It’s midday here at the BlogHer Writers conference in NYC. I need to pause in my day and write something that ties writing, and more specifically publishing, to adoption, and more specifically open adoption.

I see so many people — birth parents and adoptive parents alike — who close an open adoption or simply walk away without informing the other party as to why simply because it’s too hard. It’s too hard to deal with the emotional complexities of it all. It’s too hard to balance the time between a birth family and everyday family and, in some cases, multiple birth families. It’s too hard to explain to new friends. It’s too hard to deal with the stereotypes. It’s too hard. It’s too hard. It’s too hard.

Let me tell you this: “It’s too hard” is not even a good excuse. It’s pretty much a non-excuse.

I have been so incredibly inspired by the speakers we have already listened to this morning. But they’ve been honest with us: It’s not easy to get a book published. It’s hard work. There’s a lot of rejection. There’s blood, sweat and tears. And, in the end, it doesn’t pay all that well. Well doesn’t that sound like a big ball of fun? No. No it doesn’t. But the end result? Is worth it. And that’s why writers keep on striving toward that end goal.

Similarly, there are moments in my open adoption that have not been fun or easy or all that rewarding. I am trolled online. In real life, people say horribly offensive things to my face. I miss my daughter so much, but sometimes it’s even harder to be in her presence. The balancing of my everyday life with the open adoption visits and emotions is trying at times; it’s hard to make it all fit. But the end result — a grown adult adoptee who knows that she was always wanted, always loved and has the knowledge she can ask either her mom or me anything she wants to know — is why I keep on keeping on.

I’m not saying I’ve never wanted to give up, to get back in the birth mother closet and pretend that the hard stuff of this open adoption simply doesn’t exist. I keep that end result in mind, at heart, deep in my soul. That end result is what helps factor into the decisions I make, the things that I say, the direction I take.

The book I write.

Open adoption is not easy. Writing that book is not easy. Both? Both are worth it. Don’t use a non-excuse — and your fear — get in the way of that blessed end result.

The sting of leaving the Munchkin behind was lessened a little when we stopped for a quick pee-wash-hands-grab-dinner-get-back-in-the-car-and-eat-on-the-road-because-OMG-I-just-wanna-get-home when I checked my email while waiting to order our food. I did a happy dance right there in the line at Wendy’s. My boys gave me a look.

I am honored to be included as an Honoree in the BlogHer Voices of the Year for my “I Am Not a Unicorn” post here on Chronicles.

I think that Elisa ran late on announcing specifically so I could have something to smile about today. Smiling on the day that I leave my daughter behind at the end of a visit is not something that usually happens. For the majority of the trip home, until that email check, I was batting back tears. When she hugged me this morning, I kissed her head and had to look away as she said she would miss me. I told her I would miss her too. But I couldn’t make eye contact. I didn’t want to lose it… create a scene. My boys were already upset enough about leaving. The Munchkin was already upset. I am an adult and I needed to hold it together. I did learn, however, that batting back tears is a good way to keep yourself awake on an eight hour road trip.

I knew that “I Am Not a Unicorn” was something special when I wrote it. One or two posts per year here at Chronicles just hit me in a special way. They’re rarely the controversial ones, though Michelle nominated the one that got me on the hate lists. They’re usually the ones where I find enough courage to speak from my most inner place; my soul, my heart, my existence. The Unicorn Post hit me because I have been told, time and time again over the years, that I’m a special case. That people understand why I placed because I was so sick. That I’m not really representative of those who relinquish. And while I get what they’re saying and understand that they’re trying to be kind, their words still sting.

I am real. And I’ve always been real.

I know I won’t be reading it from the stage — which is probably good because I don’t think I could get through that mess without openly weeping and, trust me, I’m an ugly crier — but knowing that people who have no interest in adoption, ethical reform, or birth parents being seen as real people are reading that post… well, that makes me grin from ear to ear.

I know everyone is looking for more updates (and cute pics) from our visit. And my scathing review of the Teen Mom and/or 16 & Pregnant Adoption Special with Dr. Dumb-butt Drew. Those are coming. I promise. Tonight I needed to share this. That I wrote something that people who have no immediate connection to adoption thought would resonate with a larger audience. That I put myself on the line with my writing and it paid off. That I am not a unicorn; I am real — the hurt, the laughter, the joy, the pain, the sadness, the love… it’s all real.

