Writing My Wrongs

Its a Pull Not Push

"The courage to speak your own truth always frees someone else" -  Oprah

I have a number of family members that are alcoholics and addicts. I have some that are both – dual diagnosis.

I found it interesting at one time that the individuals that were both addicts and alcoholics could easily admit to the drug addiction but not the alcohol problem.

It should have made sense to me at the time.

It didn’t.

Not having suffered the diseases, of course I wouldn’t understand. It just stumped me. Isn’t being an addict worse than an alcoholic? Better yet, does it really matter? (Clearly, I was pretty ignorant at that time).

The Dual Diagnosis (DD) family member later told me it was harder to admit they were an alcoholic because they had told themselves for years “that would never happen to me”. They had looked with disgust at our other alcohol family members. DD would NEVER be a drunk, wino, an alkie. The drug addiction took them by surprise, was “new” in our family, it was easier to accept. It wasn’t expected.

Interestingly, during DDs  early recovery DD avoided the alcoholics in the family. DD talked freely about addiction but avoided the alcohol component. They didn’t have a problem.

We talked about this in later years and DD informed me that being around the family known alcoholic was too painful. It was like looking in the mirror. As long as they did not see that family member, they did not see the alcoholic in themselves.

Duh.

Of course I get that now.

What the heck does this story have to do with adoption?

Someone suggested a similar concept to me today.

In discussing my daughters resistance to reunion with a friend, the friend asked if I had considered that one of the reasons my daughter avoids me, it, is well, me and my involvement in adoption.

(Yes, I have considered it and believe there is probably some truth).

Meaning, if she wants to avoid dealing with adoption, and she comes from an adoptive family that denies it, does she REALLY want to deal with me? The poster child for all that is wrong in adoption? Me? That writes publicly, shares on taped radio shows, runs support groups, websites, etc. Its quite probable, I am, the physical manifestation of what she wants to avoid. Maybe her worst nightmare.

Yes, yes. I get that. I really do.

This friend went further to suggest that perhaps I should NOT do what I do and that would make my daughter more comfortable. Friend suggested I should stop expressing myself…to make her more comfortable. To well, join her in her possible denial.

Um.
Err.
No.

My daughter and I have lightly discussed this. When she expressed discomfort at this very blog, I told her I understood, but that I worked hard to leave her out of it, I don’t publish her name, location, school, pictures, etc. I respect her privacy.

“Yeah, but its about me” she said
“Um, yeah, but its also about me”.

I told her I would think about it. I told her I felt uncomfortable changing myself into someone/something I wasn’t to make her comfortable. (Enabling comes to mind). I told her that triggered memories of why she was surrendered in the first place. (To make my parents, her adopters, the agency...all more comfortable and fat and happy).  I really couldn’t do that.

Equally important (but what I did not say to her), is that this stuff is Me. Not All of me, but part of me. And I want her to know ME..not some fairy tale, comfortable version of me.

I can respect boundaries. I don’t expect her to support my cause, my thoughts. She doesn’t want to talk this stuff, I understand. So I don’t talk this stuff with her. However, should she ever change her mind, I am happy to do so. Consider it a pull and not a push.

She asks questions now and then. I answer them. Simply. Directly. Only what was asked. Kinda like what you do with all children. Sure, she is an adult but our relationship is an immature one.  Technical, in contact years, she is a 2.5 year old. I take the approach I take with my other children. I answer only what is asked and don’t push more. I leave it up to her to decide when, what, if she wants more.

Does this possibility make me sad?

Sure. But what options do I have?

An adoptive mom friend of mine says I have patience of a saint. No. Not really. I just treat her the way I would want to be treated.  Hopefully, since she is my child, she appreciates that.

Only time will tell.

I Think, I Feel

"To the soul, there is hardly anything more healing than friendship." - Thomas Moore

So I stuttered a few times, giggled at a few spots, even said one site name wrong. It was nerves, anxiety and oh yeah, that thing called triggering emotional memories.

