Writing My Wrongs

Adoptions Lucifer Effect

"Most of us have a tendency both to overestimate the importance of dispositional qualities and to underestimate the importance of situational qualities when trying to understand the causes of other people's behavior." p.8, The Lucifer Effect, Philip Zimbardo

I am half way through the book by Philip Zimbardo titled The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil. While I joked in a separate post that I purchased the book to understand how the broker who sold my child could have become so evil, the truth is that I bought the book in an attempt, a hope, to understand my own wicked ways.

The book focuses on two real life stories - The Stanford Prison Experiment and the heinous actions of the US military at Abu Ghraib.  The authors position in citing both cases is the related systems must be held responsible as much, if not more than, the individual perpetrators. The author was part of the defense team for soldier(s) in the Abu Ghraib trials and argued that others, higher up the chain of command, and the military framework as a whole, contributed to, and should also be held accountable for, the crimes those soldiers committed.

There is a great deal of research provided on situational influences versus dispositional. How our environment, our authoritative bodies, parents, officers, church, etc. can influence a normally good decent person to do something criminal - even when he or she knows it is wrong. The author provides a vast array of examples from history that illustrate  how presumably good people or causes can turn out to be quite evil.

I cannot help but reflect on my experiences as I read the book.

For more than twenty years, I felt that I committed a serious crime in surrendering my daughter. I mean, I knew it was wrong (why would others tell me to keep it a secret if it wasn't something to be ashamed of?), I knew it was not what I wanted to do, yet I stifled my voice and I signed those papers and handed my infant child over to complete strangers. That to me is a criminal act (it would be if I left her in a mall but since I abandoned her in a hospital under the umbrella of "adoption" it is somehow legal and supposed to be morally acceptable.)

I feel I committed a crime against nature and against my child's soul. As the years went by and I learned what was truly done to me by the brokers who sold my daughter, how I was lied to, coerced and intimidated with promissory notes and threats of lawsuits, about primal wound, and more, my agony increased. The older my daughter got, the more I matured, the more real the crime became. With my own maturity came a greater understanding of the crime I had comitted.

Being ignorant of the law does not make you exempt from it. Consider me guilty as charged. Yes, I am my own judge and jury.

Many feel that abortion is a criminal act against the unborn. I consider adoption, an adoption like my daughters, a criminal act against the born. If abortion is an act of murdering a body, adoption is murdering a soul - but only in part.

For me, the circumstances that lead to the surrender of my daughter to adoption was a crime and one far was worse than aborting her. For me, I feel that in effect, I did abort her. My actions, however misguded, forced her (and I) to walk around as living abortions. She, as a living aborted child and I, as an aborted mother. I aborted the child she was supposed to be and forced her to live a dual life. One with two sets of parents, two names, and a tremendous amount of conflict and anxiety.

When I ponder adoptees or first mothers who are struggling, the artist in me sees a person walking around with abortion goo all over them but smiling and acting happy about it. We are supposed to be so grateful that we were "saved" from that horrible life we would have had if we kept our children. Our children are supposed to be thrilled that they were abandoned and they should never, ever, point out the red elephant of adoption/abortion goo that dribbles down their face as if they were Carrie at the prom.

Go ahead, be shocked and horrified at my description.  It should show the depth of my own horror and what I have lived with for twenty years.  I did that. I caused that walking abortion for both of us.

But why? How? How does a honor student, smart girl, with "potential" from a middle class family make such a terrible decision?

I have worked hard for many years to manage my guilt and shame at doing such a horrible thing to my child. I have spent countless hours in therapy. I have read books. I have caressed, spoken to and danced with my inner child. I have attended support groups. I have taken anti-depressant medication. All this and more to manage the anxiety attacks,panic disorder, nightmares, flashbacks, irregular sleep patterns and corrosive feelings that attached themselves to my soul after I spent 5 months in a maternity home and surrendered my child to strangers. Why do I suffer this way? Why must I?

Because I did a bad thing. A very bad thing - a horrible thing. The church said so, my parents said so, the agency said so and most importantly, my heart said so.

Over the years people told me to blame the system not myself. To look at the forces that were at play and what was done and said to me. They urged me to look at how I was dehumanized, vulnerable, abandoned, and alone. They encouraged me to read up on Stockholm Syndrome and compare that to indivdiuals who are held captive in a maternity home with no familiar person or object around. Add the hormones of pregnancy and youth and please, good golly, Suz, forgive yourself.

