Concerned United BirthParents on Phil Donahue
Concerned United BirthParents on Phil Donahue
Great job Red Table Talk! Thank you so very much.
As a transracial adoptee, Angela is responding in the way she was raised. Sadly her family did not embrace people of her culture. I call this culture genocide or an ethnic crime.
I am not against transracial adoption. Noah is a transracial adoptee. But when white people raise their black and brown children in white culture or teach them only the adoptive family’s ethnic heritage or culture (German, Italian, etc) but not the ethnicity of their adoptee, that is a huge disservice to their child. It says your culture is not as important as ours in this family. I always wonder how white adoptive parents can love a black child but not the Black community. How do they go 18+ years of embracing new friends, family, and neighbors who all happen to be white but claim they are color blind? How does that happen? That is not natural or unbiased living.
I love that Jada and Willow and Gammy gave a transracial adoptee and a birth parent a seat at the table. Willow shared some deep talk for such a young woman, I love that Gammy was outspoken and passionate in this table talk. She has experience as a black woman and a black mother. She is right. Angela didn’t have a say on being adopted or how she was raised. Her insecurities stem from her lack of Black culture and understanding her place in the Black community. And let us not forget she is an adoptee which comes with inherit emotional consequences. But also, like Gammy said, Angela can change that. It would be similar to a white person who was raised with racism. Once they become an adult, they have the choice to educate themselves and decide which path they want to take. I hope that Angela steps out of her comfort zone and begins to embrace her roots. In today’s America, there really is no excuse that ANY family should live in a bubble no matter your color or culture. But especially transracial adoptive parents.
I am grateful to Ms. Debra and Angela’s parents taking a seat at the table and allowing those tough questions to be asked.
Lastly, I truly appreciate Angela’s honesty, sharing her story and her vulnerability so that others can learn. By taking a seat at this table and inviting us into her journey, her space, she educated so many on the many layers of adoption. We know that not one person speaks for everyone. But Angela has been given a platform. She does her best to give all sides light and exposure. She is bringing those pieces that have been dark and hidden for so long to the surface and it feels wonderful to be seen and heard with compassion. Thank you, Angela.
Every. Word. Of. It!
To all my Texas peep,
We would like to ask for your support, either by calling your representative, or emailing them. You do not need to be a birth parent, adoptee, or an adoptive parent to support HB2725 (which gives adult adoptees the option to access their original birth certificate). But if HB2725 aligns with your beliefs, please reach out.
This is what I wrote to my Representative:
I am a constituent of yours and I want to thank you for your support of the adoptee HB2725. It has been a long fight for those who have been working on this year after year with great passion and some heartache.
Adoptees just want fair and equal rights like all other Americans.
I am a birth mother. I had the great honor of giving birth to two sons. One I parented. And one was adopted out. I was lucky to have an open adoption relationship.
My sons are now 19 and 20 years old and I am very proud of the men they are becoming. However, they both do not have equal access rights to their original birth certificate. I see my sons as equals, as adults, as Americans, but it is discouraging that the state does not see them both as equals because of MY decision. It feels like one of my sons is being punished because of MY choice. No one ever promised me anonymity when I signed relinquishment papers nor should they.
Growing up adopted comes with its unique life experiences. And it impacts each adoptee in many different ways. HB2725 has the power to restore dignity, bring awareness and knowledge, and mend broken pieces. Most importantly, it allows adult adoptees to own what is rightfully theirs by birth.
Thank you so much for your support and consideration,
Adoption has become a political hot topic in the last few years. What better time to discuss these issue then during National Adoption Awareness Month.
Evolving from a controversial “closed” secretive past filled with shame where women went into hiding, to a postmodern “open” adoption era where women are posing as social media “poster” birth moms, we have seen a shift in adoption. However, when it comes to OBCs, adoption remains stagnant and secretive. Adoptees are trying to change that.
Most states implemented sealed records during a time when women had few rights or choices and were oftentimes railroaded towards relinquishment. One could argue that these laws were enacted to punish un-wed mothers, an estimated 1.5 million women, who were sent away to hide their pregnancy and the birthing of their child. There was deep shame associated with an unplanned pregnancy. Families did everything they could to sweep these babies under the rug and hide their very existence. Erasing the child that was born out of wedlock was supposed to save the mother and child from societal disgrace. In turn, it would also save the family from scandal.
While laws to protect secrets may have been intended for one purpose, it resulted in a far greater impact that violated adult adoptee’s rights.
One strong debate for OBC access is regarding medical history for adoptees. Adoption should not come at the expense of vital information.
