Four Lessons from my First Birthmother Retreat

Thanks to a local non-profit, I spent a November weekend with 15 other birthmothers near Napa. The organization facilitates these retreats multiple times a year, allowing birthmothers to connect with each other and share their innermost feelings in a safe and therapeutic environment, free of charge.

Being my first retreat, I wasn’t sure what to expect from the weekend. I was thrilled to make new friends, touched by the stories these mothers shared, and strengthened when recounting my own struggles.

Pondering my weekend in the days that followed the retreat, I realized four lessons that stood out to me from my experience. Based on what I heard and observed, these four ideas opened my eyes to facts I had known, but had yet to live through. Since the women at the retreat ranged greatly in age, situation and perspective, I benefitted from getting to know each of them — even if only on a tertiary level — and I feel better prepared for what my life as a birthmother could become.

1. Undesired change is possible.

In recent years, open adoptions have become more commonplace. In the most simplistic terms, an open adoption allows contact and communication between all parties: the adoptive parents, the child and the birth parents. Before the adoption is finalized, the adopting parents and birthmother (and possibly the birthfather also) typically sign an open adoption agreement, which outlines the terms and intentions of the future relationship. In my open adoption agreement, for example, the adoptive parents agreed in part to send me monthly photos and updates for the first year, and up to two visits per year until my baby turns 18.

Although I have not viewed anyone else’s open adoption agreement, my conversations have led me to believe a permutation of this basic phrase is always included: “If the adoptive parents believe contact with the birthmother is not in the best interest of the child, they may discontinue that contact at their discretion.” Mediation can be used to announce this change, but the birthmother is essentially at the mercy of the adoptive parents to grant her a relationship with her child until he or she is 18, because the open adoption agreement is often legally unenforceable.

More than one woman at the retreat said the adoptive parents had limited her relationship with her child. The limitations ranged from no contact whatsoever, to less than a day’s worth of visitation per year.

I was seized by panic attacks when I heard these stories. Losing contact with my baby is one of my biggest fears; it shortly follows my concern for his happiness and well-being, but at least for now, I am confident those needs are abundantly met.

By signing the relinquishment documents, I forfeited more than my baby. I also gave up my say in how he is raised. This includes any decisions pertaining to who he spends time with — even me.

This is a hard pill to swallow. I am helpless if my child’s parents decide to cut communication with me. The retreat reminded me of this sharp contrast in power.

2. Being a birthmother is a life-long sentence.

As I listened to each birthmother’s story, I felt an overwhelming sense of doom. These women sobbed as they talked about their children. They shared their hurts over separation and a missed opportunity to parent.

The reality of my situation came into focus under a microscope. I belong to this group of women. I am a woman who will never be my baby’s mother in the traditional sense. For the rest of my days, I will have a hole in my heart that cannot be filled by anything or anyone else.

I felt “doomed” because I know there is no escape from my identity as a birthmother. Without fully knowing the path I set myself on, I gave my child for adoption and branded myself a birthmother. At the retreat, the weight of this reality settled more heavily on me than ever.

My life as a birthmother is permanent. My shock is not so much from the permanency of the child to whom I gave birth, but to the permanency of living my life without him in my arms.

In previous blog posts, I have written more about the permanency of living as a birthmother. Read them here and here.

3. Birthdays bring special pain.

The final group activity of the weekend was a birthday celebration. We stood shoulder-to-shoulder in a circle, somberly singing “Happy Birthday” to each of our children simultaneously.

That song will never be the same.

After the fugue ended, silence was pierced by sniffles and shaky breaths. A few women collapsed in tears, burying their faces in tissues. I stood motionless, not even allowing my lungs to take in air. Holding my breath keeps back the tears.

I told myself I had no reason to cry. I haven’t missed any of my baby’s birthdays; he is only 9 months old. Plus, his adoptive parents have already invited me to his first birthday party.

But I know his birthday party won’t be on his true birthday, which is in the middle of the week. So I know I won’t get to be with him on that day.

These thoughts, coupled with the knowledge that these other women had missed many birthdays already, drew tears from my eyes. The “Ghost of Birthdays Future” haunted me as I swayed silently among the mourners.

4. I am not completely alone.

During one of the first activities of the weekend, we were asked to raise our hands in response to a series of statements.

“Raise your hand if this is your first time meeting another birthmother,” the facilitator said.

Two or three women identified themselves. One woman later said that until this weekend with fellow birthmothers, she had felt alone. No one in her circle of friends or family understood her like her newfound friends.

Even though I went into my adoption knowing I wasn’t alone, I forget sometimes. When isolation sets in, I wonder if my various thoughts and feelings are unique. Engrossing myself in three days of reflections with other birthmoms reminded me I am not alone. I know that no matter how crazy, hurt, scared or regretful I’m feeling, another birthmother is out there who can relate.

Returning home from the retreat, life moved on around me. The world turned as if nothing significant had disrupted its cycle; but in my own world, the rotation was no longer steady. For three days, I had been buried in the emotions of grieving mothers. I was acutely aware in every passing moment that I had given my baby to another family. Gaining a deeper understanding of the life that lies before me left me off-kilter.

I spent a week lying around the house. Texting other birthmoms from the retreat revealed, yet again, that I wasn’t alone in these feelings: “normalcy” is a state in which we operate, but not an ideal we can achieve.

Even with everything I saw and heard that weekend, I have since realized that, even though we have each other, birthmothers will always feel empty without their children. The birthmother community cannot replace that child. Ever. I am not alone in the sense that I am not the only one who feels loss after placing my child with another family, but I am alone without my baby. I feel alone every moment of every day that he’s not with me.

Perhaps the most effective catalyst for my “recovery” from the retreat was a conversation with Marie. I shared these lessons with her and she spoke to my fears.

“Emily, you are a part of our family,” she said for the hundredth time; I never get tired of hearing it. “If you’re having a bad day, or you’re just missing him a lot, give me a call or a text and I’ll tell you again. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it.”

I need to hear it again and again, even though I know some day this level of contact may change, for whatever reason. Because I will be a birthmother, a mother looking in, for the rest of my life. Because my baby has many, many birthdays ahead of him, and those days I will be thinking only of him. And because although I know I am not alone in my birthmother community, I still do not want to be alone in the world without my child.

This weekend I will attend my second retreat. I am excited, but given these lessons, I am steeling myself for another three days of sorrow.

 

What lessons have you learned since becoming a birthmother? Share your thoughts in the comment box below.