I couldn't.

Intellectually I understood their point and understood their attempts to make me feel better (and even make themselves feel better if they were part of the crime). Emotionally, deep inside my soul, I could never agree. No amount of reading, writing, Verrier or Fessler worship could lessen the pain. I should have known better. I should have been smarter, stronger, wiser. I should have used my voice.

This book has made me really see.

I had no voice. Sheet, I had no name. (I was directed by the maternity home director not to tell anyone my full name and not to ask anyone for theirs. We had babies - not names, not identities. We were not people. Maternity home version of "don't ask, don't tell". Walking incubators for someone elses child.). How could that shell of a person, the shell created by others have a voice?

Since starting to read this book, I felt something start to shift. I see now, I mean I really SEE and FEEL how I was part of a larger system. An evil system that dehumanized and deindividuated me.  Thank you, Phil Zimbardo.

I am only half way through with it. Even at this stage of the book, I see,and finally believe, how situational and systemic forces can indeed make good men or women do horrible things, I am finding it easier to look at all the factors that were involved in my situation. It doesn't make it right - but it makes me understand it and hold myself a little less accountable.

I am taking notes as I read the book and intend to draw parallels to how the examples in the book (Stanford Prison Experiment and the crimes of the U.S. military at Abu Ghraib) share similar themes with woman who are sent away, reconditioned, asked to signed relinquishment papers and then left to blow in the wind as their heart bleeds for a lifetime. More importantly, I hope to highlight how the larger system of the adoption industry can make good people like me, do a horrible thing, like surrender a helpless infant to a baby broker.

Mama2Roo Made Me Do

“It is completely unimportant. That is why it is so interesting!” - Agatha Christie

mama2roo challenged adoption bloggers to write something fun, something non adoption. I responded that I am hard core about keeping my adoption blog, well, adoption theme based. That, to me, is the purpose of a blog. It is topical, theme based.

I have once or twice posted a meme when I was challenged but it too ended up having an adoption theme.  I live and breathe this stuff. It never leaves me. Whether that is a result of the trauma and the life long wound, my choice, my calling, my passion, I don't really know. It just is.

I thought about posting about a gift I got for Christmas (a mama2roo suggestion), or maybe my top five grooming products. (Does anyone really care if I wear O-Glow by Smashbox or love LipVenom?).  Even as I pondered the top gifts, they came with an adoption motivation. And even when I think about my favorite goodies provided by Sephora, I think of my daughter and if she would like them.  I cannot NOT think adoption. Perhaps I cannot NOT think about my daughter. That may be the more accurate statement.

But I will play as well as I can.

For Christmas, I did not receive many gifts. I don't expect them. It is intended for the kids. I am divorced. The ex hub purchased two gift cards that were presented to me by my sons.  Perfect gifts for me. A Starbucks gift card and a Barnes and Noble gift card.   Couldn't be better! Perfect for me. I spent the book store card the day after Christmas. Book stores are akin to a crack den for me.  I literally get high. I wander aisle after aisle. I inhale deeply. I ooh and ahh. I pick up more books than I intend to purchase and then I put half back. I admire cool stationery products. I play with the pens. I am in heaven. I groan, giggle and sometimes foam at the mouth. Like I said, book store = crack den.

I purchased three books;

1. God is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything by Hitchens
2. The Lucifer Effect: Understanding How Good People Turn Evil by Zimbardo
3. Writing to Change the World by Pipher

I am going to fight the urge to explain why these books appealed to me. In summary, it should be obvious that a) I am agnostic and religion contributed to the loss of my daughter, b) the person who sold my daughter MUST be the devil incarnate and c) that well, I hope someday, my writing will change the world or at the very least make some sort of impact on someone's life.

My parents gifted me with a toaster oven.  Huh? I have no idea why.

My mother seemed pleased with herself and asked if I liked it and if I had one. I responded "yes" followed by "no".  Perhaps she worried my ex took the toaster oven in the divorce?  Truth be told, I despise toaster ovens and it was a marital issue. I am sure that my ex was pleased when he moved out and could finally purchase one. (In general, I dislike counter top clutter and those oven thingees contribute to clutter).  It is a gift I hope to return and ideally will purchase more books.