Go check out the rest of the Honorees’ posts and the speakers’ blogs. (The speakers’ specific posts have not yet been linked in that post.) Some of my very favorite bloggers and friends are honorees and speakers. I jumped around (as much as my back would let me) as I read through the list. And — as an aside — if you’re attending BlogHer ’11, skip that swag party (and whatever else) that happen to be held during the Voices of the Year Community Keynote. Trust me: Free stuff is cool, but the Community Keynote is why we blog. To witness other people sharing their best writing? To support them in that? To stand with them and applaud them for a job well done? That’s what it’s all about, folks. You’ll kick yourself if you miss this. Just trust me.

First off, I met Katherine Stone (@postpartumprogr). If you’re not familiar with the work she does at Postpartum Progress, you need to hit her site and be in awe of all she has done. She recently got her 501(c)3 for her non-profit and I couldn’t be more proud of her. We’ve “known” each other for years, as I experienced postpartum depression after the birth of each of my sons. And, if I was able to separate the PTSD caused by relinquishment from PPD, I could probably claim that as well after Munchkin’s birth. I have history of depression which is a risk factor for PPD. Thankfully, I got the help I needed. Which is really why Katherine’s site exists.

I attended her session on Cause Blogging for many reasons. I get passionate about the cause of birth parents and ethical adoption. And I adore Katherine. And two wild-and-crazy ladies made sure I showed up there as well and didn’t hide out in my room due to anxiety about speaking during the next time slot. (Check out their joint effort, by the way.) I knew I wanted to go. I told Katherine I was going. And I’m glad I went.

But man, it was intense for me.

First of all, I was surrounded by people who are doing wonderful things within their cause. In attendance was Susan (@whymommy) who won the Bloganthropy (@bloganthropy) award for her work with Mothers With Cancer (among many other awesome things that she does). And Ellen (@lovethatmax) who is pretty awesome. And Dawn Davenport (@dawndavenport1), the awesome behind Creating A Family (you remember my radio interview, yes?). And I got twelve kinds of antsy when I realized that these people are Big Stuff. I mean, who am I? Just some birth mother with a blog. Who cares?

I almost totally shut down when Katherine told us that we need to “wear our cause on our sleeves.” She related a story about how she recently was talking about her site and PPD in a group of mixed company when a pastor said that he never knows where to refer mothers who come to him with postpartum issues. Now he does, simply because she talked about it at will. She said that’s why we need to be open about who we are and what we do.

… sigh.

Later (as in not during her session) I told her that I don’t want to wear adoption on my sleeve, or more specifically, the title of birth mother. Everyone has always told me that discretion is fine. I can tell people about my title of birth mother when I am ready, or as I say it, when it comes up organically. I don’t introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Jenna and I’m a birth mother.” She told me that I don’t have to do it that way.

But attending blogging conferences is interesting in this regard. I met two new people at our very first dinner get-together. Sherry asked me, “So what do you blog about?” I had just handed her my card. There are obviously two blogs listed. I stumbled for a second and thought to myself, “Eff it,” and went ahead and explained my story as briefly as possible. I had the inward anxiety flush and I kind of lost my hearing for a moment. This scene was repeated… well, repeatedly throughout the conference. I didn’t die. Maybe Katherine is right.

The truth is that as I continue to write here (and, well, everywhere), I become less anxious with saying, “I’m a birth mother.” At the Birthmother’s Day event in May, I kind of balked at being asked, “Are you a birth mother” during sign in, but I said yes. And I didn’t burst into flame nor did anyone chase me with a pitchfork. I had to do so at the end of Katherine’s session as we all stated our names, blogs and causes. It’s interesting to me that absolutely no one said anything negative to me all weekend. Some asked questions. Some didn’t. Some just said that they liked my necklace. (I have awesome necklaces.)

Back to the session, Katherine reminded us to be personal in our postings as we are each the faces of our cause. By being personal, we are bringing it home to those who happen across our sites. We are relate-able. We are real. We are not a statistic or a number.

