I Am A Grant Recipient

 

I am honored and thrilled to announce that I have received a Create! Arts Grant from On Your Feet Foundation.

I first discovered On Your Feet Foundation (OYFF) in 2008 after I’d reunited with my son Michael, who I’d placed for adoption in 1990. The complex rollercoaster of emotions that accompanied our reunion left me confused and in need of guidance. At the advent of Google, a search led me to OYFF as a service that offered post-placement support for birth parents, and despite living in Alaska and the inability to participate in their in-person support groups, I signed up for the newsletter and utilized their online educational resources.

Five years later, after the sudden, tragic death of my son, I found myself lost again and desperate for someone, anyone, who could understand. The sorrow of his passing twisted and morphed with the grief of relinquishment, creating layers of intense loss, regret, and guilt. I turned again to OYFF but was physically still too far away to benefit from in-person support and annual retreats. I never-the-less read each newsletter with a sense of hope that one day I would meet these amazing women.

Fast forward another six years to the onset of Covid-19, and suddenly OYFF was offering support groups online! I could finally attend! The liberation of speaking my truth far outweighed my initial fear of exposing my adoption journey.

These women understood.

I didn’t have to explain the trauma of permanently placing my child in the arms of another. Or how I felt unworthy of my son’s love or wished I’d tried harder to be with him; to know him. When I admitted to questioning the subtle coercion of the adoption agency or my confusion about the past, heads nodded in solidarity. And when I shared the joy of hearing his voice for the first time, and the warmth of his embrace, the tears of others reflected my own.

I’d seldom articulated my experience with adoption; I didn’t know how. My words always lumped in my throat, caught in a tangle of shame and self-loathing. But these women, they knew. They knew the ups and downs, the doubts of choices made, and the blessings that, at least for some, adoption could hold. And I’ve realized, finally, after more than 30 years, the power of shared experiences and unconditional acceptance, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

The women I’ve met through OYFF humble and astound me. They’ve navigated their grief and loss, and although sometimes they seem crushed by their feelings, they steadfastly pick themselves up. I have learned from them that by exposing my weaknesses I demonstrate my strength. They’ve modeled a commitment to reveal their greatest hopes and fears, which has made me braver and bolder than I ever thought possible.

I am honored to be a recipient of one of On Your Feet Foundation’s first Create! Artist Grants, which will be used in pursuit of publication of my memoir, Goodbye Again. I hope my story will serve to validate other birth parents’ experiences, shed light on the trauma of relinquishment while embracing the delicate and fragile dichotomy that is adoption.

A Note to Birth Mothers, Adoptive Mothers, and Grieving Mothers on Mother’s Day

 

The first year my husband and I were together, he asked me what I wanted to do to celebrate Mother’s Day. He didn’t wait, though, to ask until the morning of—he asked two weeks ahead of time. He knew about my son, Michael, placed for adoption at birth six years before, and knew I struggled with complex feelings of loss and regret.

His request changed my perspective on holidays, especially Mother’s Day.

First, the fact that he approached the holiday from a place of ‘celebration’ threw me for a loop. Celebrate? What the? Since I’d placed my son for adoption, Mother’s Day had always generated ‘negative’ emotions. But he gently coaxed me out, stating even though my son was absent I was still a mother and always would be, and it was a beautiful thing. He encouraged me to embrace both the joys and sorrows, urging me to acknowledge my motherhood and all it entailed. Maybe go for a walk or take a bubble bath: something simple but designed to recognize this incredibly important part of who I am.

Secondly, by asking ahead of time, I was able to assess where I was in my healing and gave me time to think about what might allow me to embrace whatever feelings I was experiencing. He made it clear, early on, that he would allow for solitude to an extent, but wouldn’t leave me alone. He didn’t press me to talk but was present and available should I decide to share.

I have spent more Mother’s Days than I can count gently weeping while he held my hand.

Over the years, with practice and his support, I grew bolder, eventually attending Mother’s Day brunches. I learned to share that I had a son, and eventually to accept ‘Happy Mother’s Day’ wishes without the need to bolt to the restroom to ugly cry.

