The right decision

When I made the decision to relinquish my daughter, it was mostly a brain-based decision. “You’re too young, my brain told me. “And single women shouldn’t be mothers. You’ll ruin her life.” My brain lectured on, reciting what it had heard repeatedly: “Adoption is the smart, selfless, responsible way to handle an unplanned pregnancy.” And then, just to drive the point home, my brain dropped down to a whisper. “Also,” it hissed, “you personally just don’t have what it takes to raise a kid.”

When my intentions to relinquish became known during my pregnancy, I got many affirmations that I was making the right choice. At the time, these affirmations brought a sense of relief. They registered as “I am good.” Now, after parting with my daughter, those same words are offered as comfort. “You made the right decision. You did the best thing for your baby.” But now, oh boy howdy how those words sting. In the space that follows, my brain fills in the rest: “…because your child is better off without you.”

In her article, “Telling Mom She Made the Right Decision is Wrong,” reunited mother Jane Edwards notes that the decision to relinquish is made in faith and hope, without actually knowing the outcome for the child. She writes, “We did not know what would happen to our babies once we gave them up. By telling us we made the right decision, [they] are saying in effect: ‘any person would have been a better parent than you would have been; any situation would have been better than living with you.’ These are not comforting words.”

I can't place a hard and fast judgment on a decision. It was a decision. Was it the right one? I'll never know. I don't even know that I believe such a thing exists, or what the qualifications are for a decision to be proclaimed to be "right." I believe I did the best I could with what I had at the time, and that's about as far down that road as I'm willing to go.

This is when I hear the voice of my personal coach, Walter Edwards from Leading Change Company, chiming in to ask, “What is it that you do want?” (Thanks, Walter.)

A few responses that offer support and comfort to a birth mother:

“How are you doing with that?”
“What’s that like for you?”
“What can I do to support you right now?”
“Your love for him/her really comes through in the way you talk about this.”
“Well your child definitely got some genes for good looks!”

I am kidding about that last one. Kind of.

But anyway, you get the point. Having had much public comment about our parental aptitude early on, our sensitivity may be on overdrive. When navigating a difficult conversation with a mother who’s separated from her child, the best route may be one of neutrality — and overall, unconditional love.