As I walked into my son’s elementary school holding bags of treats for his class, another mother passed by and while smiling asked, “Oh, wow, how many children do you have?”
It’s a simple question for most, but for someone like me—someone who wears the badge of “Birth Mother”—it was triggering. I was taken back as my 4-year-old daughter blurted out, “She has three, but my sister doesn’t live with us. She gave her away.”
Okay, those may not have been her exact words, but it’s how I felt at that moment. There I was, the PTA President, fumbling for a response while gently nudging my daughter along. I quickly replied that my husband and I have two children and moved on, never looking back to see the other mother’s reaction. I couldn’t help but wonder, “Does it ever get easier?” Maybe. Maybe not. It depends on the day.
Many of us birth moms have learned to find our new normal. The awkward conversations, probing questions, and uncertainty we navigate are unique to a group of women who bravely—and sometimes unwillingly—make an adoption decision for our child(ren). We make a plan with no guarantees, trusting the adoptive parents will stay true to their word, praying our children will understand in time, and hoping that one day, hindsight will bring clarity.
Being a birth mom is like belonging to a club that no one really wants to join, but here we are. We have our own language, one that doesn’t need to be spoken. When we’re together, we understand each other without words being exchanged.
When people hear our stories, we brace ourselves for their reactions. Sometimes it’s, “Oh, that’s wonderful,” and we silently wonder, “But is it really?” Other times we hear, “I could never do that,” and we may feel a pang of shame for the path we’ve taken. And then there are those who say, “Did you see that movie about . . . ?” and proceed to share some sensationalized story that was based on a true story. “Was yours like that?” I think, “No, I didn’t go back and try to take my child.” But every so often we hear, “I’m a birth mom too. I’ve never shared that with anyone.” In those moments, we realize we’re not as alone as we once thought in our adoption journeys.
So, what does it really mean to be a birth mom? Birth moms are extraordinary. We are brave in our weakest moments. We love unconditionally and are willing to endure pain for the sake of our children. We did what many say they couldn’t imagine doing if they were in our situation. We know our strength, and together, we are a force to be reckoned with. The veteran birth moms have paved the way for changes in policy and greater openness in adoption. The younger birth moms are healing faster than those before them, thanks to the groundwork that’s been laid. We move forward in life, never fully whole, but learning to survive and thrive with that unfilled space in our hearts.
I’ve been on this birth mom journey for over 30+ years, which still blows my mind. It feels like yesterday that I was being wheeled out of the hospital, questioning my decision with every fiber of my being. My eyes were nearly swollen shut from crying, and it seemed like everyone around me had a forced smile, telling me it would be okay. But would it?
For me, it has been. I shaped my pain into hard work. I embraced all the complexities of adoption and moved forward. I kept my word with the adoptive parents and remained consistent in my communication. They stuck to their word and did more than I could have ever hoped for. Over time, our relationship grew in ways I could never have imagined. But it wasn’t easy—it took hard work, grace, and dedication. A foundation was built that later allowed a relationship to flourish with the now adult who I once held as a newborn.
I know not all birth moms have been given the gift of it being “okay,” and that drives me to make a greater impact. Perhaps I am officially stepping into the role of a veteran birth mom—a role I don’t take lightly.
As I’ve healed and embraced my journey, life looks different. I still have that outspoken daughter, now years older and recently moved into a townhouse with her college friends. She called me the other night, “Mom, I told them about Amber [the daughter I placed for adoption]. I hope that’s okay.” With a smile, I responded, “Yeah, Em, that’s fine.” My heart is full again.
by Leah Outten 
by Kimberly Keys 
