I have an essay in this anthology about postpartum depression just out from She Writes Press. Postpartum depression was my personal sequel to adoption loss. If you know someone who has recently had a baby and things don’t seem quite right, help that person get help. You’ll be helping a mother and a baby. Maybe even a whole family. Talk about it. Do something. The book would be a great conversation starter and a fine resource.
There are millions of us. For every adoptee, there is a birthmother. We’re your sisters, your friends, your aunts, your cousins, your teammates, your co-workers, your wives and girlfriends, that person next to you on the plane who’s flying home to see her mom and tells you everything after her 4th rum and coke.
Each of our stories is unique and they’re all the same. What you say to the particular birthmother(s) that you know probably depends on the story. Think about what you know. Step into her shoes. Is she still keeping her secret from others with you being one of the few in her confidence? Is she happily reunited with her son or daughter? Has her child refused to meet her? Is she searching? Does she have other children? Maybe you invite her over for coffee or take her out for a drink. Maybe you tell her you feel enriched by knowing her story, or you give her a card or a take time for a conversation. Maybe you ask her what she thinks of Birthmother’s Day, which is today, by the way, in case you didn’t know.
I don’t exactly hate the idea of Birthmother’s Day, myself. But I don’t really love it either. The phrase Happy Birthmother’s Day pretty much gets stuck in my throat. I’d rather cough up a carving knife than say that, but the idea of commemoration is a good one. We’re here. So, I’m thinking of us and all of our stories.
My memoir, “Birth Mother,” published last summer by Shebooks is now available on audible.com. I’ve listened to the sample, and while it’s kind of strange for me to hear another voice reading my words, I like the reader’s voice a lot. She sounds, well….kinda like me.
There are other fabulous books by women from Shebooks on Audible too. Check them out.
The actress Kate Mulgrew and I were born in Dubuque, Iowa. She went to New York to become a successful actress. I went to L.A. to act with less success. The both of us Catholic girls, our lives were unhinged by our pregnancies. Hers, not so secret at 20 in 1977; mine, buried in secrecy at 17 in 1970. We both searched and found the children we relinquished for adoption–her daughter at 22. My son at 21. We both wrote memoirs. I plan to read hers, Born With Teeth. If you’d like to read mine, you can find it here.
Years ago when I was struggling to make ends meet in Los Angeles, my mother would frequently advise me to contact Kate. Not that our families new one another. My family moved out of Dubuque to a smaller town. And Kate was, after all, in New York, not L.A. Still, my mom knew that she was famous and I wasn’t. I scoffed every time my mother mentioned her name. I wasn’t a soap opera fan and never saw a single episode of Ryan’s Hope. If I had watched it, maybe I would have tried to contact her. Her pregnancy was written into the script. She returned to the set just a few days after relinquishing her daughter while her character on the show was raising a baby. On her first day back on the show, Mulgrew had to hold a stunt baby and deliver a monologue about how she’d love the child until the day she died. If I had witnessed that, I might have hitched a ride (cue the music: “Bobby thumbed a diesel down, just before it rained…”) to New York. Given what I’d already been through, it might have been me who’d given her advice.
I recently received the good news that an essay of mine will be included in an anthology called Mothering Through the Darkness. My essay, “My Face in the Darkness,” explores the link between the relinquishment of my first child for adoption and the postpartum depression that I experienced with my subsequent children. All these years later, I still feel unmoored when I ponder how close I came to a breakdown after the birth of my second child.
Somewhere in the timeframe of writing and submitting the essay, I came upon this survey. I took the survey, realizing anew how completely abysmal my first experience of childbirth was. Mind you, my son was born in 1970, and there has been a fair amount of reform since then, but the survey questions did not evoke a single memory of support or compassion. Every interaction with the nurses and doctors in the hospital before, during, and after my son’s birth was tainted with shaming and judgement. I know that this story is not an unusual one.
Women and girls are subjected to a lot of shaming in our society. As a mother of two daughters and grandmother to two granddaughters, I think about shame in the context of their lives. You can read more about shame HERE. Or watch THIS. I’m looking forward to reading the other essays in “Mothering Through the Darkness.” I wouldn’t be surprised if, in some way, shame figures into each and every story.
And speaking of surveys, have you seen THIS ONE?
Though the poem, “Fable” by Louise Glück is not meant to be about adoption, it resonated with me nonetheless. But not in the way you might think. Not pitting adoptive mother against birth mother. For me, it cracked open the suffering of the two daughters, which might be an element in an adoption reunion story (though this is not the real-life situation the poet is most likely drawing on from her own childhood.) The pull of loss and grief is strong in this poem, deep and primal. A piece of the story perhaps for many in the world of adoption.
