1968 Natural Mothers
2013 November 2
Personal information has been removed to protect privacy. By that I mean the privacy of the adoptive family and the now adult adoptee. I have intentionally left Easter House staff names.
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Mother of three - first child surrendered to baby broker in 1986 and found online in 2005. Family preservationist and supporter of open records. Founder of ehbabes.com a search and support site focused on family members separated by the Kurtz network of agencies. Chronic hair colorer, lover of silver gothic inspired jewelry, writer, feminist, activist, socially anxious Gemini.
from → Adoption Activism
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RSS Feed Email Updates TwitterThe wound is where the light comes in.– Rumi
"When a mother is forced to choose between the child and the culture, there is something abhorrently cruel and unconsidered about that culture. A culture that requires harm to one's soul in order to follow the cultures prescriptions is a very sick culture indeed. This 'culture' can be the one a woman lives in, but more damning yet, it can be the one she carries around and complies with within her own mind....." -- Women Who Run With The Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes
"The first few weeks at home, I cried all the time. I'd lock myself in the bathroom or go to my room. I cried all night but I didn't let anybody hear me because I felt like I was being bad. I wasn't doing what they said I was supposed to do, which was: "Get over it. Move on with your life and put it behind you." I thought, "Crap, I can't even do this right." - The Girls Who Went Away
Adoption loss is the only trauma in the world where the victims are expected by the whole of society to be grateful - The Reverend Keith C. Griffith, MBE.
All things are subject to interpretation whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth - Nietzche
You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better. - Anne Lamott
The loss of the daughter to the mother, the mother to the daughter, is the essential female tragedy. – Adrienne Rich.
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One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.
Mary Oliver
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