Some days I find myself in an emotional tug-of-war. Is it love I feel for the woman I should despise, or is it hatred for the woman I should cherish? How can I have such strong feelings for someone I’ve never met? The answer lies in our shared bond: she brought my son into this world.
My son was born into a challenging situation, facing the harsh reality of drug exposure. He endured painful withdrawal symptoms, spending over 100 days in a neonatal intensive care unit, battling for his life. His neonatal abstinence score was unprecedented, a record that continues to stand. It’s not exactly a record to be proud of, but it highlights the gravity of what he faced. I was told he cried inconsolably, reacting to the slightest changes in his environment, and struggled to breathe properly.
This is why I’m caught in a conflict. Should I loathe this woman for putting my son through such suffering? Or should I be grateful to her for giving him life?
I feel resentment when my son struggles to articulate his thoughts. I feel anger when he can’t control his body’s movements. I hated her the day I sat in a doctor’s office and learned he had autism. I hated her when he cried in pain from leg cramps. Those feelings bubble up often.
Yet, there are moments when my heart swells with gratitude towards her. I appreciate her existence when my son wraps his arms around me for a hug, claiming he’s too old for such affection. I cherish her when I see him explore the world with wonder. I’m thankful for her when his laughter fills the room with joy from a joke that might have come from her sense of humor—or maybe it’s a mix of both our genes. Honestly, I think I love her more than I hate her.
Adoption is a beautiful journey, but it’s also filled with complexity, anxiety, and immense responsibility. I didn’t feel like a hero “saving” my son; it was more selfish than that. I met him, and he captured my heart completely. I longed to be his family, and I take that privilege very seriously.
As someone who has experienced adoption myself and now works in child welfare, I feel an added weight to ensure my son understands his adoption story. I explain to him about his birth family and why they couldn’t keep him safe. This narrative evolves as he matures, encompassing his journey through foster care and the illness he faced as an infant. I want him to know that his birth mother loved him then and continues to care for him now. Deep down, though, I hope he loves me even more.
Can you see my dilemma? It’s a confusing and complicated emotional landscape. But amid this turmoil, I’m filled with love, respect, and gratitude for the woman who gave my sweet, funny child that adorable lopsided smile—one that likely resembles hers.
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In summary, the love/hate relationship I have with my son’s birth mother is a complex struggle filled with gratitude and resentment. It’s a journey of understanding, acceptance, and ultimately, love for both the woman who gave him life and the child who has become my heart.