How I Connected With My Birth Mother I Never Met
My journey toward motherhood has been this constant circle of being put together and then taken apart. Every new season of it has me praying harder and needing more grace with myself. When I watch my little girl play, I often see the ways that she’s looking to identify with me and how I do things. Sometimes it looks sweet like reading her baby a book and sometimes she replicates the less glamorous parts of being a Mama. It is in her innocent desire to be like me, that motherhood has given me new eyes for my own mothers, I have two of them.
I am an adult- adoptee and so I have a Birth-mama, who did the work of carrying me for nine months, giving me her long limbs and dark hair. I have another Mama, that taught me everything and adored me. I often think, God gave me two feet so I walk with both of them. In the past 4 years of motherhood, I have had moments like my little girl, where I have been able to identify with my many mothers. For example, the excitement of when my daughter’s adoption was finalized or the nine months of which I carried my son.
Biological pregnancy was definitely not my easiest season. Already having been a mother through adoption, I knew what the love was like. But I felt like most days, I was trying to distract myself from my own feelings. This was the closest, I had ever been to my birth-mother and it was painful. I would feel the sweet little guy move and wonder... how could she just move on? She must still think about me... I prayed a lot for the baby inside me, and wondered if she too prayed for me. I wrestled in these moments, I was trying to identify with someone, I may never know. Even in my darkness, my faith and two feet walked me forward. When thinking about delivery, I knew I wanted to feel the pain of the millions of birth-mothers. Though their pain does not have rhythm like a contraction but comes when they least expect it and I knew their strength is so real. It was funny, as my labor was on and off for days, making me think maybe mine might not ever leave. But after a few intense hours, I met my first little piece of my birth-mother. He is one joyful and sweet little guy.
In this very redemptive way after he came I again felt put together again. But this time I was stronger. It was a beautiful, slow season like newborns tend to make things. I loved watching my daughter have a real baby doll for a few months. I would often find myself wondering if she too will go through a season like mine if she has a biological child. Though her story is very different than mine, my hope is that my darkness and grief will be able to make her two feet so much stronger to stand on.