I think part of my healing process has taken place in the fact that I am no longer defined by one title.
For a very long time I was defined by the title of Birth Mother. Or First Mother. Or however you want to spell it, space it or say it. I was defined by it and I couldn’t get out of the box that definition provided. More over, I needed to be defined by that title for a time. However, I couldn’t see when I no longer needed that definition to rule my life.
When I was considering placement, I didn’t know to be ashamed of my decision. It wasn’t until the immediate aftermath in the hospital and the way our Pastor treated both me and my family that I realized that birth mothers are not applauded like the pro-life camp would have you believe. I was shunned. I was cursed at, told that I was a horrible human being for “giving my baby away.” As such, I found a need to reinvent the title and role of birth mother. I needed to be seen as a remarkable human being who endured a tough choice and came out on top. I needed people to see that I wasn’t a crackwhore, that I wasn’t a slut. I needed people to validate my decision and I needed to validate the title of birth mother all at the same time.
As the walls began to crumble around my denial, the realities of my decision settling like dust into every corner of my life, I found that I couldn’t get away from the title. I began to feel this intensely after my firstborn son was home and hungry for my parenting knowledge. Here I was, mothering this tiny (though, he wasn’t ever tiny, was he?) little baby boy and I was still being ruled by the title of birth mother. But I was a mother! And I wanted to be recognized as one! And most people did. I, instead, was unable to accept my new role as mother as a separate title. I was unable to separate parts of my life. While they are twined together in some fashion, they are also remarkably different roles. My grief was affecting my parenting and, looking back, I am able to admit that fact. I don’t like it, like that it is part of my history, but it did.
Once in therapy, I was able to begin separating from the title of birth mother. As I learned the many facets of who I was, I didn’t need to be The Best Birth Mother In The History of All Birth Mothers. I spent less time online arguing with people who felt threatened by my presence in the adoption world. I spent less time being angry with an unethical agency that will never change. I spent less time comparing myself to other mothers, finding validation my son’s smile, in his love. I spent more time listening to my husband and less time listening to those who needed to cut me down to validate their own life story. I needed professional help to get to that point, to let go of things, to move forward and enjoy my life as a whole, not just as a part.
I am not just a birth mother. In fact, I am not just a mother. Not just a wife. A daughter. A friend. A writer. A singer. I am so many things in so many ways. I am proud of how all of those things come together to make me… me. No one has lived this life that I’m living. They may have made similar decisions. We may have strikingly similar stories even. But this is me. This is my life, my decisions, my unique journey.
I am not just a birth mother though I always will be. I am not just a mother though I always will be. I have learned to merge roles, to set them aside when I need to be someone else for a moment. I have learned to accept how my roles have formed me but still know that they don’t define me.
I may be a birth mother but I’m so much more. So much more.
My name is Jenna. I blog here, 
