I recently had my first encounter with some anti-adoption groups. This encounter was, to put it mildly, less than pleasant. Without repeating what they said (it doesn't belong in civilized conversation), let me just say that it was very mean, very hateful, and very personal. Although the experience was negative and slightly damaging, it did get me thinking about the other side of the coin. I've heard it said that hurt people hurt people, and I had a strong suspicion that the hateful things these people were saying came from a place of pain, not malice. With that in mind, I set out to find out about this anti-adoption thing, and I learned some interesting information.
The term "anti-adoption" is a little bit of a misnomer. Most of the people I encountered (with the exception of the very vocal minority I was unfortunate enough to run into first) were not against adoption in every form and every situation. They're against unethical adoptions. Let me backtrack a bit to explain what MOST of them mean by "unethical".
As I was meeting people who defined themselves as anti-adoption, I noticed a lot of them were Canadian, and a lot of them were birthmothers who felt they had been coerced into placing their babies for adoption. When I enquired as to this Canadian mindset, I found out something disturbing. Back in the 80s, the Canadian government made the executive decision that babies are better off in homes with 2 parents who are married, rather than a single mother or an unwed couple. The hospital protocols were changed so that unwed mothers would always be in the same maternity wards in every hospital, they would always have pain medication during delivery, and while they were still under the influence of those medications a government social worker would convince them to sign over their parental rights, effective immediately. Many of them had no idea what they were signing, assuming it was more hospital paperwork, and only found out later when they asked to see their babies that they in fact had given them up. Many of these mothers have formed a coalition and are bringing lawsuits against the government for violation of rights and punitive damages. To add insult to injury, Canadadian adoption records are closed, completely. The children can't find out who their birthmothers are even if they do want to know, and the mothers are left with no answers, no closure, no resolution.
Needless to say, this was an abomination and I certainly share their opinion that this is not the way adoption should be practiced. The laws have changed and it's no longer done this way in Canada, but the damage is done.
Others of the anti-adoption crowd are against trafficking and sex slavery to create a baby mill. This is something we think of happening in third world countries, but it does happen here at home too. Again, something I'm not interested in supporting.
A smaller number of them are against any form of private adoption where money changes hands and agencies get richer by making families wait longer. I find myself leaning in their direction on this one, but it's because our first encounter with a private adoption agency was so negative that it turned us off completely.
And of course, there are those who believe adoption shouldn't happen at all, that you can teach anyone to be a good parent and that what you should do is support unhealthy birth families instead of removing children for their own safety and placing them with a family who can raise them and give them a future. Oh, sorry, did my opinion on that one show? Good.
Most importantly, I found out that the issue is far more complicated than being for or against adoption. A blanket label in either direction is misleading. I also found out something I've known for a while: you can't convince someone to agree with you by being loud, obnoxious, and insulting. People want information, not verbal beatings.
Bottom line: if you're pro-adoption, don't assume everyone else is, too. If you're anti-adoption, don't assume all adoptions are unethical.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
I'm Important, Too
I have decided that today is a day for honesty. I have, therefore, prepared a couple of confessions for your perusal and consideration.
Confession 1: I love makeover shows. I do. I love the one where they take your clothes one by one and shoot them up a vacuum tube, and then all your friends shop for clothes they think are appropriate for you and you pick the ones you like. I love the one where a bunch of fat people go to boot camp together and get eliminated based on how much weight they lose. I love the one where people hang on to every candy wrapper they've ever owned until roaches have made their house unlivable and then they bring in a professional organizer (who usually has no clue what they were getting themselves into) to get rid of all the junk, clean the house, and make it like new. But my favorite one is the one where they film you for two weeks to show what a disaster your wardrobe is, throw away all your clothes (making fun of you the whole time), and then give you $5000 to go buy new ones.
Something I hear all the time on these makeover shows is the story of the "Martyred Mom". You know her, you love her, maybe you ARE her. She's the mom who has spent the last 20 years taking care of everyone else, and hasn't bought so much as a stick of gum for herself. So the makeover staff go out of their way to let her know that now's the time. She deserves it. And certainly she does. In the face of all she does, two weeks buying her own clothes are but a small reward. However, this brings me to my second confession.