Humans have an innate yearning to know where they came from. Adoptees should not be judged for wanting to know their DNA history, no matter how a blended-family was formed.
Adoptee Rights Groups are fighting hard with some success nationwide. Seven states have enacted less restrictive laws in the last three years. Currently, nine states have unrestricted access to OBCs. Eleven have access with restrictions, and nine have partial access or partial access with restrictions. The remaining states, including Texas, are sealed.
This political cause is relevant, sensible, and in need of fresh eyes and modern laws enacted. Adoptees do not remain children forever. They grow up. They become adults with rights like every other American. Access to our own birth records should not be determined based on our biological, step, foster, or adoptive family status.
Family is Family. Rights are Rights.
To learn more, please read my Op-Ed in the New Braunfels Herald-Zeitung
National Adoption Awareness Month just ended. And the internet was flooded with adoption videos. Most of which were from one side. The happy side. The gifted side.
I am a birth mother. I will always see adoption through my side. Through loss. So as any awareness campaign, please know that there are two sides to adoption and actually three sides because as the adoptee grows, they have their side as well.
Please take the time to watch this video. Share these stories too. And know that adoption almost always is based off of loss and sometimes trauma.
This year and this month marks 18 years that I had a heart-wrenching choice to make. When my son left my arms and my home, and I didn’t know if I would EVER see him again.
This video expresses what women experience just before they make their final decision. Just before they terminate their parental rights. When there is no crystal ball into what the future holds.
May God Bless the grieving birth mothers and heal their broken heart.
I met Maureen at work. A growing bank chain had begun to acquire some other banks nationwide. Maureen, who was from Long Island, was asked to move to Texas. She had worked for her bank 15 or more years when she relocated to Texas. She had experience, expertise and vast knowledge. She was well respected, attractive, and witty. She was an asset and the new purchasing bank wanted her on their team.
Maureen knew about both of my sons. I had pictures of them on my desk. And I had even brought up Noah and his family to the office one time. Jaren had been up there many, many times. I had talked about both of my sons in the office. So I wanted my coworkers to meet Noah and I wanted Noah to meet them. It was a proud moment for me to have both Jaren and Noah at the office.
I always wondered who was judging me. It was a mind game, whether real or imaginary and I am certain it was a little of both. I felt like my diverse family made others feel awkward. My family was not neat and tidy. There were complicated pieces. This contributed heavily to my emotions and imbalance at times. It’s why I understood that sometimes it’s easier to just move on as best you can and put the birth and the adoption behind you. And when I say, “behind you,” I mean to not speak of it. Birth mothers can never totally forget or put giving birth nor their child behind them. They keep it reserved in a portion of their mind and their heart, hiding it carefully as if they are protecting a small child from a scoundrel.
After Maureen began to reconnect with her lost daughter, I learned she was a birth mother too. She and I had other things in common. We were both from the upper east coast, both raised Catholic, both with Irish roots. So finding out that she too was a birth mother made me feel closer to her. Besides that, her New York accent reminded me of my grandmother, especially when she said my name.
Previously, she was private about her adoption experience. Maureen was regal and conservative. She was not at all open about her choice to relinquish her daughter. I say choice but I doubt she had many options or choices. She was young, Catholic and not married; the perfect recipe for the adoption industry. But when she reunited with her daughter, things changed. I don’t think she confessed to everyone about finding her daughter. But she felt safe with me and another birth mother who also worked in our department.
Maureen, who never had any more children, was so happy to meet her daughter. She proudly showed off her pictures. Her daughter looked so much like Maureen and just as beautiful. They began to connect on Facebook. Then, they arranged to meet; secretly at first. Her daughter didn’t want her adoptive parents to know. She didn’t know how they would take it. Maureen flew back to the east coast. Her daughter was recently engaged. So Maureen got to meet her daughter’s fiancé as well.
After their first meeting, they stayed connected. It was not always easy. Her daughter was having a difficult time with the reunion too. Maureen felt her daughter would retreat from the relationship sometimes.