Between her session and Patti Digh‘s (@pattidigh) keynote and session, I feel a renewed sense of purpose. I’ll be working on some inward things over the next few weeks to figure out some stuff. And, really, the travel break from posting about adoption was probably what I needed. We have another visit coming up and I feel a clarity if not a peace about it.

I’m learning to be okay with who I am in this journey and how I view things. As Patti instructed us, I’m going to be working on letting go of the audience, embracing the ordinary and using my voice. Those were always my goals. I just needed to be reminded.

It’s funny that my head is overflowing with posts, but I needed to get all of this out and said first. Hopefully they stick around for awhile; at least long enough to get them out!

I’ve received some questions (polite ones) via email as to why I’m not writing a memoir. And, similarly, why Dawn isn’t either. Originally we thought we could pair our memoirs together, making an interesting dual story as our timelines are so close but we struggled. I don’t know why she struggled but I just recently, during one of the above mentioned drives, realized why I was struggling so much. Music helped me figure it out as music often does.

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

-”Unwritten” by Natasha Beddingfield

And that’s my problem. The rest is still unwritten.

I read a book (Thinking About Memoir, Abigail Thomas, 2008) before Dawn’s agent approached her/us about pairing up. It’s always been my goal to write a book but I had been struggling with the topic, subject, genre and other associated issues. Everyone has always assumed I would be writing a memoir and so I spent a large chunk of time researching memoir writing. One of the things that I took away from that book was that a memoir wasn’t and/or didn’t have to be an entire life story. Just a glimpse, one story or a few stories that made up a bigger story.

But I can’t seem to wrap my head around how to do that with my story.

And I had so many questions for myself. Did my story start with the two lines on a stick? Or the conception? Or the emotional turmoil that sent me to New Jersey in the first place? Or earlier? And when did it end? I had more concise answers as to when it didn’t end. At birth, as some in society would assume? No. After the first visit? No. Her first birthday? No, though that would make an easy ending, most of my healing occurred after that point. After my oldest son’s birth? Again, while easy, so much more came up after that point. After their divorce? No, because that’s overly negative and D and I have strengthened our relationship so much since that time. There’s no good ending to my story.

And what’s a story without a good ending?

Don’t get me wrong. I’d really love to write my story someday. But it’s still being written, both in everyday life and here on the blog. I don’t know what the story is going to say about me or adoption just yet. That’s what I keep getting hung up on. I expect our story to take a few more twists and turns over the years. I expect us to have a disagreement or twelve. I expect us to have some really wonderful moments. I expect (and hope) to continue to grow, change and really push myself towards maintaining my inner peace. The story isn’t over.

I don’t know if it ever will be.

My biggest fans may just have to be content to read the blog when it comes to my personal journey. Dawn and I have chosen to go the non-memoir route both because of the saturated genre and because, really, we feel we have some important things to say on the topic. Open adoption can be great but it’s hard. It’s changing things both in the adoption industry and in society. The changes haven’t always been good or ethical but openness is changing things and we need to discuss it all. There are stories that need to be heard, sometimes as cautionary tales and sometimes as encouraging ones. People are still going to adopt, whether we tell a doomsday story or not. As such, what I think Dawn and I are hoping to accomplish is to provide enough information… the information we weren’t provided with prior to starting our respective journeys. That’s always been my biggest complaint: I wasn’t given the information.

And maybe that’s why I’ve always felt so compelled to write a book. Less about my story and more about what I need others to know before they walk this road. (Can you hear the gears clicking in my brain?)

Also, we have a dual twitter account, @YMObook. We’ll be throwing out requests for information and interviews as well as updates. Feel free to follow if you so desire. (Any requests for information will be retweeted by one or both so you don’t necessarily need to follow unless you want to watch the grueling process of writing a book.)

I wish I had known to record those phone calls. I wish I had known half of what they weren’t telling me.

I think I want to interview agencies that do a good job on educating expectant parents considering relinquishment about the realities of grief and loss. I do not know how to go about finding one of those. More over, it would be especially awesome if said agency also educated potential adoptive parents as to how birth parent grief and loss is to be expected and is absolutely no reason to close an adoption.

