want to give massage to the regular, faithful clients scheduled this week. I enjoy my work … and the list goes on.

Author and coach/consultant Renee Trudeau goes beyond the usual chipper yet vague urging to “take time for yourself every day” and “follow your dreams” in her post titled Radical Self-Care. She writes about how she often finds herself having to say no to things that really feed her. She says, “I love to help and serve others and have many gifts and talents which allow me to do so on a large scale — whether it’s supporting others to discover their life’s work, experience more balance, grow/expand their business, promote their amazing events/initiatives or remember who they really are.”

But she boils it down to this: “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.”

I’ve been rolling along with this notion that if I have a knack for something, it must be important that I get out there and use that gift or talent whenever possible. The problem is, I’ve spent many years developing different skills and exploring new interests, and rather than choose a direction to focus, I’ve tried to drag everything into the current picture. The result is a life filled up with a hodgepodge of work, family, hobbies, passions, and commitments, which is great fun but also a bit disorienting and hard to keep up with. It’s like being in charge of too many kids — no one gets proper attention, and there’s always someone crying.

I’m working on how to shift this. Artist Dean Hanmer addressed this conundrum last year when I interviewed him for The Arc Magazine. He does what he calls Treasure Mapping, which is basically creating a collage from images that represent what you want to create in your life. He uses this to help him choose his commitments, because it’s a visual reminder of his goals, “a real-life daily reminder of what I should be saying yes to without stumbling on my words."

So in order to know what to say yes to, we have to have a sense of our goals or life’s work. For one idea on how to figure this out, check out Steve Pavlina’s article, “How to Discover Your Life Purpose in About 20 Minutes.” (He warns that if you don’t believe in having a life purpose, it might take more like an hour.)

When I see the tireless work of so many leaders in the field of adoption education and resources, I know I am witnessing people who are doing more than just tasks at a job — their passion and sense of purpose comes through clearly. When we are highly aware of what we want to create, our impact ripples out into families and into the adoption community in a positive and helpful way.

Looking at our schedules through this lens can be really helpful in knowing what stays and what goes. After all, life is short, and we all have real work to do.

The student is ready

2009-09-25T05:39:00.000-07:00

In 2004 I found myself in the back seat of a rented car, bumping down a dirt road somewhere in the Yucatan Peninsula in the southernmost tip of Mexico. The driver had just spent a week teaching us Reiki, and now the four of us were off to explore some of the lesser-known ruins of the area. We leaned in to talk as we sped along the dirt road with hot wind in our hair and dust in our eyes, and we discovered that three of the four women in that car had relinquished our firstborn children for adoption.

Until that point I'm not sure I really knew any other birthmothers. It's not information I'd typically offer at a cocktail party. And yet there I was, plunked down in a speeding car in the jungle with two others like me. Coincidence? I think not.

As the Buddhist proverb goes, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear." These women were my teachers. Each had found her own path toward healing and was continuing on her journey, and at that moment our lives intersected in a beautiful synchronicity. I learned from them new perspectives on adoption and different ways to move forward, and I was reminded of the huge capacity of human love.

Who are our teachers, and what are we learning? When we truly begin to pay attention, we discover that there are many voices out there heralding their perspectives on adoption and everything else under the sun. Sometimes those voices mirror our own, and we get validation and the gift of feeling understood. Other times we hear things that make our skin crawl. The tendency is to dismiss the messages from those with a different experience, or from other triad members, by telling ourselves that they just don't get it.

Maybe they do get it. Maybe we are being given the opportunity to understand yet another facet of adoption. Do we see that opportunity when we're in the midst of an emotional reaction to what we're hearing?

Sometimes we don't. But the times we can manage to stay with our reaction until the intensity has subsided, we can catch a glimpse of a gem of wisdom at its core. Often we don't want that little gem, because in order to receive it we have to give up being right -- a high price to pay. Is it worth it?