So, if you are a birth mother, or a mother who is grieving the loss of her child for any reason, this Mother’s Day I encourage you to make a plan. Don’t let the day sneak up on you. Ask people who love you to help. If this year you are feeling particularly vulnerable, decide where you will feel safest: at home, snuggled up with a book, and a cup of tea? Or on a hike with a close friend? Let those around you know you’re not sure how you will feel on Mother’s Day, but you need someone there to just ‘be’ with you. Or maybe you’re ready to proclaim your motherhood to the world, in which case I applaud you! Go to brunch, wear a corsage, tell the world about your amazing child.

No matter what you choose, communicate your intentions with someone.

My husband has always been my staunchest supporter as a birth mom and never shamed me. And has never taken Mother’s Day, or any special occasion, lightly. He approaches them with kindness, respect, and with a sense of hopefulness I’ve never quite been able to share, until now.

And, if you are an adoptive mother, remember that your joy began with another woman’s loss. If you think she might be open to it, find a way to acknowledge her loss and her motherhood. It is something that she will always have, despite the absence of her child.

Review and Recommendation for FINDING HOPE by Hope O. Baker

 

In her memoir, Finding Hope, Hope O. Baker takes the reader with her as she revisits her experience of unplanned pregnancy, the choice to place her child for adoption, and the consequences that follow. Hope pulls no punches, offering the reader an intimate window into her life and brings to light the often hidden or ignored perspective of a birth parent.

Finding Hope is a fast read, and as a birthmother myself, I would recommend it to everyone, but especially anyone connected to adoption. The general public would benefit from reading the real-life experience of an often obscured and shunned member of the adoption triad. For birth parents, reading this book is like meeting someone for the first time who gets you from the start. For adoptive parents and hopeful adoptive parents, it offers a version of the truth not painted with rainbows and unicorns. And, for adoptees, whether in or out of the fog, it presents one behind-the-scenes-version of the most painful choice a parent can ever make.

Visit Hope's Website

Review and recommendation for ALL YOU CAN EVER KNOW by Nicole Chung

Reading Nicole Chung’s memoir felt like sitting down with the author for a heart-to-heart chat.

In All You Can Ever Know, Nicole shares her experiences as a transracial adoptee and touches on so many issues relating to lost identity, what constitutes family, and the search for wholeness. She beautifully articulates her struggles as a child and young adult to connect with her Korean origins while surrounded by a white community, and still recognizing the love and care she received from her adoptive parents. The author shows the vulnerability needed to search for her birth family, the complexities of reunion, and the need to set personal boundaries.

As a birth mother, I appreciated her candor and the opportunity to witness this very personal, and yet I believe widely experienced, view of her life as a transracial adoptee.

https://nicolechung.net/

All You Can Ever Know by Nicole Chung

In Pursuit of Publication

I am a rule follower. I have always been a rule follower. But I am also independent, resilient, and stubborn. I like to do new things and expand my knowledge. So, in the summer of 2019, I set out to write a book.

Drafting the book was an adventure. A jumbled journey of ups and downs; pride and despair. I fought self-doubt and imposter syndrome. And still do. But I am now to the next stage of the process: pursuing publication.

There are three paths I am considering: traditional-, hybrid-, and self-publishing. Each path has pros and cons, and I have much to learn. It is both frightening and exhilarating.

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If I want to go the traditional route, which is the Holy Grail for most writers, I must get an agent. The agent is the first in a series of gatekeepers within the realm of publishing. They are hired to put my needs and desires as an author first, and to promote my work through an intricate courting process to big-time publishers, who only accept agented submissions. I’m sure you know some of them by name: HarperCollins; Penguin Random House; Simon & Schuster. But—and this is a big but—the agent must choose me as a client. Therefore, I have sent passionate letters to multiple agents in hopes of enticing them to love me.

Have you ever gone about ‘looking for love?’ Yeah, kind of…... counterintuitive.