Overall the show taping went well and I like the way I sounded. Michelle sent me the unedited version just so I can hear. And she might be able to fix my error.

It was rather odd to hear myself talk about the experience. Its one thing to write it, yet another to tell it and still something different to say and then hear it back. Very odd.

My stuttering was do to overthinking or getting ahead of myself. I started to share some parts of my story, as it related to my parents, and I caught myself. I felt badly. I did not want to speak bad of them or how they failed me or what they did or did not do.

Even still, today, after all I have gone through, I am protecting them, thinking of their feelings.  I am keenly aware of it now and I falter between loyalty to myself and loyalty to them and the family I shamed. It’s difficult at best.

One of the questions she asked me during the interview was if I “FELT” something was wrong during my stay in maternity home. Did I feel that I was committing a crime against nature, against my daughter, against my own soul. Did I feel something was being withheld from me.

Hell yeah. I did feel that. I felt it  when I was treated differently by the other girls in the maternity home, I felt it in my interactions with the Director of the home, I felt it in the conversations I had with my caseworker. It was always there. Some underlying, blackness, some deep dark evil, anger, rage. Something was WRONG.  It was like those little ghostly figures that come up and take the evil doers in the movie “Ghost”. It was a feeling of sickness, of wrongness.

I could not put words to that feeling back then  I did not question the feeling, I did not look at it, I did not give it rise. I just went along for the ride. I did what I was “supposed” to do. I was a good girl. I did not question my elders. They were right. I was wrong. My bulging belly was proof of that.

Honestly, I internalized the feeling and just assumed it was about ME. That I was the evil bad, wrong one and NOT that something outside me was wrong.

Thomas Moore might say it was my soul speaking.  Others might say it was my True Self. Regardless of what it was, I denied it. Ignored it.

I believe, now, that behaving in such a manner caused some sort of split in me. That I worked hard at controlling and denying my feelings and I forced myself to stay in the higher, thinking, ego realm.

Over the years of in therapy and with friends, I have often been chastised for over thinking and not enough feeling. Guh. How many times I have heard “That’s a THOUGHT, Suz, not a feeling”

Of frig you, I wanted to scream, when you hear me say “I think” just substitute, “I feel” okay, and oh yeah, get off my case.

What was the big deal anyway? My Jungian Type is a Thinker. ITSJ.  Beating me up for my feelings (or lack thereof) was just further proof to me that I was once again wrong, not good, not right. It made me cautious to express myself AT ALL to anyone.

But alas, lo and behold…things have been changing.

Over the past two years with my most recent therapist, there is a marked awareness and expression of my feelings. I am aware of them now. I say them “I feel sad, mad or scared”. I feel uncomfortable.   Sounds trite perhaps, but I FEEL the change.

I believe in part this change was affected by not only my therapist and my own work, but by my friends, support network of moms and adoptees and even fellow bloggers.  For the first time, EVER, I was in the company of people who not only FELT like I did but expressed it.  They met me. They stood in the fire with me and did not shrink back.  And even those that did not feel it, respected it, allowed it to be. Did not move to fix it, fade it, change it or deny it.

And it was okay to express. They wanted to hear it. They wanted to share theirs. Being so transparent and sharing, gave others the comfort to do the same. It was one massive support group meeting. Group hugs across cyberspace.

In surrendering my daughter, I denied my own feelings. I abdicated my needs and desires to the agency, my parents and the “greater good”. They were more important. She was more important. I was worthless. Nothing.Nada. Nunca. Niema. Zilch.

To survive that loss, I suppressed my feelings. I lived in LaLa Land (for a few years anyway) and told myself I did the right thing, it was okay, she’s okay. NOW GO AWAY LITTLE DEMON NEGATIVE FEELING. Alternatively, get away from me Truth. Go away Soul. Screw you my True Self.