BY LOUISE GLÜCK
Two women with
the same claim
came to the feet of
the wise king. Two women,
but only one baby.
The king knew
someone was lying.
What he said was
Let the child be
cut in half; that way
no one will go
drew his sword.
Then, of the two
renounced her share:
the sign, the lesson.
you saw your mother
torn between two daughters:
what could you do
to save her but be
willing to destroy
yourself—she would know
who was the rightful child,
the one who couldn’t bear
to divide the mother.
I binge-watched the first season of Downton Abbey after coming down with a horrible cold/flu. I’d heard about it ad nauseum, and finally succumbed while feeling a bit nauseated myself. I got hooked, and then avidly watched the next couple of seasons until I grew weary of the problems of the English upper class. This year, well, here I am. Dan is gone, and why not sit on the couch for an hour and escape to the manor?–or whatever a grand house like that is called.
Now, Edith and me, we’re like this. Edith got pregnant after her first (so it seems) tryst with Michael. The same thing happened to me. She had to keep her pregnancy secret and went away with just her aunt as her confidant. (Somehow Granny finds out, but I missed that part.) In my case, only my parents and boyfriend knew. My siblings were in the dark just like Edith’s. Shame and ruination figured mightily in English society in 1924 as it did in my small Catholic town in Iowa in1970. Edith manages to keep her secret, as did I, and returns home with her reputation in tact. Life goes on. But the sadness overtakes everything. Edith can see her little girl, while my son was adopted in a closed-records adoption. I’m pretty sure that if some relative had been brought in on the secret and claimed him as their own, I would have done what Edith did in the last episode.
I don’t really care about Mary and her exploits. She seems to get away with everything. I don’t care about Cora and her pouty Robert. Rose can have her Russians. Cousin Violet can marry whoever she likes, and Granny can form a menage å trois with the prince and his wife (if she’s found,) just give me Edith and Marigold. Show me how they manage. How Edith makes it work. How she loves her little girl and keeps her as her own.
Of all the adoption stories out there on Facebook, this one has certainly captured my heart. I blogged about it a while ago, and here I am again with the update.
I like the candidness of the interview. I like that there’s so much redemption in the story. And I’m humbled. I didn’t exactly have a solid plan when I was a pregnant seventeen-year-old. The Burger King thing could have happened. Desperate people do desperate things.
I’ve been working on the California Pregnancy Resources List at the behest of Claudia Corrigan D’Arcy who is a major force in the world of birthmothers. Click on that link and scroll down to her map. More help is needed. She’s got a nifty template where, with a bit of googling, all of the resources can be plugged in for a particular state.
Imagine you are pregnant. Imagine you are desperate. You want to keep your baby and somehow be the best mother you can be despite your lack of money or support, but you don’t know where to start. Claudia is envisioning an online Crisis Center for Pregnancy Options that will lead to pages of resources other than to links that promote adoption.
Claudia’s resources list for New York state looks like this.
I just Googled “pregnancy help.” The results page three top links are all paid adoption ads. Let’s change that. Please check Claudia’s map and pick one of those white states that hasn’t been spoken for. If you’re a birthmother, you could perhaps choose the state where you relinquished your baby and create a comprehensive list of resources for women and girls who need it.
Today is the last day of November, also known as National Adoption Month, and I feel like pouring myself a glass of champagne and then maybe crying into the bubbles. Originally created to call attention to plight of children in foster care, National Adoption month is a particularly harrowing time for birthmothers who are bombarded by media accounts of adoption that don’t reflect the birthmother reality or perspective. National Adoption Month was never meant as a platform for touting infant adoption or foreign adoption or crowd funding for adoption, and I dare say that anyone involved in the foster care system is unlikely to be so delusional as to promote adoption as one big happiness fest. Yet, all of that has somehow elbowed its way onto the stage of National Adoption Month.
And now it’s over. Of course as the media spotlight dims, all of adoption’s worst practices will carry on behind the curtain and the fight against them must continue. Education is key. I’ve only recently found my voice as a birthmother, and in the coming year, I hope for the courage to speak out when the opportunity arises. I’m most grateful to Carrie Goldman and her series 30 Adoption Portraits in 30 Days as a venue to tell my personal story. “Designed to give a voice to the many different perspectives of adoption, this series featured guest posts by people with widely varying experiences,” and there’s an awful lot of good reading to be found. My essay, in case you missed it, can be found here.
Oh, and did you know that tomorrow is National Pie Day? I think I can get behind that pretty wholeheartedly.