I never expected to become a birth mother. It wasn’t part of my plan, the dream I had for my life. But life doesn’t always unfold the way we expect, and sometimes, love asks more of us than we ever imagined.
When people hear my story, they often respond in one of two ways. Some act like I am a saint, an angel who made the ultimate sacrifice out of selflessness. Others treat me like a cautionary tale, as if placing my child for adoption is something I should feel shame for.
Neither of these perspectives feel true to me. The reality is much simpler, and yet far more complex: I am just a woman who loves her child.
When I first shared my decision to place my baby for adoption, I heard phrases like, “You are so strong,” and “What an incredible gift you’re giving.” People wanted to turn my pain into something noble, something beautiful. I understand the intention behind these words, and I appreciate the kindness, but sometimes it felt like they weren’t really seeing me. They were seeing an idea of me—this perfect birth mother, self-sacrificing and pure of heart, as if I had no grief or doubts. On the other hand, I’ve seen the judgment, too. The hushed whispers, the side glances. The people who assume I was careless or that I simply “gave up” my baby. The ones who think I must have been unfit, that I must regret my decision every day.
The truth is, I didn’t “give up” anything. I made an intentional, heart-wrenching choice because I wanted my daughter to have a life that I couldn’t provide at that time. That choice was made from a place of love, not from a lack of it. I don’t need to be seen as a saint or as a sinner. I don’t want to be put on a pedestal, and I don’t deserve to be cast aside. What I hope for is simple: to be recognized as a mother who made a difficult decision out of love.
I am a mother. I carried my child. I love my child. And I always will.
Adoption is complex. It’s filled with joy and heartbreak, with hope and loss. But at the center of it all is love. My love for my daughter didn’t end the day I placed her with her adoptive parents. It continues, every day, in every thought, in every whispered “I love you” from afar. There are days when my heart aches for the moments I miss—first words, birthdays, skinned knees, bedtime stories. I wonder what her laugh sounds like now, how she sees the world. I wish I could be there for every milestone, every triumph and tear.
But I also find peace in knowing she is loved, nurtured, and thriving. I see her parents’ joy, the way they cherish this little soul, and I know deep in my heart that my choice allowed for something beautiful to grow. Love didn’t disappear; it simply changed shape.
To anyone who has ever wondered what it feels like to be a birth mother: Know that we are not looking for praise or condemnation. We are not heroes or villains. We are simply women who made a choice—one of the hardest choices anyone can make—out of an overwhelming love for our children. We exist in the in-between spaces, in the quiet moments of remembrance and longing, in the strength it takes to keep loving from afar. And that, in itself, is enough.