In 2008 I parted with the only daughter I ever had. No matter what anyone tells anyone, adoption is not easy. It is not easy for the birth parents, it is not easy for the adoptive parents (whom I refer to as “real” parents).
This is one of the things in my life I don’t talk about much. It weighs very heavy on my heart for so many reasons. The whole year of 2008 was fraught with so much pain, so maybe it’s that talking about it brings up all those feelings. But it’s probably also because, despite the real reasons why I chose adoption for my daughter, people will always jump to conclusions as soon as the words “adoption” or “birth mother” are mentioned.
It has been a source of ridicule as some nasty people have tried to use it as a weapon against me by twisting the situation, insinuating that I had her taken off me. I did not. While I would like to remain calm and know that these people are trying to get to me and I shouldn’t let them, and that they have no idea what they’re talking about, it has hurt in the past. I believe I am better at handling it now, but like the rest of the things spoken about in this blog, I know I am not alone in these things.
I have kept so many of these things to myself over the years, and what it’s done is destroy my soul… Board up the windows, lock the doors. No one gets it. No one will understand. I can’t trust anyone with the information. Therefore I must remain alone and keep the secret hidden.
No. This will not be the case any longer. Every one of these things I write about is helping to heal my broken heart. It’s shedding light and giving perspective to a lot of issues at which people like to stand from afar and point fingers without even trying to step into the shoes of the ones they are so quick to judge.
It is also helping to break the silence between myself and her real parents. It was agreed that it would be an open adoption, but I haven’t known how to do that. As stated in other posts on this blog, I suffer from anxiety which is like a running script in the back of my mind, over-analysing everything, all the time. I talk myself out of so many things before they begin. I’ve wanted to reach out for years, but haven’t wanted to step on any toes, haven’t wanted to interfere or cause any trouble.
But now, Lucy can read. I am a long way away, but she can see these letters. And with the blessing of her parents, I can share them with the readers of this blog, because I think it’s important to tackle this semi-taboo subject to attain more understanding for both birth parents and real parents, and the children in these situations.
Table of Contents
Dear Lucy 4