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Telling nothing but the truth

2009-09-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

According to the Radical Honesty movement founder, Bob Blanton, I should tell a former co-worker that I think she is overly attached to perfection and that I resent how I was expected to do things exactly the way she does. Then I ought to let my friend know that it bugs me when she tells me how badly she wants to see me and then flakes out on our plans because she is busy. Also, I better tell my neighbor how much I appreciate his honesty when he talks about our neighborhood, even when he's frustrated.

Blanton says on his website that the only way to have really free, authentic, and truly intimate relationships is to tell the truth -- the whole truth -- all of the time. "What if you think someone's ugly? Should you tell them?" someone tests in the FAQs. His answer is yes, and tell them what specifically puts you off, because chances are it's been affecting their relationships for years. If they're angry with you or hurt, stay with them through that until you're on the other side, with a more authentic relationship.

I'm not about to go all out voicing every stray thought, but it occurred to me that many of the lingering bits of pain in adoption may be somewhat inflated by the inability to voice them to the people involved. The movement toward open adoption is definitely a step in the direction of more honesty, because relationships are allowed to form between everyone involved. Even in very open adoptions, though, are we protecting an image of ourselves? Are we worried about the fragility of the relationships and therefore only willing to tell the truths that we feel others can handle? The tricky part is that they can probably handle much, much more than we give them credit for, and we're wasting a lot of energy protecting them (or protecting ourselves under the guise of protecting someone else) and trying to uphold a particular image of ourselves. According to Blanton, when people get to know each other in detail, they fall in love with each other.

A few months ago I was challenged to do something restorative for myself each day ... in the presence of my family. I had confessed to my life coach that I tend to sneak things that bring me joy -- lock the bathroom door and guiltiliy devour another 5 pages of a novel, go grocery shopping for the family and then make a hasty pass through the art supply store, hiding my new art supplies in the trunk of my car. It all sounded so ridiculous when I heard myself confess it, yet there was a real fear and vulnerability I was trying to protect.

The first day of my challenge I laced up my running shoes as my husband was getting ready to put the kids to bed. "I'm going running." I announced. "OK," he said, without a second glance. That's it? Just "OK?" I had geared up to run down a list of defenses about why I should be able to go. "Have fun," he added.

How much of what we withhold is unneccessary? What in ourselves do we find unlovable that we hold back from others?

Image: Radical Honesty store

How do I want to experience today?

2009-09-14T05:56:00.000-07:00

The first thoughts that invaded my brain as I woke last Friday were fairly surly. Can't I get any sleep? How am I supposed to do all of this? There's no way I'm going to make my deadline for work. Today was supposed to be different.

I had spent many hours during the past few nights rocking fevered bodies in the darkness, listening to the slow breathing of sick children as they rested their sweaty heads against my neck. Feeling my own hot skin against theirs, and finally, back in my own bed, sleeping lightly but on alert for the next cries. The days were spent holding, soothing, tracking medication and fluid intake, and then scrambling for pieces of time when they were asleep to jump on my computer, in order to deliver what I had promised to a client. By Friday morning it had all gotten the best of me. To top it off, it was my birthday. In my head I had planned to take some time off work and go kayaking and then celebrate in the evening with my family and friends, but that wasn't going to happen. My party had been rescheduled. I wasn't going to have the experience I wanted.

And then came the question, How do I want to experience today? I wanted the warm feelings of friends, leisurely time away from my daily responsibilities, and ordinary yet warm moments with my family. The deadlines exist, the virus exists, my fatigue exists, but so does the love from my friends and my family. Time itself exists -- how do I want to experience that?

I made it my personal mission to experience my birthday the way I wanted it to be. I lay in bed listening to my kids negotiate something on the stairs and tried to clear my head, to call up all of the gratitude that had been buried beneath my complaints. I willed the gratitude to push its way up, and edge out the negativity. Gradually I felt a shift in my body and in my mind.

I heard the click of the lock in the front door as my husband returned home early from his night shift. The kids ran to him, shouting with delight. A moment later two fuzzy little heads bobbed up beside my bed, presenting me with a birthday card and a chorus of "Happy Birthday!" and "Can I have some cake?" as my husband grinned from the doorway.