I was afraid of dealing with my feelings. I was afraid I could not handle them. I was afraid they would overcome me. I was afraid I would have an abreaction (not unlike what I did at the Fessler presentation).

Over time, I have dipped my toes in the waters of feeling and heeeyyyyyyy, would you look at that, I have survived. I am growing, learning, feeling and you know what? It aint so bad.

If my thinking self needs proof of this, it can be found in the fact that these days, when I take an MBTI test, I have different results. Shocked, I take the tests over and over and take different ones.

Same, differing result.

I now rank as an INFJ.  Maybe not a huge deal but it kinda is to me. Well, at least to my thinking self it is.

shreds and crumbs

They said they would
Send pictures,
Notes, updates
Finger painted refridgerator art.
They didn’t.

I received a few
Begged for
visual droppings
Begged for
Threatened to kill myself
If not sent.
snapshots received.
a few
only after threats.

you have my baby
how much effort
is a picture

how much work
required
to honor
the promise
you made

Collected a box
Over the years.
Glimpses of you.
Pictures of him.
Words from them.
Hospital records.
Your first photo.
Fake birth certificate
From the hospital.

An faded ultrasound photo.
A photo of myself.
Of us
really
Me, fully pregnant
with you
in my belly.

Only it’s a face shot
You are there
But you are not seen
Kind of like me now
In your life.
There
But not seen
Ghostly apparition
Of a mother
The mother
But not
Motherhood, interrrupted

2005
Found you.
More pictures.
Emails.
More pictures.
More crumbs.
Trying catch up
On what was lost
And what was promised
And what was sent
And what was not
And what was found
And what is still missing.

The pile grows
Each email printed.
Saved.
Each photo
Captured
Quickly.
Right click, save
Admire.
Print and into
Scrapbook.

Shreds really.
More than crumbs
But not quite a full slice.
Croutons perhaps.

Its all I have.
Its what I hang on to.

I should have hung on to you.

Sad, Mad, Scared

"I am Me. In all the world, there is no one else exactly like me. Everything that comes out of me is authentically mine, because I alone chose it -- I own everything about me: my body, my feelings, my mouth, my voice, all my actions, whether they be to others or myself. I own my fantasies, my dreams, my hopes, my fears. I own my triumphs and successes, all my failures and mistakes. Because I own all of me, I can become intimately acquainted with me. By so doing, I can love me and be friendly with all my parts. I know there are aspects about myself that puzzle me, and other aspects that I do not know -- but as long as I am friendly and loving to myself, I can courageously and hopefully look for solutions to the puzzles and ways to find out more about me. However I look and sound, whatever I say and do, and whatever I think and feel at a given moment in time is authentically me. If later some parts of how I looked, sounded, thought, and felt turn out to be unfitting, I can discard that which is unfitting, keep the rest, and invent something new for that which I discarded. I can see, hear, feel, think, say, and do. I have the tools to survive, to be close to others, to be productive, and to make sense and order out of the world of people and things outside of me. I own me, and therefore, I can engineer me. I am me, and I am Okay.” - Virginia Satir

I am sad at the loss of her.
I am sad that she had to grow up adopted.
I am sad she grew up an only child.
I am sad that she may have felt rejected, abandoned, unloved, unwanted. She was none of those things.
I am sad that my two other children may never know their sister.
I am sad that certain people in my life continue to be embarrassed and ashamed by me and my experience and the work I do for others.
I am sad she doesn’t want to meet (yet?).
I am sad that my adoption trauma has negatively affected other relationships.
I am sad and mad that I am her dirty secret and she cannot discuss me with her aparents.
I am mad at myself for surrendering her.
I am mad at myself for being ignorant to little ditties like Primal Wound. 
I am mad at the agency for their coercion and intimidation.
I am mad that they threatened to sue me if I did not give her to them. I am mad and sad that I caved and gave in.
I am mad that they lied to me about her going into foster care.
I am mad that they lied to me about her adoption being semi-open (which really means semi-closed). They promised me pictures and updates for her entire life. They never came.
I am mad that I really believed the caseworker liked me and cared about me.
I am mad she used that perceived friendship to take my child from me.
I am mad at the Catholic Church.
I am mad that a country like ours places so little value on the mother child bond and believes it better to remove a child from the breast of its mother and give the child to someone who has a car and home but no breast milk.
I am mad that they agency told her parents that their money was going towards post relinquishment counseling for me. I received none.
I am mad I was never told the legal process.
I am mad that I had no legal representation.
I am mad I was never told of a revocation period.
I am mad that revocation would have never  been honored had I known about it.
I am mad that adults around me in the maternity home knew the truth about my agency but kept it from me.
I am scared at what this may have done to her and what it means to us and our future.
I am scared I may never know her like I want to know her.
I am scared I may never get the chance to meet her.
I am scared that she is angry with me and may stay angry with me forever.