How did I do, mama2roo?

Developing from the Negatives

"If you believe you can, you probably can. If you believe you won't, you most assuredly won't. Belief is the ignition switch that gets you off the launching pad.” - Denis Waitley

Many mothers I have met have assumed they would be welcomed by their child. Other mothers expect to be rejected. Still others aren't sure what to expect but they do share one thing in common. They all want to be able to love their child and have their child love them back. And when we are not, when we are pushed away, rejected, we are often left with a feeling of "why should I bother?". Our children rejecting us, for whatever reason, can be very triggering back to the days when we were rejected and abandoned by our family and our children's father. It is often hard to separate out the old rejection from the new. And we reject back, we project, we get all mixed up in this crazy dance that is often rooted in unrealistic, unspoken, expectations. 

Many of us, myself included, fight the urge to throw in the towel and flip the bird to our self centered children who we sacrificed everything for and have ached for years to find. Some of us do and still others, like me, hold on.  Do the ones who hold on find a way to manage what we get or do we change our expectations? Do we mature beyond that abandoned teenage girl and realize that our child's rejection of us is not really rejection of US but the pain adoption has caused them? Do we realize that we are the physical manifestation of a pain they may not be able handle?

I personally don't believe I can ever expect my daughter to view me, treat me, value me as a mother. In her emotional world I am nothing like that to her. I do however hope (expect?) that over time we can develop a relationship that is something between friend and mother and it might even be more valuable and special than what I would have had with her if I was viewed as her mother. I already know that she shares things with me that she does not share with her adoptive mother. I feel honored.

But, I have done this, and been able to do this because I was able to manage my expectations.

Let me explain by using a very recent example from my life.

Fresh off the heels of a very amicable divorce, I have spent a great deal of time pondering relationships, my role in them, my expectations, my thoughts on love and respect, courtship, friendship and more. I have spent countless hours in therapy with a very skilled professional discussing what brought me to my marriage to my ex husband and what took me out of it.  As a result, I have gained some very valuable insight into myself and what makes me tick and what makes my relationships work (or not). I am clearly still a work in progress but what I see developing from the negatives is an amazing wonderful picture of a pretty cool woman and wonderful mother.

Several months ago I met and began crushing on an amazing man. Academically brilliant, highly educated, well traveled and well spoken, I was hooked rather easily. I find intelligence to be incredibly attractive.  To move this gent higher up on a pedestal, he also possessed an incredible emotional IQ.  He had been through a number of challenges in his own life and, like me, had spent many hours in therapy due to PTSD.

I fell and I fell rather hard. I could have devoured him whole. Every phone call, email, personal interaction was like an IV line of a mind altering drug to me. I couldn't get enough of him. Lust? Not so much. Not in the usual sense. It wasn't really on a physical or sexual level (though the potential was there for me). It was something. I don't know what it was but it was. But I had to have it. He made me laugh. He challenged me. He debated me. He validated me. He respected my pain and my trauma. He was skilled in repartee.  We had fun.

I must be clear and share a balanced view. It is important to the point of my story. There were also things about this friend that I was a bit uncertain about. Things I did not understand. Stories that did not quite make sense to me that made me a bit nervous. Decisions I may not have agreed with but hey, it was not my life. I have always felt that truly loving someone meant loving what you dislike about them and not what you like. The good stuff is easy to love. Its the not so nice stuff that poses challenges. I made note of the things that gave me pause and mentally filed them for future reference.

They did not slow the Crush Train. They were merely extra baggage in the caboose. I have my own. His seemed to match mine. I was okay with it.

Months passed and during this time frame we decided to be friends and not lovers or partners or whatever the younger crowd would call us these days.

At first, this really disturbed me. It actually left me in tears. He was romantically involved with someone else. He was sharing that with me and I was doing my best to be mature about it.  Alone, not seen by him, I was stomping my feet like an angry teenage girl. I was seeing things in a very black and white manner. Either I got all of him or I got none of him. At that point I could have walked away from him and gotten nothing or I could have re-evaluated my own expectations and walked away with something - perhaps even something more valuable.

And so I did.

Did I care he was off having sex with some woman? Nope. Sex is sex.  While I find physical relations and the typical "O" quite pleasing, I find orgasms of the soul even more appealing.

