We've Judged Her All Wrong

Word had gotten out amongst the flight attendants that our newly adopted baby was tucked into my wrap, sleeping on my chest.

Individually, they'd swing by our seat to congratulate us and oooh and ahhh at her tiny face.

A beautiful flight attendant in her 60s leaned in and paused for a moment. I saw the emotion in her eyes. "I'm never going to forget this," she said.

When I later got up to use the restroom, we got to talking at the back of the plane. She said, "I don't talk about this often, but a family adopted my firstborn child.”

In the adoption world, she’s what we call a “birth mom.” She showed me pictures and told me her story. She talked about the judgment she received for her decision at the time. People thought she should get her act together. Take responsibility. She had to hide it from work colleagues.

But the truth is, she shouldn’t have had to hide her choice from anyone.

Why did she choose adoption?

Having adopted both of our daughters, people often ask, Why would she give her baby up for adoption?

But before we go further, a kinder way to ask this question is, Why would she choose an adoption plan for her baby?

A birth mom doesn't "give up" her baby. She has the courage, foresight, and love to choose what she hopes will be a better life for her child.

Because adoption ain't easy.

And for the birth mom, that's an understatement. Parting ways with her baby is traumatic.

I won't pretend to understand her loss, but I've now witnessed it twice and it still brings me to tears.

A birth mom chooses to carry through with her adoption plan because she loves her baby with a force so strong, that she's able to put aside her own needs and instead prioritize her child's. Her baby has grown inside of her for nine months. It is part of her. Mother Nature is screaming at her to nurture this small human.

Some women change their minds after the birth. Sometimes those babies end up in foster care. (And sometimes they live happily ever after.) But when a birth mom doesn't give in to her immediate desires and carries through with her adoption plan, it is driven by love. She knows her baby will be better cared for by someone else — in many cases, a family she’s met and has chosen.

Put another way, the birth mom misses out on the most joyful and miraculous thing that may have ever happened to her so that her child can thrive.

And that is one of the deepest acts of love.

I once came across a man who said, "If I was adopted and met my birth mom, I'd punch her in the face."

He's got it all wrong.

I'm generalizing here, but most birth moms experienced childhoods that were full of hardship. They have taller mountains to climb than I ever did, and those mountains make it nearly impossible to raise a baby.

I spoke with one birth mom who had no one to call at the hospital. She lay there for two days before she finally dialed her sister to see if she could help her.

A birth mom may not have a college degree, a safe place to live, or a job that pays enough for daycare. It's not fair. It just is.

Before I was a mom

My husband and I were at orientation with the agency that would eventually facilitate both of our daughter’s adoptions. We were taken on a tour of their campus and walked down a hallway of dorm rooms available to expectant moms who needed a safe place to live. The rooms were small and neat. A lot like my college dorm, without the overabundance of clothes and neon blankets.

This is when the tour guide told us about the letters. A while back, when one birth mom was moving out and another expectant mom was moving in, the birth mom left an encouraging letter on the bed for the incoming expecting mom.

Then the next birth mom did the same.

Eventually, this became a tradition from one birth mom to the next, and before long, there was a whole wall of letters hanging in that hallway.

They said things like, "You can do this," and, "Be strong."

My heart broke for them. I sobbed and my husband put his arm around me and pulled me close. I wished they had what I had – a good man by their side who would hold them and tell them, “We’ll get through this together.”

We learned that a birth mom who lived in the campus dorms would give birth at a hospital nearby.

Know what happened after she gave birth?

I didn't either.

It never occurred to me to think about what she did afterward. And I wonder, how could I not have considered this? Her empty body, and her empty arms. I get to carry her baby – life's greatest gift – home with me to love and feed and cuddle. And the birth mom is alone.

To support the birth mom during this time, our agency had what they called the "rose ceremony.”

Every woman who lived in the facility would make a circle around her. They each carried a rose, and one by one, they'd tell her something they loved about her as they handed the birth mom the rose. They told her how brave she was and gave her self-care gifts like lotions and candles.

But let's be honest. It doesn't fill the void.

That day taught me that a birth mom is a warrior.

That my future daughters would be lucky to come from such strength.

It taught me that a birth mom should be respected. Appreciated. Supported.