For over ten years I chronicled my life as it related to the surrender of my first born child to adoption, search and (non)reunion. This blog has been a creative outlet, a therapeutic tool and a way to make friends and find support. As of Spring of 2016, I am backing away from adoption and that includes regularly updating this blog.
Friends urged me to consider leaving the blog here versus exporting and deleting, password protecting or taking other restrictive measure. As I am proud of some of the material here and many have found it useful, I will indeed do so. However, I am turning off comments so that I do not have to moderate.
I encourage new readers to make use of the archive. Best of the Blog is also a good place to start. These are posts that have received the most commentary over the years or been rated highly by a reader poll. It has always been my intent to use my story as a warning to others. I cannot get my daughter back. I cannot make her want to meet me or her care about her brothers. I cannot take away any pain she may have from her adoption. I can, however, use my own experience as a massive caution sign for expectant mothers considering the surrender of their child to a closed (or even open) adoption. So I do.
I do not know if I will be back here. I have other things I want to do with my life, other areas I want to focus on. Some may include aspects of adoption whereas others, not so much. The bottom line is I gave adoption too much of my soul. I want some back. Where I was powerless in 1986, I am no longer. I decide, with fully informed consent, where I walk, what fiery coals I choose to place my feet on and how many paper cuts I want to continue to slice into my wounded heart. Me. Not my parents. Not the Catholic Church. And certainly not the baby brokers that profited from the placement of my daughter.
These actions should not be construed as a complete disappearance from adoption friends. I realize many of us (particularly mothers and adoptees) can be touchy about being discarded or people leaving us. I am still here and encourage you to reach out to me via email if you need to. You can reach me at bluestokking[at]gmail[dot]com.
In closing, I will leave you with my favorite poem by one of my idols, the poet and author, Maya Angelou. I have the title of this poem tattooed on my right forearm – Still I Rise. It is a reminder to me that no matter what happens to me, no matter the depth of my pain and loss, I can and will rise.
Still I Rise
Maya Angelou, 1928 – 2014
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.