That day our fevers lifted. I made pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse. We took a walk outside and ate the season's last blackberries off the bushes along the way. Friends called and e-mailed to check in and wish me a happy birthday. When my husband woke up he sent me out to Remedy Teas, my favorite tea shop, where I finished my work and then wrote for awhile over a pot of spicy Chili Chai tea. When I came home, I found that the kids were feeling good, a chocolate cake had just come out of the oven, and my husband had rearranged and redecorated our bedroom to create a beautiful sanctuary -- a birthday gift that has meaning on a deep level.

When I decided what I wanted to experience, outside circumstances aligned themselves in support of that intention. More importantly, I was more aware of the things that supported my intention, so that was what I experienced.

It is my goal to bring that level of intention into all areas of my life -- including adoption. I tend to focus on how I can change things. I think it's time to explore a new question: How do I want to experience things as they are right now?

Image: Shannon Pifko/Stock.xchng

Educating kids about adoption

2009-09-10T06:19:00.000-07:00

With school back in session, kids who are adopted or in foster care may be facing another round of questions about their lives and origins as they meet new friends and settle in with new teachers.

In her Examiner.com article, "'Back to School' can bring up new questions,' Kelly Conley has pulled together a comprehensive set of resources from Adoptive Families magazine that can help adoptive families prepare their kids to answer questions about themselves and their families. She also links to resources for speaking with your child's teacher and a handout for positive adoption language.

Recently, an adopted adolescent told me that she has been teased about being adopted. I'm curious -- is that a typical experience of adopted kids? I wonder if more work is needed to educate all children about some of the many ways families come together. It could be a simple lesson plan or classroom discussion about families that includes reference to some of the different ways families are built -- through birth, adoption (open, closed, kinship, international), guardianships, etc. Maybe just a way to broaden the worldview of kids who don't have much personal experience with that?

This is a good reminder to me to talk to my kids about this as well, even though they're still preschool age. My son is beginning to talk more about the differences he notices in peoples' bodies, so undoubtedly he'll soon become curious about families who don't all look alike. (Yes, we've had the "You're fat!" comment to a stranger in the grocery store.)

Maybe the time to really educate is before the kids hit school age, so that it's a normal part of their vocabulary and life experience by the time they're in the classroom.

I'd love to hear how and when you're talking to your kids about adoption and other ways families come together.

Image: Stock.xchng

The courage to write about adoption

2009-09-04T14:23:00.000-07:00

Last week, the Motherlode blog from the New York Times ran an article by Anita Tedaldi about her tearful realization that she and her adopted son were not attaching well, and her decision to have him placed in a new family.

As you can guess, the comments this article is getting range from empathetic and reassuring to outright rage and the vilification of Anita. In the midst of the sinner vs. saint debate, many readers simply commended her on her courage for telling her story.

Opening up about adoption publicly can be incredibly vulnerable, especially where we have the residue of shame, guilt, and anger. Self-judgment gives way to a fear of getting that judgment from readers. When I started my previous (now dead) blog, I eventually worked up the courage to write a post "outing" myself as a birth mother. I panicked silently for awhile and then changed my privacy settings so that only 6 people had access to the blog -- the 6 people who had already commented to me on that particular post. I mean, what if a potential employer saw this private, emotional part of me? Would it strain my relationship with my family who may not know how I really feel about this? etc. Finally with a little coaxing and encouragement I began to write about my experience more publicly. And you know what? No one has verbally flogged me. Instead, people have come out of the woodwork, some curious and some grateful for one more voice speaking with honesty about the adoption experience.

When I read about the experiences of people like Anita -- honest, raw, and rooted in the genuine desire to do the right thing for herself and all of her children, it gives my courage a little boost and I feel a deep gratitude for the opportunity we all have to connect in this way. I find that as I get more courageous about sharing my story, I open up the channels to connect with other like-minded people. Relationships are stronger when they are based on openness and truth.
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Without a Map offers truth with grace

2009-08-25T06:59:00.000-07:00

I have read many books about adoption, and I've heard many, many stories, but Without a Map by Meredith Hall captures the experience of a birth mother in a way we don't often see: in the context of her family. (See previous post about this book.)