Hybrid-publishing is like ‘a la cart’ for writers in a single location. They have teams of professionals in all areas needed to publish a well-constructed and marketable book, but with the author footing the bill. Hybrids differ from vanity presses. A hybrid press has a submission and acceptance process, cares about the author’s success and the quality of the book. A vanity press will take any work presented and throw it - as is - between two covers, without any quality control, if the author has the capital to front the book.

The self-publishing route requires or allows, depending on your perspective, the author to do everything themselves. Essentially, they hire independent contractors: an editor, proofreader, typesetter, cover designer, formatter, to name a few, then submits the work to a publisher facilitator, like Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or Apple Press.

In all cases, the author is responsible for marketing, or at least a portion of it.

Ah, marketing, the bane of many an author’s existence. (Yes, I am purposefully using clichés.) That will be another post entirely.

So, as you can see—if you’ve read this far—it’s quite a decision. And process.

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When I completed my manuscript, I immediately began sending out query letters to agents, because that’s what I was supposed to do. I am utilizing the tools specifically designed to assist me in my search, like QueryTracker, but so far, I have not enticed the attention of an agent.

Yet.

When I do, if I do, I will certainly post about it here. But during this process, I have rewritten or edited my query letter dozens of times. I participated in #PITMAD and began sending queries to small, independent publishers who do not require agented submissions. I wrote a respectable synopsis and am knee-deep in completing a proposal. Again, the rule follower toeing the line.

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Why, pray-tell, am I telling you all of this? Because part of acquiring the attention of an agent and publisher is being active on social media and engaging readers.

And yes, as I have made clear, I am a rule follower.

Beyond that, having readers is the only way I will succeed in my latest adventure.

And that’s you.

I need you.

So please, subscribe to this blog to receive email alerts about new posts. And read them. Then leave a comment telling me what you think. Tell me if you can relate. Or just tell me how your day is going.

As for me, I am heading back to the querying trenches.

Choosing Adoptive Parents

 

When I became pregnant at twenty-one years old, I assumed I would have the baby and become a parent. Despite having a less than reliable boyfriend, despite poverty, addiction, and lack of knowledge, I would become a mom. My older sister had done it. My younger cousin too. In fact, a look at my extended family revealed that most of my similarly aged female relatives had become single parents. So, when the baby-daddy bailed, I figured: I got this.

But, through three months of counseling during my second and third trimester, I took a deep dive into my past, present, and potential future and realized, with horror and self-loathing, that the deck was stacked against me. Sure, I could have a baby and fumble through being a parent, but would that be fair? Fair to my child? Fair to me?

In the end, I chose to place my son for adoption. But looking back, had ‘open adoption’ not been available, I would have instead opted to parent. Having the ability to exert influence over who would be selected made all the difference. At the time I felt powerless, so when the counselor said I could pick the parents, I latched onto it with desperation and hope. Finally, something I could control. And a way for me to shift my focus away from fear for the future to the potential of a better life for my child.

I allowed myself to fantasize about what the perfect family would look like. Visions of sprawling homes in wealthy neighborhoods, international travel, private schools. All things I’d seen on TV but never experienced in real life. From those dreams, a list of qualifications emerged: mid-thirties, stay-at-home mom, affluence, to name a few. And from this fantasy list, the adoption agency presented me a stack of folders showcasing the lives of couples longing for a child.

But how does one go about choosing a stranger to take over THE MOST IMPORTANT job in the world?

In the end, it came down to a gut feeling.

David’s letter, the only one hand-written, seemed to have been composed specifically for me. In it, he presented a kind and caring attitude, displayed vulnerability, and addressed every topic of importance. In later years, I would even wonder if he’d seen my list before composing his letter, so spot-on were his words.

I now know he wasn’t perfect. Regardless, I am grateful. Grateful David was searching for a child at the same time I was struggling with the knowledge that I was incapable of raising one. Grateful he succeeded in raising a boy to become a gentle man. And especially grateful for his willingness to share my journey through grief of his loss a second time.