Maureen would talk to me about her feelings. I would try to share as best as I could. Although she had been a birth mother much longer than me, I seemed to have more experience because of my open adoption relationship with my son and his family. Maureen was unprepared for the emotional toll this new birth/adoption/reunion was about to take on her. While my situation was a little different than hers, we were both still women who gave birth to a child and relinquished our parental rights. We have a similar experience. That, in itself, is enough. I had gone through with the reconnecting and disconnecting a couple times. That’s what it felt like whenever Jaren and I got together with Noah’s family. I had to say good-bye over and over again. It’s a very strange feeling because you don’t know who you are to your own child. Or who they want you to be. You don’t want to be too aloof and give the impression that you don’t care. But you also don’t want to overly show love and give the impression you are trying to take over. You have this natural instinct and need to mother and to protect. It can feel as if your every move is being judged and nothing will come off as appropriate, as if you are on trial without a character witness for a choice you made and nothing will erase what happened and there is a consequence that every person amidst you will consciously or unconsciously bestow on you. It’s an emotional tight-rope. And you feel as if one wrong move could end drastically and possibly severe the relationship for good.
For the first time, Maureen’s emotions began to show. This very cool, collective, admired soul began to show insecurities and self-doubt. The beautiful woman, who walked with her head high, began to take a second-class position.
Maureen got invited to her daughter’s wedding. Maureen took her mother, the birth grandmother, to the wedding. And they even stayed with her daughter’s adoptive parents. Maureen shared some of her feelings about that experience. I understood. We shared our stories and our feelings. I wanted her to know that what she was feeling and experiencing was very normal. Birth mothers don’t always know that unless they talk with other birth mothers. We can feel as if we are weird or strange for feeling a certain way. And if we are not careful, we can have family or friends convince us of the same. It never seizes to amaze me how many people will try to counsel another person without having a similar experience, no education or degree in the field, no work experience, nor any research done on the subject matter. And yet, they will speak as if they are the expert. If we are not careful, we can lead a person down a deadly path.
After the wedding, Maureen and I got a little closer. She gave me a Willow Tree Angel, called Friendship. I treasured it. We went out for happy hour a couple times with some co-workers. And we even made plans to go to the movies. We saw October Baby.
However, Maureen, who now had almost twenty-five years of service, seemed to be changing more. I had worked with Maureen for nearly five years so I knew her work behavior fairly well. She had begun to appear intoxicated at work. I never knew for certain. It was a feeling. I thought maybe she was taken some medication. Her eyes and her speech were sluggish. I wanted to help her but I didn’t know what to do or say. I mean, what DO you say? “Hey, Maureen, are you drunk? Is everything okay?” I didn’t want to make false assumptions or offend her; especially during this difficult time in her life. But I also didn’t want her to feel alone. At the time, I didn’t know of any birth mother support groups. I didn’t find one myself until 13 years after my son was adopted out. That’s a long time to go without any counseling or support. I had to figure it out on my own, as did so many other birth mothers.
I ended up resigning from that job. I lost contact with mostly everyone. However, I did send Maureen a link to my blog in hopes it would help her. And a year later, when I found the birth mother support group, I tried contacting her to see if she wanted to go with me sometime. I don’t think she ever responded. Four years came and went, and I decided to check in on her. This was last year. I sent a text. No response. Then just recently, I decided to send her another text. She had been on my mind. I still worried about her and wondered if she was healing. When I got no response, I thought maybe she changed her number. So I sent a text to another coworker that I keep in touch with about once a year. I thought maybe she knew how she was or had contact information. I told her that I had been trying to contact Maureen. She told me that Maureen had gotten fired and she believed it was due to the drinking. Then she said, “Sorry to be the one to tell you, Maureen passed away from Liver disease.” Maureen had passed in 2015.
I was shocked. And deeply sadden. She was only 49 years old.
He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. – Psalm 147:3
In ONE week at work, yes in one week, I heard comments that would make my jaw drop and leave me stumped for words. Some comments were directly against the Ethics Code of Conduct. Others fall somewhere in between. The comments came from various people; male, female, Black/African American, Latino, and White.
The first comment I heard was during our department’s holiday dinner at a local restaurant. As we were waiting on our meals, one of the ladies began to throw shade at the employee who was in charge of organizing our holiday celebration because she wrote “Holiday Party” instead of “Christmas Party” on the email invite. I was surprised. Especially, because Hanukkah overlapped with Christmas this year. Did she assume that everyone at our table was all of christian faith, that we all celebrate Christmas? Or did it not matter to her? I wondered if she ever looked at our corporate holiday calendar in Florida where they have off for Rosh Hashanah and other Jewish holidays. While we don’t have those holidays off in our state, our corporation does recognize and honor the importance of other religious holidays besides christian holidays. I wondered if she knew that my department has an employee who is Muslim, who does not have any paid holiday leaves for his religious holiday. In addition, his religious holiday comes and goes without much to-do as I am almost certain that many do not even know what spiritual holiday he celebrates or when. On the other hand, those of us who celebrate Christmas have at least a month long nationwide celebration and some still feel the need to complain?