In telling her story, Hall gives a hauntingly realistic picture of herself as a pregnant 16-year-old, and subsequently, of her numb wandering following the birth and relinquishment of her baby. She continues to talk about her parents and siblings though, coming back to them again and again despite feeling shut out after her pregnancy. She shows a great tenacity and reinforces the notion that ties between parents and children run deep -- deeper than any physical or emotional separation can erase. She explores with great honesty the complex dance of fierce love, protectiveness, rage, guilt, and joy within a family.

Toward the end she asks herself the question: Would I change my life? Would I choose differently? Her answer is no. Our experiences accumulate piece by piece and form us into who we are. She recognizes that out of grief is born wisdom. Out of pain is born compassion. The wisdom and strength she has gained thus far would disappear along with the pain of her past if she could somehow erase those memories. Given the choice, she would keep her life -- all of it.

The book skips around a bit chronologically, but through each piece within the larger story run the threads of yearning to embrace life and to love. And underneath that, the quest to be loved.

Hall writes elegantly and clearly, bringing forth a rich story told with unflinching honesty infused with tenderness toward herself and the people whose lives are enmeshed with her own. Yes, it's a book about a birth mother, but first and foremost it's a book about a woman carving out her place in her family, in the world, and within herself.

Couple launches 'outreach campaign' to find a baby

2009-08-24T12:42:00.000-07:00

There’s a couple in Minnesota who really wants to adopt a newborn baby. And I mean really. As part of their all-out campaign, they’re out handing out business cards and leaving flyers at local businesses, wearing T-shirts announcing their quest for a baby. They’ve put a sign in their yard and a magnetic sign on their car.

According to the article in the Star Tribune, they registered with an agency a few years ago, did the home study and all of the other necessary things, but a baby just hasn’t come yet so they’re taking matters into their own hands.

While I’m usually one to applaud ambition and hard work toward your dreams, I have to wonder what’s going on here behind the scenes. They explain in the article that they don’t want to adopt internationally because they’re too old to qualify for adoption from some countries, and they are put off by all of the red tape that can be involved. They say they want it to be an infant or toddler so the child can grow up bilingual, as the man’s native language is French.

Yet one of the most obvious answers is staring them in the face as they race around searching. What about foster care? There are so many children in America in foster care who are still young enough to learn a language fluently, if that truly is a top priority. And as far as our priorities go, kids have a great way of taking their own course regardless of what life we’ve dreamed up for them. (I dreamed I’d have a kid who is mellow and compliant, and the entire universe laughed as my son was born.)

So we have a couple spending time and money in search of a child, while non-profits and social service agencies are spending time and money in search of families to adopt children in foster care.

I understand that there are pervasive fears sometimes about adopting kids from foster care. I also wouldn’t want to push someone to adopt a child who may have needs they can’t handle. But really, you never know what needs a child will have or what will arise regardless of where their life began.

The right decision

2009-08-18T00:08:00.000-07:00

When I made the decision to relinquish my daughter, it was mostly a brain-based decision. “You’re too young, my brain told me. “And single women shouldn’t be mothers. You’ll ruin her life.” My brain lectured on, reciting what it had heard repeatedly: “Adoption is the smart, selfless, responsible way to handle an unplanned pregnancy.” And then, just to drive the point home, my brain dropped down to a whisper. “Also,” it hissed, “you personally just don’t have what it takes to raise a kid.”

When my intentions to relinquish became known during my pregnancy, I got many affirmations that I was making the right choice. At the time, these affirmations brought a sense of relief. They registered as “I am good.” Now, after parting with my daughter, those same words are offered as comfort. “You made the right decision. You did the best thing for your baby.” But now, oh boy howdy how those words sting. In the space that follows, my brain fills in the rest: “…because your child is better off without you.”

In her article, “Telling Mom She Made the Right Decision is Wrong,” reunited mother Jane Edwards notes that the decision to relinquish is made in faith and hope, without actually knowing the outcome for the child. She writes, “We did not know what would happen to our babies once we gave them up. By telling us we made the right decision, [they] are saying in effect: ‘any person would have been a better parent than you would have been; any situation would have been better than living with you.’ These are not comforting words.”