Am I creating fictitious agencies in my mind?

All of the thought over the past few days has left me wondering how people, not companies/agencies but the real people sitting at the desk or on the other end of a phone, can mislead other human beings and not feel weighed down with guilt for the rest of their lives. Or are some of them equally mislead? Who does the initial blame belong with? How far back in history do we have to go? I start thinking of all of these questions and I get overwhelmed with sadness for an industry that desperately needs reform but, sadly, those working in it aren’t even fully aware of what changes need to be made.

Yet I refuse to believe we’re fighting a losing battle. And that’s what makes me… me.

And then there’s that book thing.

Yes, Dawn outed me/us today because she’s insane. Maybe not insane. Maybe she’s less scared than me. I would have been perfectly content to be ten thousand kinds of vague in my request for interviews and the like over the next few months. Why? A few reasons come to mind. One of them is a huge fear of failure (which I’m learning goes away when you believe in yourself; WHO KNEW!). Another reason is because being vague and cryptic creates suspense! Right? Lastly, as I said to Dawn, now I actually have to work instead of sitting over here eating bon-bons as I do.

Oh wait. That last point might not be valid.

Short run down: we’re writing a book. About adoption. Not about our adoptions and the specifics of our open adoption relationships because, well, memoirs are kind of hard to sell right now because there’s one about every thing under the sun right now. (That said I’m reading a fabulously written memoir right now (because I do adore the genre) about death and infidelity and betrayal. It uses cuss words but ohsoappropriately. This particular memoir makes me glad that we’re not writing a memoir because there’s absolutely no way that I would want my memoir writing compared to hers because, really, it’s that good. Perfection: A Memoir of Betrayal and Renewal by Julie Metz. Pick it up but maybe not if your spouse has recently died. Just sayin’.) Anyway, back to our non-memoir. It was at one point in our talks asked if we would write a “how-to” regarding adoption which I initially balked at (and still do). That thought felt icky. What we’re working on right now is more of a critical (not meaning negative) look at open adoption. And such. Which is very descriptive, is it not? Totally.

We’ve been kicking around ideas for a couple of months now. When I was brought into the fold of this project, I was surprised that Delia knew who I was and, as such, I have a word of advice for anybody who aspires to write anything. Ever.

Blog. And blog well. Because you never know who is reading your blog.

All of this feels overwhelming and wonderful and scary and exciting and tedious and thrilling. I think it’s incredibly wonderful, dorky and technologically awesome that we’re utilizing Google Wave to keep track of ideas, interviews, topics, chapters and all that other stuff. I am always amazed at how truly lucky I am to be alive in this current “day” of “stuff.” Sure, it’s overwhelming. Sure, it creates challenges that didn’t exist before all of this “stuff” existed. But, man, sometimes things really work together to make aspects of my life/our lives easier. The argument, of course, then comes into play whether all of this “stuff” has made the publishing industry fall on its doopa but, well, as my grandma says about falling on your doopa: you can always get back up, sometimes you just have to find another way to do so.

I have no idea where this specific journey will take me. I do know that my house is messy, my laundry needs washed, my husband fought a late night fire and is exhausted and I can’t walk in heels. That’s about it right now. Those bits of knowledge aside, I’m loving the encouragement that has been sent to me via twitter today. I just read through everything after returning from an impromptu shopping trip with my boys and my mother-in-law. The retail therapy and the encouragement make me feel ready to conquer the world.

Kind of.

Sometimes it’s overwhelming to be inundated with these memories, these brief moments of time seen behind my eyes. I can’t begin to write them all down, though I desire to do so. Why can’t I? They come too quickly. One moment during the Munchkin’s pregnancy takes me to a memory of one of the boys which throws me back to another Munchkin memory. They merge and twist, dancing through my mind, in my heart.

I’m feeling it even more this fall. I am not with child. I will never again carry another baby in my womb. My days of pregnancy glow are over. I’m used to being pregnant, every other year, at this time. My heart thinks that I should be washing baby clothes, prepping newborn sized cloth diapers and finishing up a nursery. I’m having dreams of babies, not the ones I have already held in my arms. I see countless pregnant women and I feel a sense of sadness that I’ll never be among their ranks again. That feeling was only exacerbated by kidney spasms the other night which involved so much pain that I threw up. As I was doing so, I had a flash of morning sickness days gone by. And I cried, cursing the kidney which was causing the current pain and the reason why I’ll never throw up upon waking ever again.