Confession 2: I am not a martyred mom. I don't have the syndrome where I have to ignore myself in order to take care of everyone around me. If I get a chance to take a long shower, shave my legs, and put on makeup, I take it! And I don't care that I let the dishes or the laundry or the housework wait for an hour or two while I do it. Maybe that means I'm selfish. But I don't feel like I have to ignore myself in order to take care of my family. I'm acutely aware of the fact that if I don't take time for myself, I get overwhelmed and start to feel taken advantage of. That makes me feel like I'm the only one doing any work which makes me impossible to live with. I know these things about myself. I also know that because of these things, I take better care of my family when I do a few little things for myself every now and then.
So I will not apologize for taking a long shower every few days, dying my hair every few weeks when my roots start to show, or going through my wardrobe every now and then and getting rid of things that don't fit, and replacing them with things that do fit, do flatter, and do look amazing. I don't wear Mom jeans, I don't wear tennis shoes everywhere, and I certainly don't wear those velour track suits that do nothing but make EVERYONE look fat. I will not apologize for having good hair, cute clothes, and a stack of books by my bed without the name Seuss on them.
My final act for the day is to let all the moms out there know that you don't have to be the martyred mom. It's not selfish to get your nails done while the kids are at ballet class. It's okay to put styling product on your hair. It's just fine to buy that dress you saw that you totally love, provided you actually have the money for it. Your family doesn't want you to suffer for them. They DO need you. They DO depend on you. You ARE an important and vital part of them. And it's BECAUSE of those things that you owe it to yourself to be nice to yourself, every chance you get. There aren't a lot of those chances, so when you see them, snatch them. There's no doubt this can be a thankless job, so take every chance you can to thank yourself. Write yourself a speech. Because in this case you're the only nominee, and therefore a shoe-in.
Enjoy the after party.
Confession 1: I love makeover shows. I do. I love the one where they take your clothes one by one and shoot them up a vacuum tube, and then all your friends shop for clothes they think are appropriate for you and you pick the ones you like. I love the one where a bunch of fat people go to boot camp together and get eliminated based on how much weight they lose. I love the one where people hang on to every candy wrapper they've ever owned until roaches have made their house unlivable and then they bring in a professional organizer (who usually has no clue what they were getting themselves into) to get rid of all the junk, clean the house, and make it like new. But my favorite one is the one where they film you for two weeks to show what a disaster your wardrobe is, throw away all your clothes (making fun of you the whole time), and then give you $5000 to go buy new ones.
Something I hear all the time on these makeover shows is the story of the "Martyred Mom". You know her, you love her, maybe you ARE her. She's the mom who has spent the last 20 years taking care of everyone else, and hasn't bought so much as a stick of gum for herself. So the makeover staff go out of their way to let her know that now's the time. She deserves it. And certainly she does. In the face of all she does, two weeks buying her own clothes are but a small reward. However, this brings me to my second confession.
Confession 2: I am not a martyred mom. I don't have the syndrome where I have to ignore myself in order to take care of everyone around me. If I get a chance to take a long shower, shave my legs, and put on makeup, I take it! And I don't care that I let the dishes or the laundry or the housework wait for an hour or two while I do it. Maybe that means I'm selfish. But I don't feel like I have to ignore myself in order to take care of my family. I'm acutely aware of the fact that if I don't take time for myself, I get overwhelmed and start to feel taken advantage of. That makes me feel like I'm the only one doing any work which makes me impossible to live with. I know these things about myself. I also know that because of these things, I take better care of my family when I do a few little things for myself every now and then.
So I will not apologize for taking a long shower every few days, dying my hair every few weeks when my roots start to show, or going through my wardrobe every now and then and getting rid of things that don't fit, and replacing them with things that do fit, do flatter, and do look amazing. I don't wear Mom jeans, I don't wear tennis shoes everywhere, and I certainly don't wear those velour track suits that do nothing but make EVERYONE look fat. I will not apologize for having good hair, cute clothes, and a stack of books by my bed without the name Seuss on them.
