I didn’t choose adoption. I didn’t choose to be born to a mother who couldn’t take care of me. I didn’t choose to grow in her womb for nine months and listen to her voice and feel her love and then be separated from her at birth. She chose that. Not me.
I didn’t choose my family. I didn’t hang my picture up on a church bulletin board and wait for someone to find it. I didn’t put my own face in a newspaper saying, “This child needs a home.” I didn’t pick up the phone and request a family. No, they chose that.
I didn’t grow up feeling like I was missing something. I didn’t grow up empty. I didn’t feel abandoned or lost. I didn’t miss the mother I had never known.
I was always loved. I was always wanted. I believe that my first mother spoke to me before I breathed air. I believe that she told me that I needed to love my family. I believe that she told me that she loved me so much but that she just couldn’t do it. I believe that she wanted me to know wholeness. I believe that she gave me permission to live and be a daughter.
I always knew I was adopted. It was never a secret. It was never embarrassing. It was never something that couldn’t be talked about at dinner. It has always been my story and it always will be.
I have a mother who loves me. I have a father who loves me. I have a brother who loves me. I have grandparents and uncles and cousins and friends who love me. I have been given the greatest gift of love by a woman whom I have never met.
I didn’t choose adoption. Adoption was a gift. Freely given, freely received.
I realize that every adoption story is different. If you would like to share your story in the “I Am the Face of Adoption” series, please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org.