I don’t feel depressed, mind you. I am very happy with this life that we’re fumbling our way through, guessing our footsteps and falling down on occasion. I could deal without severe pain, of course, but I’ll take whatever is thrown at me so I can wake up to this life. These flashes of memory remind me of what I’ve been through to make it to this point. I almost lost my life at various points. It’s a miracle any of us, myself or these amazing children that brighten my life, are here. I know I need to start chronicling more of these instead of just floating my way through them, hoarding their beauty and their sorrow for myself. I’m learning that it’s okay that those three pregnancies and the one baby that we lost have intertwined themselves together in my memory. The truth is that their stories are inseparable. I once felt that wasn’t okay, that they each needed their own specifically unique story. While they are all very unique children, so different in so many ways, they are all touched by one another. I am learning not only to accept that fact but to celebrate it.

Because, in reality, their intertwined stories make my story what it is; they have shaped and formed me more than any other single or series of events in my life. Together we make sense, even if our togetherness spans a great distance.

“Be still when you have nothing to say; when genuine passion moves you, say what you’ve got to say, and say it hot.” – D.H. Lawerence

I’m still processing the overwhelming emotional experience that was watching my daughter’s mother remarry. I assure you that the whole of it is a good process. I just can’t quite find the words to say what I’m feeling. In fact, I don’t quite yet want to find the words. I’m enjoying the quiet peace, the place of personal understanding.

You see, to put words to it and explain it all to you, my readers, will complicate matters. I (mostly) understand how I feel about the matter and how I got to this place. I (mostly) understand the ins and outs of why this is a good thing and how it will benefit my daughter in the future despite the questions that will likely arise. I do accept that this is something that has helped me grow even though it was never imagined or expected.

But will you understand? I don’t know many adoptive parents who want to think about divorcing their spouse. I don’t know many birth parents who want to think about their child’s parents divorcing and still managing to find the good in all of it. I don’t know many people who aren’t touched by adoption who would even give an ear to what I have to say on the matter since I don’t matter all that much.

And so, when it comes down to it, the words that I am trying to locate aren’t even about how I feel. I’m merely trying to find the words to communicate what is a rather complicated matter. I know that I don’t need to do it. Even if the rest of the world never understands what has gone on in our relationship(s) or in my heart and soul, our family unit will continue forward and continue to grow in strength together. But I want to explain it, to put words to it, to share this beautiful chapter of our journey together.

I just can’t quite find the words yet.

And so, in the meantime, know that we’re all well. D and M are vacationing in Hawaii (which was not hit by the tsunami and, as such, they are safe). We’re busy. Life is good. And that, the life being good, is, well, good.

At Swagapalooza, a book was in our swag bag. It’s entitled Ignore Everybody: and 39 Other Keys to Creativity. It’s by Hugh MacLeod of Gaping Void. I wasn’t expecting much out of a free book from a guy who didn’t even present at the event. I have been pleasantly surprised. Right now I’m on point/chapter ten and I had to share it with you, my adoption journey readers.

Everybody has their own private Mount Everest they were put on this earth to climb.

The point goes on in a very encouraging manner.

You may never reach the summit; for that you will be forgiven. But if you don’t make at least one serious attempt to get above the snow line, years later you will find yourself lying on your deathbed, and all you will feel is emptiness.

I wonder exactly what my personal Mount Everest is, what I’m journeying toward. I mean, I’ve been talking about my journey toward peace and healing for quite some time. However, is that just an attempt to get past the snow line? I don’t quite know. I know what I want to do, what I want to accomplish and I even hesitate writing it now because it seems as big and scary as a mountain that is known for killing people on their way to the top.