Hmmm, veddy interesting

"Well behaved women rarely make history" - Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Gee, what a novel idea.

95TH GENERAL ASSEMBLY
State of Illinois
2007 and 2008HB0468

Introduced 2/1/2007, by Rep. Dennis M. Reboletti

SYNOPSIS AS INTRODUCED:

720 ILCS 525/4.1 from Ch. 40, par. 1704.1


Amends the Adoption Compensation Prohibition Act. Provides that an expectant mother may not accept compensation or the payment of reasonable medical or hospital expenses or reasonable living expensesfrom 2 or more persons not residing within the same household who have been promised the surrender or the consent to adoption of the same child for whom the mother expects to give birth. Provides that a violation is a Class 4 felony for a first offense and a Class 3 felony for a subsequent offense.

Even more interesting....

95TH GENERAL ASSEMBLY
State of Illinois
2007 and 2008HB0653

Introduced 2/6/2007, by Rep. Sara Feigenholtz

SYNOPSIS AS INTRODUCED:

325 ILCS 2/20
325 ILCS 2/35
325 ILCS 2/50


Amends the Abandoned Newborn Infant Protection Act. Provides that  if the parent of a newborn infant comes to the hospital, where his or her newborn infant has been transported after the parent relinquished the infant to a fire station, emergency medical facility, or police station, to reclaim the infant within 72 hours of relinquishing the infant, the hospital must return the infant to the parent or, if the
infant has already been discharged to the Department or child-placing agency, inform the parent of the name, location, and contact number of the Department or child-placing agency. Provides that the
information packet given to a parent who is relinquishing a newborn child shall include written notice that a parent has the right to return and reclaim an abandoned infant within 72-hours of relinquishing the infant. Prohibits a fire station, emergency medical facility, or police station from disclosing any information concerning the relinquishing of the infant except to the hospital to which the infant is being transferred, to medical personnel involved in the transfer of the child to the hospital, or to the parent of the child. Effective immediately.

Now, I am a fan of Representative Feighenholtz. Shes an adoptee herself and has done much to change Illinois Legislation. But this particular bill makes me wonder why it may be permissable to abandon your child at a firestation, change your mind with 72 hours and get your child back BUT the same does not seem to be the case for adoption surrender?

Of course, I think of Stephanie Bennett and Alison Quets, and while I realize they are not IL cases, I wonder what message is being sent by making it legal to abandon your child but then get him/her back but not safely place them with an agency and then change yourrmind?  Seems a little off, no? I must write to Representative Feigenholtz.  Shes doing great stuff. Read more and go to page 46.

Things that make you go hmmmmmmm.

I have walked this path...

"We know the truth, not only by the reason, but also by the heart." -  Blaise Pascal

As always, a must read by the dear Robin. Been there, done that, felt that.

Thank you to Robin for sharing. 

"I found what I was looking for, though, in both the weekend with my sisters and my visit to the place of my second great sadness. I know what we all have lost and we moms have not just lost our babies. We lost the adult children we would have had because the ones with whom we reunite have been altered from their natural course and influenced by other forces. No wonder the adult adoptee is so conflicted. If I had spent my life being "adjusted" to fit in with a clan that was not my natural fit, I would be confused and pissed as well. We, also, were forever altered by our loss and our mistreatment by those we should have been able to trust."