What I cared about was that he might be sharing all that wonderful stuff in his head and heart with someone else and there might be less for me. Worse yet, there might be none for me. He might never call me or email me again.

I thought more and realized that I wasn't feeling like I had lost a lover or the potential for a relationship, I felt like I had lost my best friend. Still more thought and I realized that I was actually getting a better deal than the women he will date. He considers me one of his closest friends. Love, sex, flings, dating - they can be very fleeting and are rife with a host of issues that friendship is not. Once I thought about it this way, I felt wonderful. I am not losing a friend. I always had one and without the noise of the standard relationship issues, I may actually get more of him than I ever imagined. Be still my heart!

How the HELL does this story relate at all to adoption or reunion?

For me, it illustrates my point that it is all how we look at things.

If we want only what we want, and we don't get it, then we often lose what we might have gotten. And what we might have gotten might be even better than what we wanted to begin with.

I couldn't be my daughters mother in the traditional sense.

I was not deemed worthy or capable of raising her.

I lost a great deal. I suffered a permanent wound to my heart and soul.

So did she.

I can push to feed that fantasy of mine to be the mother I was not allowed to be. She can push back and tell me she has a mother, one who did not abandon her as a helpless infant. We can both walk away mad and hurt and try to prove who hurts more and deeper and harder.

Or we can re-evaluate.

There might be something bigger and better ahead of us.

Life is what we make of it. 

I don't want to be stuck in what I lost. I know that all too well.

I want to focus on what I might gain. I want to continue developing from the negatives.

Whether or not my daughter ever chooses to embrace me, I still have this life of mine to lead and I want it to be as positive and successful as I can personally make it.

P.S. I mean really, what is a relationship? Who defines that? Is it fixed? Can it change with time? Do we all approach life with someone else's view of what we should be and how our relationships should be? Is every couple identical? Every marriage?  Every mother daughter relationship?  Someone else decided for me, and I listened, what kind of mother I could or  should be.  I am not about to let them have that power again. Clearly I have more to say on this topic but that will be another post.

Bottom line, again, our lives are what we make of them -  not what others tell us they should be.  Don't listen to the church, to the agency, to the preconceived notions of what should be. Listen to your soul. It might very well be orgasmic.

Self Fulfilling Prophecies

"Not only is another world possible, she is on her way.  On a quiet day, I can hear her breathing." - Arundhati Roy

I spoke with a Mom friend today. A dear friend, recently in reunion, a reunion I assisted with.  During our discussions of the various states of our reunions she said to me:

"I have accepted that I will never have the kind of relationship with my child that many of our other friends in reunion have with theirs."

Has she really accepted that? So soon? Can you accept that?

Should she accept that?

And if you do, if you truly believe you will never have X don't you end up someway making sure you don't? Can that line of thinking become a self fulfilling prophecy?

I urged my friend to think a bit deeper about that. It is early in her reunion. She might be surprised.

I challenged her partly for her benefit and partly for my own.

Why does it really matter?

Negativism attracts negative things. Have you noticed how easy it is to get sucked into negative morale at the office? How listening to someone bitch and complain makes you feel sick or uneasy and perhaps even provokes your own complaints?

My life is fulfilling the predictions I embrace. Will they be the negative messages, or will I choose to live out the positive ones and be happy, successful, believe that my daughter does care about me and want to know me? It is an intentional decision on my part to ignore or overwrite negative messages, and a deliberate stance to take on life half full.

As challenging as my lukewarm reunion has been with my daughter, I have never given up hope. I feel, deep in my core, that given time, maturity, freedom from the power of her adoptive parents and many other things, that my daughter and I can and will have a relationship. That fact has never ever left me. I have faith in her. I have faith in me. I know how strong of a person I am. I know how caring, consideriate, educated, self aware, adoptee considerate. I am 100% confident that if and when she gives me that chance, we will be okay. I know she will like me. She is just afraid to.

Will we be mother and daughter in the traditional sense?

No.

I did not raise her. She doesn't look to me for those type of motherly things. I don't expect her too. I did not wipe the boogars, change the nappies, bandage the skinned knees. As much as I may have wanted to, I didn't. She will not innately look to me for comfort or direction or assistance.

But she is my daughter. And I am her mother. And I believe in her. I believe in me.

