Hey! I’m Michelle, and I am one small part of the big work we do at Bethany for families in NC. Adoption is a huge part of my life, which is why I am working for this ministry. Here is my story:

I was standing in the small bathroom of a gas station somewhere in Mississippi, staring back at myself with wide eyes unable to move. One minute I graduated high school, and the next minute I was holding a white plastic stick with two blue lines. How did this even happen?

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. The longer I stood there, the harder it was to pull my eyes from the mirror. That wretched creature staring back at me had caught my gaze and wouldn’t let go. I couldn’t move. Some force much stronger than gravity was holding me to that spot.

It was denial. If I walked through that door out into the world, I was accepting it, and I couldn’t do that. My heart moved to my throat, choking me as my head fell to the floor. This is going to hurt.

*

Nine months later…

My baby was wearing a blue outfit with baseballs on it. He was asleep and unaware that all of Heaven was present and moving in support of this moment on his behalf.

His new parents let me lead. I walked over to the social worker as she took him out of the car seat. She handed him to me, and I eagerly took him. I needed him.

I brought him to my chest and placed his cheek next to mine. It was soft and warm. It was familiar and intoxicating. His smell was all over me like a misty rain in the hot summer months, welcomed and refreshing. I wanted that moment to last forever.

I looked at his adoptive mom, equally eager to get her hands on him. I cradled him and offered him to her. She carefully placed one hand under his head and the other under his bottom.

I didn’t let go. I couldn’t. I just stood there sobbing and not letting go.

She spoke warmly, “Let’s just share him.” Her words were a caress to my aching heart. I looked down away from her eyes as they tried hard to decipher how to best love me at that moment. I couldn’t even see him anymore because my tears were blurring my vision. It was a moment in time for me. The only one I would have like this, and I knew it.

A full minute passed. We stood there sharing him and laughing through tears. Laughing the kind of laugh that comes out when one experiences too many intense emotions at once. It was awkward and appropriate at the same time.

Finally, after several more minutes, I was ready. In an attempt to stop crying, I laughed once more and then cleared my throat. I looked her straight in the eyes and with a firm voice declared, “I’m giving him to you now.”           

And I let go.

*

They told me I would forget about him. They told me it would be fine. He would move on, and so would I. They said I did the right thing.

But I never forgot about him. Not a day went by that I didn’t call out his name in prayer. I loved him still, and I didn’t know how to express that. I didn’t know how to answer when I was asked how many children I had. I felt like I was betraying him no matter what I did, especially if I had a few good days in a row.

My grief was my link to him, my anchor. It qualified how much I loved him, or so I thought. My shame kept me disconnected from him. I felt I wasn’t worthy of being known. And the aching didn’t get better, and the longing for him was a soul-crushing hunger that I could never satiate.

*

I finally carved out enough healing through a decade of counseling, a loving husband, and a relentless pursuit of God to figure out that grief was not my anchor, and it didn’t qualify my love. In the midst of this pain was an immeasurable joy. Both were important, and both were valid.

That realization spurred me on to write to his parents and seek a relationship with him. Maybe I wasn’t worthy of being known, but he was. I could take whatever he had to say to me, as long as he felt loved.

The truth was, he was just entering middle school. I was the weird part of his life, and he didn’t want anything to do with me. That was a hard pill to swallow, but it was delivered with such grace and love by his mother. She promised to stay in touch and told me to reach out at any time.

I spent the next decade writing about being a birth mom, listening to adoptees, and working to understand the adoptive parent experience. One shining thing became clear throughout my journey: we have to help our birth moms work to become healthy to have thriving relationships in the triad.

Was my son going to feel safe if he decided to reconnect with me but I was a complete wreck because of the adoption? No. Was I going to be able to hear the hard things he had to say to me? Not if I didn’t work on owning who I was in Christ and believing God when He called me His beloved.

Things had to change for me and all the other birth moms who wanted to know and love their child. We needed a guide for this specific suffering. Could this suffering lead to perseverance to stay present and pursue healing in separation? Could that type of perseverance lead to character changes that helped us be who God called us to be? Could having such character lead us to hope for a healthy, loving relationship with our children? I believed it could, so I began to work on post-placement care materials for birth moms, especially myself.

*

On July 2, 2019, after his lifetime of no contact directly from him, my son emailed me. ‘I want to reconnect with you and get to know you and my siblings. If that’s something you want, give me a call.’ I sat down where I was and bawled my eyes out.

His parents had stayed true to their word. They loved him fiercely—protecting him when he wasn’t ready for a relationship with me. They loved me unconditionally—celebrating with us when he chose to reconnect. Their integrity taught me more about God’s faithfulness
and my worth than any other person in my life.

In May of 2020, he walked up my driveway, and I walked down it. We met in the middle, and the intense craving to hold him that lay dormant for so long was satisfied. My heart was pounding next to his once more after two decades apart.

“Are you nervous?” I asked him.

He took a deep breath nodding his head. “Yeah.”

“Me too. Let’s just do the best we can.”

*

That was where I started all those years ago. I did the best I could. I still am.

I work at Bethany because I know what the women who face unplanned pregnancy and choose adoption are feeling, going through, and need. I don’t want them to have to figure all this out on their own. They should have post-placement counseling, an advocate, and their hand held as they journey. I want to do just that for them and for their children.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for standing with Bethany. And thank you for being a part of the story for women like me, who need help to love their amazing children like mine!

*

Please join me in supporting families right here in North Carolina. We will be walking on Saturday, November 21, 2020 at 9:00 a.m. around the Lake Tomahawk Loop.

Bethany is a global nonprofit in more than 30 states and more than a dozen countries dedicated to helping families thrive. In North Carolina, core services include foster care, pregnancy counseling, adoption services, and family counseling.