Some days, I find myself wrestling with conflicting emotions. Is it that I love a woman I should despise, or that I despise a woman I should love? It’s perplexing to feel such intensity toward someone I’ve never met—someone I know nothing about. Yet, the connection is undeniable; we share a bond through my son, her child.
When my son was born, he tested positive for multiple substances. He endured excruciating withdrawal symptoms, spending over 100 days in the neonatal intensive care unit, fighting for survival. His neonatal abstinence score was the highest on record at the hospital, a grim achievement that illustrates the severity of his situation. They say he was inconsolable, constantly crying and reacting to even the slightest changes around him.
This is the crux of my internal conflict. Should I harbor resentment toward the woman who brought my son into this world, knowing what he suffered because of her choices? Or should I feel gratitude for giving life to my beloved child?
I feel anger when my son struggles to articulate the sentences in his head. I feel frustrated when he can’t seem to control his movements. The day I sat in a doctor’s office and heard the words “autism” directed at my son, I felt a wave of anger toward her. I felt that anger again when my little one screamed in pain from severe leg cramps. Those feelings can be overwhelming.
Yet, my emotions are not always negative. There are moments when I genuinely feel grateful for her. I appreciate her when my son wraps his arms around my neck, claiming he’s too old for such affection. I cherish the joy he brings when he fills our home with laughter, making jokes that reveal his unique sense of humor. Perhaps that spark of wit comes from her. It’s a blend of both of us, after all. I find I love her more than I hate her.
Adoption is a beautiful journey, but it is also fraught with complexity and anxiety. You are entrusted with a child born of another woman’s womb yet welcomed into your heart. The responsibility weighs heavily, and I strive to navigate this path with care. For me, it wasn’t about “saving” my son; it was about falling in love. He captured my heart the moment we met, and I knew I wanted to be his family. This privilege is something I take to heart.
Having been adopted myself and working within the child welfare field, I feel an added responsibility to ensure my son understands his adoption story. I talk to him about his birth family and the circumstances that led them to be unable to care for him. As he matures, I adapt the narrative to match his growing comprehension. I explain the foster care system and how he was unwell as an infant. I want him to know that his birth mother loved him then and still does. Deep down, I hope he develops a sense of respect and a unique love for her, but I also wish for him to love me more.
This dilemma is perplexing and complicated, yet it remains simple in its essence. I’m still navigating these feelings, and that’s perfectly okay. With each smile from my sweet, funny child—a smile that likely resembles hers—I am filled with love, respect, and gratitude for the woman who gave him life.