I do believe, with time, we will have a close relationship.

I have not given up hope. I have never felt anything different. It is that driving force, the fire in the pit of my stomach that pushes me forward. That helps me when I feel ignored by her, abused, and neglected. I know what is there. I know what is waiting for both of us. She doesn't.  I remember what it was like to hold her. She has no conscious memory of me.

Even if no one else believed in the value of our mother child bond, I do and always did. It just took me a while to really articulate that and act on it. Now that I have, I am not going back.

I do believe.

She and I can define our relationship and with time and her own emotional maturity, I do believe we will.

A new day dawns every day and some day that daily sun will shine on us.

Of that I am sure.

About Her

since the first day
every word, every thought
every action
of those around.

all about her

her mother obsessed
many months
many tears
many fears

all about her

what to do with her
how to care for her
how to feed her
what to name her

all about her

grandparents plotted
how to arrange for her
what to do with her
who could care for her
who would feed her

it was all about her

her needs
her future
her full stomach
her college

it was all about her

and a broker

a broker
that calculated a price
and found a buyer
and waited
for her

it was all about her

and while she grew
far away
someone else
was placing incredible
hopes in her

it was all about her

her welfare
the joy she would provide
the wound she would heal
the price she would fetch

it was all about her

and so she went
and she grew old
and was the only her
the golden her, the prize

it was all about her

everything
all the toys
all the love
all the power

all about her

power she wielded
basking in the glow
the spotlight
the love they gave

it was all about her.

she used the power
knew what value she had
to people
to them
to others
to those who sent her here

it was all about her

everything was about her
her needs
her life
just hers

they came when she called
gave when she asked
hugged when she was sad
wept when she was found

it was all about her

yet it wasn't

it was never about her

it was about god
about sins
about absolution
and salvation
and being the cure

it was never about her

it was about taking
the place
of the she that could not be
for the her that could not have

it was never about her

it was about clearing
the family name
of the she that loved
too young, too unwed

it was never about her

yet it was

and always will be

yet never shall be

about her

for it never was

it was always

about them

s.bednarz/december 2007

Support Requested

For Immediate Release: December 24, 2007

Origins-USA supports Matt Tenneson in the court ordered return of his son

Origins-USA, a national non-profit that advocates for family preservation and support of families separated by adoption supports the court decision to return this child to his father.

Cally and Jed Nielson, Utah, are refusing to return a five-and-a-half month old baby to his biological father, in violation of a judge's order of December 11, that the couple to relinquish custody.

Tenneson never relinquished his right to parent his son, despite the child’s mother seeking to have their child adopted through LDS Family Services, which is appealing the ruling. An Idaho magistrate judge ruled that Tenneson be given temporary primary custody but the couple who have the child in their possession have as of yet not complied and have said they intend to wage a legal battle to keep the child.

----------------

In a letter to the editor of the DesertNews <even@desnews.com> it was further pointed that:

Origins-USA – and the United Nations – believe that every child has a right to be with his or her family and adoption should be a last resort only when there is no family available to provide a safe home. This child has a father and grandparents who are willing and able to care for him, have never been accused of being incapable, and should thus not be unnecessarily taken from them. 

It is wrong to put this child through a drawn out legal battle. Even if the Neilson's win Harvey will someday know that they they fought to take him from family who wanted him and will likely resent them for it.  Both “Baby Richard” and “Baby Jessica” who were returned to their families after years of battle are reportedly doing well.

ACTION:

PLEASE COMMENT ON THESE WEBSITES and WRITE LETTERS to the EDITOR.

http://deseretnews.com/article/1,5143,695237263,00.html

http://deseretnews.com/article/1,5143,695238175,00.html

LDS Family Services is appealing the case!  The newspaper is LDS and the letters are flowing in in support of the Neilsons.

iPhone as Catalyst

"Painful as it may be, a significant emotional event can be the catalyst for choosing a direction that serves us-and those around us - more effectively. Look for the learning.” - Louisa May Alcott

Twenty IT professionals crowded around small oval tables to toast the latest departing member of our team. I arrived late but found them with ease. My friend Jeffrey is tall and has a bald head. He sticks out from the crowd.