My final act for the day is to let all the moms out there know that you don't have to be the martyred mom. It's not selfish to get your nails done while the kids are at ballet class. It's okay to put styling product on your hair. It's just fine to buy that dress you saw that you totally love, provided you actually have the money for it. Your family doesn't want you to suffer for them. They DO need you. They DO depend on you. You ARE an important and vital part of them. And it's BECAUSE of those things that you owe it to yourself to be nice to yourself, every chance you get. There aren't a lot of those chances, so when you see them, snatch them. There's no doubt this can be a thankless job, so take every chance you can to thank yourself. Write yourself a speech. Because in this case you're the only nominee, and therefore a shoe-in.
Enjoy the after party.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
There Are No Two Ways About It
Two types of matter cannot occupy the same space at the same time. It's a law of physics as well as an important Spiritual reality.
I have previously alluded to some faith issues I have faced, but I have refrained from going into detail. Yesterday I had a bit of an epiphany and feel that I have finally reached a place where I can let the world know what has been going on.
When I was first diagnosed with infertility, I had a few niggling doubts about the entity I have always called "God". However, I have always believed in a loving, caring God who always wanted what was best for me, and I knew that sometimes even the faithful have doubts. In my past, when doubt has arisen, there has always also arisen a way to overcome it; some small miracle that made me believe again. Bearing that thought in mind, I paid little heed to my doubt and moved on, knowing it would subside.
When our first adoption fell through, those doubts went from niggling to screeching. The God I had always known would never allow this to happen. He would never take two amazing children from a loving, nurturing home, and return them to parents who had gone to prison for felony endangerment. That single thought was so big and so loud and so important that the day we handed those children back to their parents, I said to God, "This is my reward for a lifetime of service? This is reaping what I sowed? This is your plan for me? Well forget it. I'm done with you. I gave you your shot and all you did was mess everything up, so I'll be doing things myself from now on, thanks."
I lived in that place of bitterness and anger right up until quite recently. It caused me to do many things I never thought I would find myself doing. I looked into other religions. I doubted whether God loved me or anyone else. My husband told me I sounded like an atheist, but the reality was so much bleaker: I believed God was out there, I just didn't think He gave two shakes about what happened to me. Which expanded into wondering whether He cared abut anyone at all. And if He doesn't care, how can He be in control? And if He's not in control then everything I've ever believed was wrong.
And I did all of it alone because I was so afraid of hearing nothing but trite, well-rehearsed "Christianese" from my friends. I was even angry at people around me that I loved because they could say, "Well, trust God," and I would think, "Oh sure. Trust God. Let's all trust God. Look how well that's turned it so far."
But a few weeks ago, I decided to confide in a trusted friend who I knew had also had significant doubt in her life. Since then, she and I have begun a partnership to rediscover who God is and how I can relate to Him. It's a slow process and I'm a difficult student, but together she and I are focusing on one important and fundamental truth: God is. My plan is to rebuild the faith I once had starting from scratch. As a church-kid, this is something I never expected to have to do. Faith has always been like breathing to me. So easy. As an intellectual person, understanding it has always been a bit of a mystery, but since faith was so easy, I could always fall back on it for things I couldn't explain.
There has been, however, one aspect of faith that I have been as yet unwilling to surrender. I was willing to move forward and rediscover God, but I felt I was entitled to keep that anger about the failed adoption. That was mine, and I refused to let God take it away. I needed that anger, I believed, in case God ever let me down again. That way I would have more than one example to point to in order to prove I was right and God didn't care.
Yesterday, in the middle of folding laundry, I realized that this is not the case. I can't hate Him for taking the other two away, and love Him for bringing me the new one. I can't believe He wants the best for me, except for that one time. I can't say He's in control except for that thing that happened. I can't be angry and move on. Those two states of mind can't exist together.
I can live in this place where I am at the moment where I don't know or understand God and how I relate to Him. I can seek Him with any sort of faith, philosophy, or Spirituality I choose, but I can't hate Him and love Him at the same time. Although this is not what the Apostle Paul was talking about when he said it, it is truly being "a house divided". And as Paul said, it WILL fall.
