The author, age 17, holding Sarah one last time before she was taken by her adoptive parents and renamed Hanna. It was after dinner and I was on standby in case my daughters needed help with their homework.
As I waited, I scrolled social media. I rarely pay any mind to my local online moms group now that my kids are teenagers, but an anonymous post stopped my finger mid-swipe. A mother was asking for advice. I imagined the mothers writing those comments and pictured them throwing magical confetti at the computer as if they were helping โ as if just typing that one word was a simple solution that would work for everyone.
Do I respond to this mother in crisis? I wondered. I started to type. I deleted my comment. Do I respond to these flippant proposers of adoption? I started typing, then deleted the text once again. I turned my phone off and leaned my head back and closed my eyes.
People who have never been touched by adoption always seem to think of it as easy, but as a mother who placed her child for adoption, struggled through the chaotic emotional aftermath of the separation, and then reconnected with my child later on, I know the truth. Even though it was the right choice for me at the time, adoption is anything but easy.
So, due to a lack of instruction, little self-control and a lot of boredom, I got pregnant at A combination of Christian parents, no money or access to an abortion clinic the closest one was four hours away , and no means to take care of the child I would soon give birth to meant adoption was the only option for me.