The environment was that of a typical neighborhood bar. Construction workers, tradesman and the token old guy here or there. The waitresses were young and  clad in the requisite black shirt and tight black pants. I have been here many times but each time find myself musing over the clientèle, the environment and the structure of this small town gin joint.

Jeffrey waved me over and I took a seat between him and an older female coworker. Conversation was well underway and I scanned the group for the guest of honor, my friend Lisa. I spotted her, waved hello and attempted to settle my belongings in a safe spot. My black gloves, white scarf and iPhone were fighting for space in my small black purse.

I tied the scarf around the handle, laid the gloves at the bottom of my Brighton purse and before attempting to squeeze in the iPhone I remembered I wanted to send a message to my friend in Philadelphia. He had a big work event that night and was expected to perform in an amateur talent show. His contribution was expected to be a spoken word performance of Gaiman's "Nicholas Was.."  I wanted to wish him luck.

As I tapped the keyboard/screen on my iPhone, surrounding coworkers began to look at me. Male coworker next to me asks " is that an iPhone? Ooh, can I see?". Female coworker on my left scootches closer to me to get a demo. I joke that I should be getting a commission from Apple as I may be selling some phones tonight. Female coworker is impressed and I show her the camera and photo album features of the phone.  As I use my finger to quickly flip through the catalog, I introduce her to each person in the photos.

The very first photo in the album is my daughter.

"That is my daughter" I say.

"She is stunning...wait, your daughter? Huh?" coworker responds with a confused voice.

"Yes, my daughter. She is in her early 20s" I respond with mild hesitation. I know what is coming.

"I did not know you had a daughter. I thought you and your ex only had your boys" she questions.

"That is true. But I had my daughter when I was 17. I was sent away to live in maternity home and forced to surrender her to adoption. I found her a few years ago." I promptly reply.

Coworker freezes. 

And then she starts to cry.

She looks at me. I look at her. I look deep into her eyes and I know. I just know.

I see that familiar pain. I see the bleeding aching heart of another mother of adoption loss.

She is speechless. She is trying to talk but is uncomfortable that we are in this environment. I quickly scan the table and notice no one is looking at us. 

I pull her close to me and bury my face in her right ear. She begins to sob.

"Me too.... In the early 1960s..." she moans with that primal sob only other mothers who have lost their children to the adoption monster know.

I tell her its okay to cry. I assure her I understand. I acknowledge her pain. Tell her I am here to talk. I realize its not the best time.

She attempts to compose herself. She waves me off. I understand and respect the need  and so I begin conversation with another coworker.

Later, I grab her hand under the table and just hold it, gently squeezing it now and then to ground her. Before she leaves I give her my card and tell her to email or call me outside of work.  I remind her I have helped over thirty mothers and children find each other and if she wants to find her child, I can help. If she only needs to have someone listen, hold her hand, without casting shame or blame or judgment, she can call me.

I hope she does.

Slaying the Beast

“An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.” - Buddha

He pulled me closer to him, moved my hair and whispered in my ear.

“Do you think we could turn the movie off for a minute? The storyline is upsetting me a bit. It is reminding me of similar challenging times in my own life.” he said faintly, with apparent angst in his voice.

“Of course” I said as I jumped from the couch and quickly ran towards the DVD player.

As I settled myself back on the couch he explained a little bit of what he was feeling. I listened and eventually responded with an “Oooooh, no….” and a hug.

He flinched.

“Don’t disagree with me. It’s my feeling. It’s true. Don’t say no.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s not what I meant”. I explained to him that what I was trying to say in my “Oh, noooo” was more like “I am sorry you are hurting. I see your pain. I cannot help it. It is very real. I respect it and just want to hold you." I was definitely not attempting to invalidate what he was feeling.

This memory flashed before me the other day when for some odd reason, I was recollecting the day that I told my ex husband about my daughters existence. 

He was caring in his response. I think he even cried. He held me, said he was sorry that had happened to me and that he wished he could have been there to help me. On the surface, it was a very sweet caring exchange.  He did not reject me.

But I wanted more than that.

I realize that now. Sure, the empathy was nice but I also wanted, and have since wanted, someone, anyone to be outraged along with me. Don’t pull me close and say you are sorry. That is somewhat dismissive and fails to acknowledge the depth of my pain.