The next comment was about adoption. While in the ladies room at work, I ran into a coworker that I used to sit across from. I asked her about the kids and her baby that she had given birth to a couple years prior. She said the kids were all good and that the baby was now three and then jokingly said he was handful and bad. We both laughed, knowing the challenges of toddlers. Then she asked me if I “wanted him” because she was about to give him away for adoption. That comment left me speechless. I was at a loss for words. She does not know my story, that I am a birth mother who relinquished her parental rights and gave my son away for adoption. And while I know she was joking, her comment was no joke to me. I thought about my son and all adoptees. I wondered if he was in that room and heard that comment, what message it was saying to him. That a child who is bad will be given away because their parents don’t want them anymore? I certainly did not choose to relinquish my son to adoption because I didn’t want him. And sadly, when I shared this experience with a coworker she confessed that she has made that exact comment about her adolescent son and has heard others say the same. I agree. I heard that statement thrown around jokingly in my younger years. But now it’s different. I can’t help but think how careless our words can be or how unthoughtful we are to make jokes about children who are surrendered, orphaned, abandoned, and fostered due to unfortunate circumstances. None of which are because they are bad children.
Next, the topic was about the criminal justice system. My supervisor was talking about her upcoming jury duty. This began much chatter on the floor. Coworkers began laughing and making jokes. One coworker said they [the person on trial] were guilty and that our supervisor should give them “the chair”; so much for the fair trial theory, for an unbiased jury to gather the information and deliver a fair verdict. On a personal level, my coworkers do not know about my father, his crime, or his imprisonment. While my father may have been very far away in a prison cell, he was alive. I wonder if my life would have been different if he had been executed for his crime. As a child, would that have impacted me differently? I don’t think people can understand what that’s like to be the child of a convicted felon and truly comprehend how the general population views your convicted parent. Although they were not talking about my father directly, they were speaking about his actions. I have very mixed feelings about this topic. While it was difficult to not have my father around, I am glad he served his prison sentence. While I wish he would have never got involved in this crime that caused tremendous emotional impact on our whole family, I am glad he was not sentenced to death.
Lastly, I asked a new co-worker how she liked working for our company. She shared with me her thoughts and then she began to share with me about her previous job and the reason she left. She talked about her old boss and then called him a “fag”. She quickly followed up by saying she didn’t hate gay people but…
I was trying to gather my thoughts and grapple for words in this conversation. I have family members who are gay. More importantly, this person does not know me well enough to know whether or not I am gay. It never ceases to amaze me how people who have been discriminated for their gender, their religion, their race can then turn around and use such discriminatory words or actions towards another group. How can we ever move forward if we cannot see outside our bubble?
I recently had to call into the IT department. When I did so, the tech asked me to find “Setting Privileges”. Then he began to inform me what I needed to do for my computer to recognize which privileges I needed in order to perform my daily task. I thought about that and how that related to the human population. Are we born and programmed with certain privileges? And, do those preset privileges enhance or diminish our social status?
Our race or cultural?
Our economic class?
Whether we were born gay or not?
Whether we were born with special needs or a disability or not?
Whether we were born into our family or adopted into our family?
These are just some. There are still more that can factor into our privileges and human experience.
But, should our privileges give us the right to make fun of others? Should they give us power, control, or a sense of entitlement?
In computing,privilege is defined as the delegation of authority over a computer system. A privilege allows a user to perform an action. … Users who have been delegated extra levels of control are called privileged.
I participated in this study. So thankful to the researchers and participants.
One voice at a time…
This is always a hard time of the year for me. It is coming up on the anniversary of the relinquishment to parent my second son. I am not alone in feeling this PTSD. It is a known fact that birth mothers suffer during the anniversary of their child’s birth or relinquishment date.
Without fail, this time every year which is a joyous time of the year for many, I get emotional without warning. Tears fill my eyes unexpectedly and without immediate cause. I get irritated easily and anger quickly. I become withdrawn and sometimes unapproachable.
In about one month, my office is moving to another building in the same city as our current office location. Late last year, our management began talking about moving to another building. They wanted it to be somewhat close to our current location, within 10 miles or so. They looked in nearby cities and also in our current city for a new place to call home for our Service Center. Employees waited impatiently at times curious as to where this new office would be. Many worried if their drive would be longer while others hoped their drive would be shorter in this very populated metropolitan city with hefty rush hour traffic patterns.