Read the entire post at Motherhood Deleted.

The Adoption Show!

My site, ehbabes.com, sponsored tonights Adoption Show featuring BJ Lifton and Sume Williams!

I am listening to it now. I burst into tears as I heard Michelle read our spnosor spot! Yippee!

Oh yeah, did I mention I am going to be on the show on the 4th of March!!!

Stay tuned!

Thank you to Michelle Edmunds and her team for providing us the opportunity to sponsor the show and promote our work!

Corrections, Answers and Questions

"The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend. "- Henri Bergson

Standing Corrected
My younger sister reminded me that in our house as a child it was common place to tell another sibling they were adopted. It was said with cruel intent, meaning “you were/are unwanted, you don’t belong, you should go away”. 

I actually wished I was adopted when I was a kid. I did not fit in with my family. I was different, odd, too vocal, green eyed where they had blue, I had an S name, they had a J name, they were passive, I was aggressive. I secretly wished I was adopted and that my real family would come take me away. How messed up is that? To me being adopted would have been a relief (again, cue baby brokers for prime incubating fodder).

So yeah, while I outside my house never said anything rude to others about being adopted, apparently inside we did. We did realize to some extent that there was something wrong with it, something bad and we used that presumed knowledge to hurt our other siblings.

As such, I stand corrected.

Fostering
I may have found the family that fostered my daughter before she went to her adoptive parents. I don’t know for sure but it seems highly likely. The pictures look similar, the clothes are identical. I won’t tell her of course. She doesn’t want to know about adoption. I will however hold the info and if she wants to know in the future, she and I can explore further for positive confirmation. 

This leaves me feeling oddly lightened, more clear.  Now that I may know the family that kept her when she left me, and the daughter of that family seems like a loving wonderful adoptee, I feel a bit well “okay” with it. Not that her fostering was ever right or the lies told me to me were right, but knowing more about her story, makes my pain less. Not sure if that makes sense. Its like filling in gaps, voids, the picture becomes clearer and there are less unknowns, less scary monsters in view. I can fill the holes in with truth versus blackness and fear.

Just Plain Old Wrong
In doing some additional research for my site and group list, I stumbled upon this not so lovely bit of news. Boils down to adoptive parents who adopted from one of the agencies in my network. The baby they received was apparently ill, defective, and they returned him and then sued the agency. This makes me ill. What? Adoptive parents only take perfect children? They think they get a money back guarantee on their purchase (apparently so)? Are written warranties given in adoption? Like cars? Is there a 7 year/70K mileage type of approach? 

Court of Appeals of Arkansas,
Division II.

June 1, 1994.

Page 604

[46 Ark.App. 59] Robert A. Newcomb, Little Rock, for appellant.

Kenneth R. Shemin, Sammie P. Strange, Jr., Little Rock, for appellees.

JENNINGS, Chief Judge.

Appellant, Friends of Children, Inc., is a nonprofit corporation doing business in the State of Arkansas. The appellees, Randall and Diane Marcus, are residents of Potomac, Maryland. In the fall of 1990 appellees contacted American Friends of Children, Inc., also a nonprofit corporation, seeking to adopt a child. The child that was ultimately delivered to the Marcuses was born May 23, 1991, in New York City, was moved to Washington, D.C., and was placed in foster care by American Friends of Children. The child was later transferred by American Friends of Children to Friends of Children and transported to the State of Arkansas.

On July 5, 1991, the Marcuses met with John Rushing, assistant executive director of Friends. They signed a Placement Agreement, the child was delivered to the Marcuses, and the parties immediately obtained an interlocutory decree of adoption in the Pulaski County Probate Court. Almost immediately, Mrs. Marcus noticed what she believed were signs that the child was not "normal" and "healthy".