I’ve been getting nudges, for years now, to write a book. What book, exactly, is still unsure to me. I know everyone expects me to detail my adoption story, our journey that we continue on and will continue on for years and years to come, even after Munchkin is an adult and on her own. However, having paid attention to Dawn’s trials in this same exact area, I already know some of what rejection will come my way. The claims that it isn’t my story to tell. The claims that we don’t know how the Munchkin will feel about it all later on and, as such, the story can’t be told yet. Truth be told, memoirs are actually just supposed to be a glimpse at one part of a life story and not a full conclusion on a life lived. If everyone waited until the life journey was complete to write their memoir, the genre would die right along with the people who were thinking, “I wonder if my journey is complete enough to put pen to paper today. No? Maybe tomorrow.” Too late.

Then there’s the problem of knowing what I want to say. Or, rather, not knowing what I want to say. Or, really, if I get to the heart of the matter, being afraid of the reactions of people for simply saying what it is that I have to say. My adoption story and journey aren’t pleasing to either the super pro-adoption camp who believe that all babies conceived out of wedlock should be given to more deserving couples or the super anti-adoption camp who believe that adoption is inherently evil and should be abolished at all costs. This is, of course, because I am not an extremist and live my reality somewhere between the two ideas. Parts of my story do speak to the absolute and immediate need for adoption reform. The way I was lied to and subtly coerced by the unethical agency through which I placed are exactly what I want to see changed. However, other parts of my story do speak to the wonders of open adoption. I have many a moment, many a conversation that really end up making the long, arduous and grief-laden road worth the bruised knees and broken heart of my travels.

Of course, as I argue these thoughts with myself, I come back to a very important point of which I try to remind others writing on the topic of adoption, be it in blog or forum form: my story does not negate, dismiss or diminish someone else’s story; it is my own. As such, I really shouldn’t care what the extremists from either side think of my story. (Nor do I on a normal basis. But the book idea is scary!) I really shouldn’t even care what the everyday Jane and Joe Schmoe think. This should just be about me, my story and pen and paper. Or, fingers and keyboard. The truth is, I don’t know exactly how I want to portray my story. Truthfully, obviously. Honestly. With passion. But what to say. How to say it. And how to portray it. I just don’t know as of yet.

Maybe I’ll figure it out by the time I finish this book. I don’t know.

The article is somewhat disheartening. I didn’t start this blog about our adoption journey because I wanted to be famous or because I needed to be financially independent or for anything other than the simple fact that I needed to write my adoption journey. Writing is a part of who I am from the inside to the outside. It’s what I do. It is what I have always done. (I just recently found a binder full of horribly written poetry dating back to sixth grade. And, no, I won’t be sharing it with you.)

My need to write, in order to process and heal, created quite a following here for awhile. And then came my period of quiet, of silence if you will. As things took unexpected turns in our adoption journey and as I dealt with all of those changes while simultaneously battling postpartum depression, I didn’t have as much to write. And during that time, I didn’t worry about my numbers (they went down) or my so-called fame (because those who cared stuck around) or anything of that nature.

Like my life, this blog has experienced highs and lows. I treasure the moments in which someone has related to what I said but, at the same time, I treasure the posts in which no one commented but I made an exceptional stride toward my healing. This blog has been what it has needed to be for me at every step and with every change in my life. It has been an emotional sounding board. It has been a place to promote ethical changes in adoption reform. It has been a place to support adoptees in their fight for their Original Birth Certificates. It has been a place where I have seen my writing grow and change. More over, it has been a place where I have seen myself grow and change. I have grown into my role as a birth mother. I have grown into my own skin. (I like me, guys. I’m pretty awesome!)

This blog does not make me rich. Neither does the family blog. In fact, my gig over at Adoption Blogs doesn’t rake in a whole lot of dough. But all three blogging experiences brings all kinds of different things to my life. Here, though the words have been slow as of late, I am free to explore, to play with words. While I’m more to-the-point at the family blog, I am a bit more abstract here. Where I give more fact than emotion at Adoption Blogs, I get to the core of the emotion over here. When I put it all together, I am a whole person on paper, or, rather screen.

Blogging shouldn’t be about what you can get. Blogging should be about what you can give. I’ve given all of me, I’ve shared all of me. And since my love for blogging is more of a love for writing, for words, I don’t see the giving ending any time soon. There is an ebb and a flow but not an end to my love for writing.