I can't place a hard and fast judgment on a decision. It was a decision. Was it the right one? I'll never know. I don't even know that I believe such a thing exists, or what the qualifications are for a decision to be proclaimed to be "right." I believe I did the best I could with what I had at the time, and that's about as far down that road as I'm willing to go.

This is when I hear the voice of my personal coach, Walter Edwards from Leading Change Company, chiming in to ask, “What is it that you do want?” (Thanks, Walter.)

A few responses that offer support and comfort to a birth mother:

“How are you doing with that?”
“What’s that like for you?”
“What can I do to support you right now?”
“Your love for him/her really comes through in the way you talk about this.”
“Well your child definitely got some genes for good looks!”

I am kidding about that last one. Kind of.

But anyway, you get the point. Having had much public comment about our parental aptitude early on, our sensitivity may be on overdrive. When navigating a difficult conversation with a mother who’s separated from her child, the best route may be one of neutrality — and overall, unconditional love.

Woman finds her own baby in adoption scam

2009-08-13T23:29:00.001-07:00

A news story came out last week on TheBostonChannel.com about a woman who found pictures of her own baby being used in an Internet adoption scam on Craigslist. Apparently her son was described as a Canadian-born orphan living in Cameroon, and the scammer was asking $300 to start the adoption process. The photos had been swiped from her family blog.

There were two main things that caught my attention here:

1) The headline: "Mother Finds Own Child For Sale Online"
In the media's description of the ad, I didn't hear anything that would distinguish between run-of-the mill (though fraudulent) agency fees and placing the child "for sale." Perhaps the "for sale" language in the headline was chosen to emphasize the point that it was an adoption scam, but it still made me wince.

2) The consequences: The user's e-mail account was shut down.
The article mentions that the mother called the FBI and her state's Attorney General's office, but the only consequence listed was the scammer losing their e-mail account. I'm wondering if people are becoming desensitized to the concept of adoption scams because of the number of unethical international adoption practices that have been unearthed over the past few years. I can just picture some bored tech support employee yawning and deleting the offending e-mail account in between surfing Facebook and eating lunch at his desk.

How do you think this should have been handled by the media and by the "authorities"?

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Splitting hairs

2009-08-07T14:28:00.000-07:00

One of my friends growing up had “unruly” hair. I vividly remember the smell of White Rain aerosol hair spray when I think of the hours we spent in her bathroom with the curling iron, flat iron, hair dryer, and various brushes. Her hair didn’t want to lay down or be curled into large ringlets. It certainly wasn’t going to be straight. She was sick of keeping it close-cropped but when she tried to grow it out, it just went … out. She’d tug on a piece by her ear, stretching it down as far toward her shoulder as it would go, and declare hopefully, “My hair is getting so long!”

She was biracial – ¼ black – and had been adopted as an infant into a white family in our small town in the Southwest. Halfway through high school she learned that people of color shouldn’t necessarily adhere to a daily shampooing schedule, and that there were products sold specifically for hair like hers. I’m impressed, given our town's ethnic demographics, that she ever figured out how to care for her hair. I regret all the time we wasted trying to torture it into hairstyles designed for straight hair, while entirely missing the beauty of her hair as it was. I love Liberty's take on this topic in her blog post: "Nappy Hair Brushing Session: Child Abuse?"

I was the only redhead in my family growing up. A million times I was asked by a stranger (usually an old lady) “Where did you get that pretty red hair?” And I’d smile and dutifully rattle off something about a great-great grandfather (or was it a great uncle?), which would be met with a satisfied smile.

It never bothered me that I wasn't entirely sure where the red hair came from. Perhaps being raised in my biological family contributed to the fact that I felt no driving need to know where up the chain this little piece of DNA had been expressed. In my family and in my town it was seen as unique and interesting, and possibly a predictor of my temperament, but nothing beyond that.

I’ve lost touch with my friend now, but I’m curious about her current hairstyle, and hopeful that she’s wearing it proudly.

Image: Stock.xchng