Friends was notified and the child was examined by a series of physicians both
in Arkansas and in Washington, D.C. While, as the trial court pointed out, the evidence was in conflict, there was evidence that the child had a neurological impairment and might have cerebral palsy.

On August 15, 1991, an agreed order was entered in probate court dissolving the interlocutory decree of adoption. The order provided, in part:

Friends of Children is revested with the right to place said child for adoption. The claims either the petitioners or Friends of 

Page 605

Children may have against each other are not settled with this order.

In December 1991, the Marcuses filed suit against Friends seeking "rescission" and restitution of the $25,000.00 fee they had paid to adopt the child. The complaint alleged that the appellant [46 Ark.App. 60] had committed fraud by concealing certain medical information about the child.

In July of 1992, the child was placed for adoption once again and Friends collected a placement fee of $28,000.00 from the new adopting couple.

There was evidence at trial that the literature provided by the appellant stated that it placed for adoption "healthy white infants," and that the appellees were told that if the adoption did not go through their money...

I also recently met another adoptee who was given back. Aparents adopted to “save” their marriage and when they received a baby, two months later decided it wasn’t going to work and gave her back. They felt divorce was the answer and not adoption. What a nice service the agency and the baby provided there, huh? How did that measure up to marital counseling? (She was then adopted by another family.)

I find myself wondering why adoptive parents can give back a child that does not measure up to their standards yet mothers, natural grandparents (eg Stephanie Bennett, Alison Quets) cannot get their child back when there has been coercion, intimidation or worse.

Still another story from my agency archives. Twelve year old girl. Adopted as an infant again to “save” marriage. Twelve years into it, Adad dies. Amom gives the 12 year old over to the State citing “she never wanted the kid to begin with the adad did” and now that adad is dead, she doesn’t want her. Child becomes ward of state of GA.

How can people so easily justify giving children back to the state, to the agencies but not to the natural family?

Freaks and Bastards

"The road to truth is long, and lined the entire way with annoying bastards.” - Alexander Jablokov

Do children really view adopted children as freaks?

Do they tease adopted children?

Make fun of them? 

I was shocked to read this.

I never experienced this as a child and I had adopted friends. I also have never heard/seen my own children do this and they have adopted friends. My son was once afraid of an adopted Chinese girl. When I probed him on it I learned it had to do with the fact that she looked different not that she was adopted (“I don’t even know what adopted means, Ma”).

I suppose it can and does happen. Children are cruel.  My son has a very overweight girl in his 3rd grade class. He routinely tells me that he feels bad for Leah as the other kids make fun of her about her weight.

But for a child to taunt another child because they were adopted? Oh my.

Paula lived a few houses up from my childhood home. She and her brother were adopted and they lived with her amom and agramma. Adad had passed away when she was very young. I don’t know how or when I learned that Paula was adopted. I just knew. I don’t recall every finding it wrong or odd of freak-worthy. I do remember being curious about it. Wondering what she felt like, if she thought of her “real’ parents. But I never asked. That would be invasive, rude, no?

Mary lived down the street from us. Also, adopted, only child. Again, never occurred to me that she was any better, or worse, or different than I. Surely I knew they weren’t her real parents but I never made a connection to her being unwanted, bad, loser-ish, or a bastard. I didn’t think that way and was obviously never exposed to anything negative about adoption (too bad, that might have helped me years later).

I did however make this negative connection with my cousin – the bastard.

My oldest female cousin was conceived out of wedlock in the early 60s. My grandparents locked my aunt in a convent with the intent of giving the bastard child up for adoption. My aunt climbed out a window and went to her boyfriend’s home. Her boyfriends family took her in, they married, she gave birth to my cousin.

But, she was clearly treated differently. I remember as a very young child staring at her wondering what was wrong with her. Did she get less fingers because she was conceived out of wedlock? Less brains? Was something wrong with her physically?

