“And I will lead the blind in a way that they do not know, in paths that they have not known I will guide them. I will turn the darkness before them into light, the rough places into level ground. These are the things I do, and I do not forsake them.” – Isaiah 42:16
When I first found out I was pregnant, I felt like I had committed the ultimate sin. I had tried so hard to walk a straight path and to honor my family’s reputation. Raised in a conservative, Christian community, I experienced immense pressure to maintain appearances and pretend that everything was fine.
A teen pregnancy was the last thing I think my community expected from me, and I felt like I was disappointing so many people, including myself. Because of the shame I was carrying surrounding my pregnancy, I didn’t share it with many people outside of my immediate family. My closest friends didn’t know, and I was able to hide it because many of us had gone off to different colleges after high school. I isolated myself, and once I began to show, I rarely left the house for fear I’d run into someone I knew, and I’d be found out. I was strategic with my clothing, making sure I hid my ever-growing baby bump. I didn’t talk about how I was feeling because I didn’t want to upset my family any further. I put on a “brave face” and acted as if all was fine, when in fact it was not.
On the inside I was desperate for it to all be over. Even when I was in therapy sessions or meeting with the pregnancy counselor at the agency, I talked about things unrelated to my pregnancy and upcoming adoption. I guess I thought if I just ignored it, everyone else would too. What I didn’t know was that my parents, therapist, and pregnancy counselor were all concerned by my lack of emotion. My therapist specifically expressed concern because she feared I would suppress my emotions for so long that it would impact my ability to process what I was experiencing— never finding healing.
And she was partially right. As my life moved forward after the birth of my child, the long-term effects of my denial and avoidance prevented me from healing, and I struggled to develop deep connections with others. I projected my pain and became jaded and bitter, questioning the futility of striving to be the “perfect” daughter. “Why should I even bother anymore?” I thought.
These feelings of anger and moments of deflection persisted until one day, I found the courage to discuss my experience without sugarcoating it or justifying anything or anyone. The truth was, I was not okay, and I needed to stop acting like I was. Being honest and open about my pregnancy and adoption released the control the shame had over me. By examining things critically, I was able to address the areas in my life that required attention, which allowed me to gain more control over my adoption journey.
The truth is, adoption is hard. Making the decision to place a child for adoption feels like a near-impossible decision, and I was hurting myself by pretending I could carry on with my life like normal. My life would never return to normal, at least not in the manner I had become accustomed to. Holding onto the fallacy that I would pick up where I left off after I had my child prolonged self-acceptance. I wasn’t addressing the pain and the hurt because it was too hard for me, and I wanted to protect my family from feeling bad for me or themselves. I buried my truth deep down until it festered and spread into every aspect of my life.
Once I started tending to my wounds and speaking truth, I was able to be gentle with others. I had the capacity to be kind and generous again. My compassion for others expanded, and I discovered myself mending emotional scars unrelated to my adoption. I was becoming an even better version of myself and embracing this “new normal.”
My adoption story feels light now. It no longer weighs me down. How silly of me to have once thought I could keep it all to myself and act like nothing happened. For what was once a secret I thought I’d take to my grave is now my life’s passion and mission. Because God’s funny like that, and He knew I was destined for more.