Grab my hand and fight the demons with me. Stand up and holler. Get mad. Raise your fists to those that hurt me and help me in my fight to stop it from happening to others.  Don’t pull me close, say you are sorry and then get on with things like it never happened.

Ask me questions. Probe me on what happened. Appear interested to actually SEE what happened to me. Don't hug me, shrug it off and pretend it did not happen.

It did happen. It continues to happen. I live with that trauma every freaking day of my life and it continues to happen to others around me. Why doesn’t that bother you?

Of course, I realize that is silly. I cannot expect someone who has never lived the trauma at all to really understand it. Most don’t have the emotional capacity to look at their own scarred souls let alone take a peek at mine.  Avoidance is usually easier. Furthermore, most, if not all people I know, have swallowed enormous amounts of positive adoption language and mainstream media goo. They have no idea what adoption is often about.  They were assimilated long ago by the Adoption Borg.  They cannot think on their own. Their thoughts are those of the collective.

As the New Year approaches, I continue to hope that more and more people will begin to see the ugliness (as well as the beauty) in adoption. I will personally continue to do whatever I can to educate the masses, to write, to share, to speak at conferences, to support mothers in crisis. I am committed to making progress on my novel and yes, form a not-for-profit that will support family preservation and reunification.

We can slay this beast. We can.  We can make adoption about finding homes for children in need and not about finding babies for couples who cannot have them.   We can stop the womb raiding. 

For sake of our future mothers and children, we must.

We must.

Year in Review

"I am only one, But still I am one. I cannot do everything, But still I can do something; And because I cannot do everything I will not refuse to do the something that I can do." - Helen Keller

2007 was an incredibly successful year for the members of ehbabes.com and its associated online support group. Together, as a united force of mothers and adopted adults, we are proud to claim the following successes:

• We reunited six mothers with their children. All six reunions have been positive. No one denied contact. 
• Support group membership increased by 25%.
• Easter House Reunited Mother, Suz Bednarz, spoke at the Adoption Ethics and Accountablity Conference sponsored by The Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute and Ethica, Inc.
• Reunited Easter House adoptee, Jean Provance, and her partner formed One Voice, No Secrets.  The organization is dedicated to changing the face of  adoption in the United States. The organization sponsored the "I Vote!" campaign to raise awareness of the need for open records in  adoption.
• Easter House Mother in Reunion, Mary Garvens, elected Secretary of OriginsUSA.
• American Friends of Children Mother, Dr. Bernadette Wright, elected President of OriginsUSA.
• Easter House Reunited Mother, Suz Bednarz, and American Friends of Children Mother, Dr. Bernadette Wright, participated in the making of the Real Mothers video.
• We organized three support drives for mothers in need. Two were for expectant or new young mothers considering surrender due to lack of support (financial, material and emotional).  The group provided emotional support and sent car seats, clothing, food and baby gifts to the mother in Ohio and Colorado.  The second mother was a new single mom who had recently lost her job. While waiting for her food stamps and social welfare to come through, the group sent boxes of food, gift cards, holiday gifts to her and her 5 month old child. Two of the babies are still with their mothers. The third was surrendered to a kinship adoption.

As Margaret Mead said “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

All I Want for Christmas

“Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third” - Marge Piercy

This will be my third Christmas in reunion with my daughter. It will be the first holiday that I will not mail her a gift.

This is paining me a bit.

It feels wrong and awkward and I keep fighting my natural maternal instinct to pick her up something and mail it to her. She has very similar tastes in things. I always enjoyed shopping for her.

But I won’t be shopping this year.

I sent her a gift in June and she had a very negative, passive aggressive reaction to it. She refused it but did not tell me she refused it and when I discovered it and asked her about it, she became angry with me and made it all my fault for sending it to her.

I attempted to discuss it with her, she became angrier. I asked her to tell me if she preferred not to receive gifts fro m me and if she needed to set that boundary I would respect it.  I further told her that if she did not answer me I was going to take that as an affirmative response and that she was uncomfortable to tell me that.

She did not answer me.

As I had indicated, I took that to mean I should not send. I confirmed one more time that I would not be sending a gift and while that made me sad, I would respect what appeared to be her wishes.

So I am not sending anything and it makes me sad. I saw some great things I would have purchased. I even made a few things I would have sent.

If it is true that it is the thought that counts, I hope she knows that I am thinking of her and that I wish her a happy holiday season.