Navigating the journey of motherhood can take many forms, especially when you’re a birth mother. I have three sons, and while they all share my dimples—a physical marker of our connection—the emotional ties can be more complicated. As I reflect on their baby photos, I see fragments of each child that remind me of myself, yet there’s another side to my story that remains unspoken.
Currently, I am in Hawaii, nursing my 12-week-old son while my 3-year-old enjoys time with his father at a nearby playground. Meanwhile, my 17-year-old son lives in Virginia, likely settling in for the night with the family that has been his support system since birth. This situation brings forth a unique struggle for me as a birth mom; when people inquire if my two younger boys are my only children, I am momentarily torn. Should I share my past? It’s a dilemma that likely resonates with parents who have lost children. While I want to be honest and honor my older son’s existence, it often feels easier to simply say, “Yes, these are my only kids.”
Adoption is a profound gift that provides opportunities for many, including myself. However, it comes with its own set of heart-wrenching emotions. This pain is not something that fades over time; in fact, having my own children has occasionally intensified it. Just recently, I experienced a moment of raw realization: part of me, my flesh and blood, exists outside of my reach, raised by another mother who has given him the love and care I could not.
I have embraced my decision since the moment I met his adoptive parents nearly two decades ago, yet that doesn’t lessen the occasional sense of loss. The sadness I feel isn’t rooted in regret, but rather a longing for what can never be—a bittersweet acknowledgment of a chapter that has closed.
Seventeen years ago, I brought a child into the world. I never held him close during sleepless nights, nor did I celebrate his milestones. Instead, I’ve lived my own life, filled with milestones of my own—college graduations, friendships made and lost, and the journey of self-discovery. I am grateful to be part of my son’s life, understanding that our paths have been intertwined since the beginning. His adoptive mother has become like a sister to me, embodying the nurturing role I wish I could have fulfilled.
Giving birth does not necessarily equate to motherhood in the traditional sense. It shapes your heart and mind in profound ways, knowing that a piece of you is being nurtured by someone else. I carried my son for nine months, felt his movements, and ultimately made the painful choice to hand him over to his mother, leaving a part of my heart behind.
I miss my son, who has always belonged to another. I am a birth mom, and this experience is both a blessing and a poignant reminder of the complexities of love and loss.
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In summary, the journey of a birth mother is filled with complex emotions. While the decision to place a child for adoption can be a deeply fulfilling choice, it is accompanied by a unique blend of joy and sorrow. Understanding and acknowledging these feelings is essential for healing and growth.
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