Advice from a Birthmother on How to Handle Difficult Emotions After an Adoption

The following is adapted from Finding Hope.

In college, I had an unexpected pregnancy, and I chose to place my baby for adoption. When he was born, I signed the papers that transferred rights to his adoptive mother, and I knew that it was the best choice. Was it emotional? Yes. Did I have any doubts? No. His mother is an incredible person, and he is thriving, happy, and healthy. 

But knowing that it was the right choice certainly didn’t make it an easy one. In the weeks, months, and even years that followed, I dealt with anger, grief, depression, and guilt. I was ashamed and felt like people would judge me, still feeling like birthmother was a dirty word. 

I’ve finally been able to work through many of those complex emotions. It hasn’t been easy—or quick—but I finally feel at peace with my past. If you are in this situation, or have ever been in a situation that you know deep in your heart is right, but that, on some level, still doesn’t settle well, then it’s likely that you will go through some of the same feelings. They will be painful, but here’s some hard-earned advice that will help you see them through. 

Feeling Lost

After I gave birth, I didn’t recognize myself. My body hurt. I still looked pregnant. I needed to sit down because standing was too painful, but I didn’t know what to do with myself once I sat down. I stood up and walked to the bathroom. There were so many fluids—the tears, the blood from my IV that ripped out when I stood up, the blood gushing from my body. I had nowhere to go that felt safe. I felt like a walking burden to everyone.

My hormones went haywire, too. That first week, my milk dropped. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Should I be pumping the milk and sending it to my baby? Did he need it? When I asked his mother, she said I was a twenty-one-year-old woman who should be out living my life, not worrying about pumping milk every day. She was right, but on some level, I just wanted to help. I wanted to be close to him. The whole experience was traumatic. I was literally missing my son, leaking, not sure what to do. I remember going to grab a cocktail with a couple of friends—just a catch-up drink, nothing crazy. When I woke up the next morning, my bed was soaked with milk and tears.

The best thing to do in this moment is to let yourself mourn. You might be tempted, like I was, to push the feelings down and try to ignore them, hoping they’d go away. But they aren’t going to go away. Those feelings are natural—and in the case of the hormones, biological. 

I relied on my sister a lot in the days after I gave birth, and I’m forever grateful that she didn’t judge me. She let me be who I needed to be in those moments. Finding those people—the ones who love you and support you, even in your grief—is really important.

Anger

When I moved back home, my mother and I fought endlessly. Our arguments were not healthy. She hadn’t had time to grieve what had happened, and neither had I. We just took it out on each other; our house was a battlefield. 

It wasn’t just my mom. I still hadn’t made up with my sister or my older brother. I didn’t feel like I had anyone to talk to, even though my sister and stepdad both reached out to me. Even my dad, who I’d become closer to, reached out again and offered me a place to stay. I was too closed off. I did feel like I maybe had a couple friends to lean on, but those friends were living regular college-kid lives. I, on the other hand, was living in a post-partum war zone. I had so many emotions and no idea what to do with them. 

One thing I’ve learned, looking back, is that other people are scarred and scared in this situation. My mom was scared that her child could get hurt, and she missed my son and all the imagined interactions they’d never have. My family got caught in the crossfire, and I wish that I had had the patience to try to breathe, understand, and take a moment before acting in anger. I am fortunate that we’ve reconciled. There will always be fire in our relationship, but there will always be love. I needed my mom at twenty-one, and I need her now. 

Depression

As a server, there were weeks I’d work four nights in a row and then have three nights off—which, again, led to me spending more time alone in my bed, sobbing. The days I didn’t work were miserable. The days I did work were okay; the interaction started to help, and I made connections with my coworkers that helped breathe a little life back into me. 

Then, the drinking started picking back up again. That was just what we did for fun; we’d get off at the end of a shift and go out. It is part of the culture of the service industry, in my experience. My life started to spiral then, but slowly at first. I met a guy who was bad news. I knew he wasn’t a truthful person, but I didn’t care. I became obsessed with anything distracting—drinking and using Tinder. 

I was right to look to other people for company; I was wrong to think that partying was the right kind of company. People should have been my solace, not my escape. 

Guilt

A lot of my self-destructive behavior was the result of intense feelings of guilt. Sometimes, nice guys would come into my life, and I’d self-destruct those relationships. My friends would ask why I wouldn’t give these guys a chance, and my answer was simple: I didn’t want to. I saw myself as a burden that I didn’t want to bring into any nice guy’s life. Why would they want that? I wondered. Why would they want me? 

Eventually, I realized: I am worthy of love. I deserve to be happy and fulfilled, just like my son deserves to have a good life. My decisions were ultimately for the best, and I shouldn’t have to carry around a burden of guilt for the rest of my life. That wasn’t going to help me, my son, or anyone else. 

Now that I’ve let that guilt go, I can lead a life that brings light and joy to others. And I can finally be happy. 

Moving Forward

I feel so sad that I let myself go through all of this mostly alone for many years. I had my family and friends, but I didn’t like to share my emotions. Very few times did I let it bubble up and come out, and neither did the other people around me. What if we had been there for each other the way we are now during those years? 

When my emotions start to get the best of me, I have to step back and check-in with myself. You are in a safe place, I tell myself. It’s okay to talk about how you feel.

And that’s what I would encourage you to realize, whatever your situation may be. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. And it’s okay to talk about it. It will be hard, but there is a way to move forward. 

For more advice on moving on, you can find Finding Hope on Amazon.

After placing her newborn son for adoption in 2013, Hope O Baker struggled with depression, addiction, and overcoming the stigma that surrounds birthmothers. In her first book, Finding Hope: A Birthmother’s Journey Into the Light, she shares her story of a successful, open adoption—and all the heartache and light that came along the way. Hope is a passionate advocate for those on all sides of adoption. You can find her online at HopeOBaker.com or follow her on Instagram at @HopeOBaker. Hope visits her son regularly, and she currently lives with her loving partner and her wonderful stepkids.