Motherhood is such an emotional topic. Leading up to Mother’s Day, I, like many, reflect on motherhood and what it means to me, both as a daughter and as a mother. I was adopted at birth, never having any other mother than the woman who raised me. She is, and will forever be, the only mother I know. I was raised by a strong woman who made me feel so special about being adopted. My parents wanted a child so desperately and I grew up feeling that. I was wanted and loved. I never felt “other” or that I didn’t belong. I want to be very clear on that point. I never felt I was missing something. I did, however, feel some disdain for the woman that gave me up. How could that be? How could a mother give a child away? I did not have very much respect for the birth mother.
Fast forward to the birth of my first child. She was (still is) breathtakingly perfect. I could not even comprehend the depths of my love for her. As I inspected her from head to toe, I noticed a little swirl of hair on her arm. I had that same swirl! I wept. I had never known a biological connection…it was a very strange sensation. When you put our newborn photos side by side, they are identical. As a grown woman, she still looks very much like me. It is very special to me.
I have been given a gift in my life from two facts. First, I never felt like I was missing anything while I was being raised by parents who truly love me endlessly. Second, the powerful feeling I felt at the birth of my first child. I was able to let go of any disdain for the woman who gave birth to me. I have the utmost respect for her decision to choose a stable, loving environment for her child. What a sacrifice this must have been. I needed to become a mother myself to understand this choice. I guess I am doubly lucky in the mother department, the one who chose not to raise me, and the one who wanted motherhood so much and raised me as her own blood. Blessed, indeed.