So we waited and waited while our management team looked for a new office building in the Dallas/Ft Worth area, assuring us every few months that they were getting closer and closer to a final decision. Needless to say, the possibilities were endless.
The city is the main cultural and economic center of the 12-county Dallas–Fort Worth metropolitan area—at 6 million people, it is the eighth-largest metropolitan area in the United States. – wikipedia.org
Earlier this year, the management narrowed it down to office space they had found in three different cities.
In April, during an all-employee meeting, they finally announced our new location. An exterior frontal building picture flashed on the projector and I couldn’t help but notice how familiar this building looked. As I continued to listen to our VP speak, I kept staring at the picture. I was pretty sure I recognized this new office space but waited patiently to be certain. Then the new address of our new location popped up on the screen. I was stunned.
I quietly told the person next to me that I had worked at that building before.
The VP gave the projected date, which was initially scheduled for November.
At first, I think I was surprised and somewhat shocked by the synchronicity of it all.
As reality began to sink in, I began to process the impact of this move for me. Moves are always somewhat stressful. While many employees in the office were talking about this new place, both positive and negative comments, with their highest concern being about the commute, I was internalizing what this move meant for me. I was pretty certain it was different. It wasn’t just about packing and unpacking, or a new driving route, or a greater or lesser distance from home, or longer rush hour traffic delays. For me, it was much deeper. It was about a traumatic moment in time that I would much rather leave in my past.
The first time my office moved out to this building, it was back in the late 1990’s. I was living and working in downtown Dallas. I was a single mom to Jaren and pregnant with Noah. And, I was on the road to making one of the most life changing decisions I have ever made. Life was filled with uncertainty. I was alone to care for my son and future son yet to be born. I was castaway by many of my family and even some friends and my children’s father had abandoned us. Life was challenging at best.
My employer at the time had scheduled our move to the new building at the end of that year. I was also due to deliver Noah at the end of that same year. And like my current employer, the move was set for November but then pushed back to December. My delivery date was also set for December.
As the end of the year approached, I was released for short-term medical leave to prepare for my delivery and my choice. I packed up my desk and went on maternity leave before the move occurred.
The next couple months would challenge my emotional resolve. I did not have the luxury to worry or think about our new office space, my new cube or my office belongings. My day-to-day was filled with taking care of my first born son Jaren and the future that I was considering for his younger brother.
After Noah was born, I signed relinquishment papers on December 24th of that year. Within a week, I handed over my newborn baby to a couple that I had never previously met. I trusted that the adoption agency had did their research and homework.
When my maternity leave was up and I was about to return to the office, I called my manager. I informed her of my decision. I asked her if she could send out an email to the office and inform them of my choice. I didn’t want to have to answer those questions over and over again. I also didn’t want to lie and say I lost the child. But sadly, she refused. She said it had something to do with policies. Ironically, within a year, another co-worker returned from maternity leave. Her child died. This time, my manager did send out an email to the team to let them know what happened.
So after giving birth, saying hello to my newborn son, relinquishing my parental rights, kissing my baby and placing him in the arms of his new parents, I prepared for my first day back to work.
I walked into our new office space no longer pregnant and with one less child than what my coworkers were expecting. I sat down at my new cube. I began unpacking my material belongings while trying to box up my clouded brain, broken heart and my muddy emotions.
This is the place where I walked out to the parking lot during my lunch hour, sat in my car, and cried tears of sadness and hopeless despair. Where I wrote letters to God asking Him to find a way to return my baby and heal my broken heart. A place and time where I contemplated suicide just so I could stop the pain, had it not been for my son Jaren, who gave me every reason to live.
I was stripped down to my core and there was little left of me.
And now, after several move dates have changed, with one of the scheduled move dates being on Noah’s birthday and I was thinking, “Are you freaking kidding me,” we are finally moving to our new office building in less than one month. I am bewildered. How do I move through this? What does this mean? Is there healing in all this?
I’ll admit, in the early months, I was amused by the fluke of it all. I joked about how God was playing a trick on me, all the while, reserving my anxiety. But now that the move is less than a month away, it has become very real.
I talked to my current supervisor privately and told her my story. I wanted her to be aware. I explained how this is a traumatic time of the year for me and that I am not sure how this move will impact me because of all the similar details; the history of the building, the same time of the year. I tried to make light of it and withheld my tears that were readily available to me. We both chuckled at the synchronicity of it all. I promised her that I am and will continue to do my best to move through this. She did seem to understand. She even said, “Well, this time you will be involved in the moving process rather than someone moving everything for you.”
I thought about her statement. It resonated with me.