Where am I now? A step or two closer than I was before. And there will be many times in the future when I'll have to let that anger go again (it's been such a comfortable place for me). But I am now truly stripped. I don't know who God is or what He wants from me or anyone else. And that's okay. I know eventually He'll tell me. And this time I'll be listening.
On the hillside you will be delivered
Sinner sorry and wrecked by the fall
Cleanse your heart and your soul
In the river that flows
For you and for me and for all
I have previously alluded to some faith issues I have faced, but I have refrained from going into detail. Yesterday I had a bit of an epiphany and feel that I have finally reached a place where I can let the world know what has been going on.
When I was first diagnosed with infertility, I had a few niggling doubts about the entity I have always called "God". However, I have always believed in a loving, caring God who always wanted what was best for me, and I knew that sometimes even the faithful have doubts. In my past, when doubt has arisen, there has always also arisen a way to overcome it; some small miracle that made me believe again. Bearing that thought in mind, I paid little heed to my doubt and moved on, knowing it would subside.
When our first adoption fell through, those doubts went from niggling to screeching. The God I had always known would never allow this to happen. He would never take two amazing children from a loving, nurturing home, and return them to parents who had gone to prison for felony endangerment. That single thought was so big and so loud and so important that the day we handed those children back to their parents, I said to God, "This is my reward for a lifetime of service? This is reaping what I sowed? This is your plan for me? Well forget it. I'm done with you. I gave you your shot and all you did was mess everything up, so I'll be doing things myself from now on, thanks."
I lived in that place of bitterness and anger right up until quite recently. It caused me to do many things I never thought I would find myself doing. I looked into other religions. I doubted whether God loved me or anyone else. My husband told me I sounded like an atheist, but the reality was so much bleaker: I believed God was out there, I just didn't think He gave two shakes about what happened to me. Which expanded into wondering whether He cared abut anyone at all. And if He doesn't care, how can He be in control? And if He's not in control then everything I've ever believed was wrong.
And I did all of it alone because I was so afraid of hearing nothing but trite, well-rehearsed "Christianese" from my friends. I was even angry at people around me that I loved because they could say, "Well, trust God," and I would think, "Oh sure. Trust God. Let's all trust God. Look how well that's turned it so far."
But a few weeks ago, I decided to confide in a trusted friend who I knew had also had significant doubt in her life. Since then, she and I have begun a partnership to rediscover who God is and how I can relate to Him. It's a slow process and I'm a difficult student, but together she and I are focusing on one important and fundamental truth: God is. My plan is to rebuild the faith I once had starting from scratch. As a church-kid, this is something I never expected to have to do. Faith has always been like breathing to me. So easy. As an intellectual person, understanding it has always been a bit of a mystery, but since faith was so easy, I could always fall back on it for things I couldn't explain.
There has been, however, one aspect of faith that I have been as yet unwilling to surrender. I was willing to move forward and rediscover God, but I felt I was entitled to keep that anger about the failed adoption. That was mine, and I refused to let God take it away. I needed that anger, I believed, in case God ever let me down again. That way I would have more than one example to point to in order to prove I was right and God didn't care.
Yesterday, in the middle of folding laundry, I realized that this is not the case. I can't hate Him for taking the other two away, and love Him for bringing me the new one. I can't believe He wants the best for me, except for that one time. I can't say He's in control except for that thing that happened. I can't be angry and move on. Those two states of mind can't exist together.
I can live in this place where I am at the moment where I don't know or understand God and how I relate to Him. I can seek Him with any sort of faith, philosophy, or Spirituality I choose, but I can't hate Him and love Him at the same time. Although this is not what the Apostle Paul was talking about when he said it, it is truly being "a house divided". And as Paul said, it WILL fall.
Where am I now? A step or two closer than I was before. And there will be many times in the future when I'll have to let that anger go again (it's been such a comfortable place for me). But I am now truly stripped. I don't know who God is or what He wants from me or anyone else. And that's okay. I know eventually He'll tell me. And this time I'll be listening.
On the hillside you will be delivered
Sinner sorry and wrecked by the fall
Cleanse your heart and your soul
In the river that flows
For you and for me and for all
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