I wondered why my grandfather called her a bastard. I wondered what it really meant and why everyone was so ashamed of her. I listened intently behind closed doors as the adults spoke in hushed tones about my cousin. I always felt bad for her but I knew not why. My grandfather isolated her. His second born grandchild – the bastard one.

I was never taught that there was anything wrong with being adopted. I was definitely taught – early and deeply – that unwed mothers and their bastard children were very wrong. (Is it any wonder I was prime fodder for the baby brokers many years later).

My grandfather was a bit of a prig. He was fine to me and my siblings (we weren’t bastards) but to others he was very difficult.  Staunch Irish Catholic from Brooklyn, he had his ways and views and if you disagreed, God help you.

My mother and my uncle were the only ones who deviated from the norm. They married outside their kind. My mother married a Polish guy and my uncle married a Puerto Rican woman.  Grampa kinda warmed to my dad. I guess. At least I don’t recall any obvious signs of dislike. Course my dad rarely went with us when we visited my grandparents. Maybe that was a sign. Grampa never accepted my “Spic” aunt.  He was cruel to her.

I remember being in awe of my aunt and my cousin. What was really wrong with them? What did they have (or not have) that made Grampa treat them that way and made all others leary to be around them? Was being a bastard and a Puerto Rican a contagious disease? Could I get it? If I spent too much time with my cousin, would be bad too?

I knew from the way the adults acted that the bastard thing was something wrong, bad, and I hurt for my cousin. She appeared normal to me. Why were they so mean to her? What had she done wrong?

As an adult, a mother of loss, I wonder who were the real freaks and bastards?

The individuals being called those names or those that were uttering them? 

1 of 78

“It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit.” - Noel Coward

Her parents fostered 78 babies that were placed in the care of the agency I surrendered my daughter to.

78.

A staggering number to me.

While it was over a period of years, the visual image that formed in my head was 78 babies in a room all crying for their mamas. Elsewhere, 78 mothers were feeling the loss of their child. Seventy eight closed files. Seventy eight families forever changed by adoption.

78.

Recovering from the visual image in my head, I found myself aching. Feeling angry and sad and lost again.

I was never told my daughter would go into foster care. Again, more lack of informed consent.

In fact, foster care was one of the many lies that were told to me to get me to surrender to that agency in that state.

When my mother and I asked if I could stay in my home state, we were quickly told “no”. I was informed that my home state had cruel adoption laws that required a surrendered child to be left in foster care system for a year before the child could be placed with a family.

This horrified me. Truly horrified me. OMG. It would be bad enough that my child would be without me, but to be passed to strangers not once but twice? And to have a period of a year in between there?

No. Good god. No foster care. Mom, please. Don’t do that to her. If she cannot be with me, please let her go right to her adoptive family home.

And they told me she would IF I flew to Illinois and surrendered her there.

The truth?

The agency was involved in a legal battle with my home state. My home state had blocked them from taking or placing babies from/into our state due to the agencies illegal practices. Furthermore, the agency wanted to take advantage of Illinois conservative laws. And that could only be done if I gave birth in that state.To get the child in my womb they needed me in a different state.

Did I know this? Was I told this? Were my parents?

No.

That might have caused me to change my mind.

If foster care was required, even for a week or two, why couldn’t she have stayed with me during that time period?

Why?

I am going to assume that it was dangerous. We would bond even further. I might change my mind. Maybe I would turn my head on that lawsuit they threatened me with.

Its often too much for me to ponder. It hurts too much.

The lies.

My ignorance.

My lack of self esteem

The deceit.

The manipulation.

Why did I ever trust them?

Why didn’t I challenge them?

Who cared for my baby after she left me?

Were they good to her? She told me she was very sick at birth and afterwards. Did she have health problems in foster care?

Those nights that I was alone, having nightmares, hearing a baby crying, was she really crying? Was she crying for me?

I was lied to

She was fostered.

She might have been one of the 78 my new friends family fostered.

One of 78.