— Chapter 19 —

THE BIRTH MOTHER’S STORY

They are the third and essential part of the adoption triangle – the birth family. They are often regarded with unsympathetic disapproval: they have ‘given away’ their children or had parenting skills that were so inadequate and/or abusive that their child had been removed from them. Their vulnerability, sensitivity and the emotional attachment they felt for the child from whom they have been parted, however poor their parenting skills or however logical their decision, are disregarded.

But they are in many circumstances victims: of circumstance, of the society in which they live, of violent and sexual abuse and addiction. And whatever their history, however traumatic the circumstances of a child coming into care, the birth parents cannot and must not be forgotten.

One adopter writing on the Adoption UK forum said:

It’s not about them being part of your family. My son’s birth parents are not part of our family. But they do exist and whatever your feelings about them, your children may want to know about them in the future. They may not want to know more than the basic facts. But you don’t know. I think it is one of the hardest parts of adopting – coming to some sort of accommodation that these people do exist, whether we like it or not.

Our birth parents are responsible for our genetic make-up: the way we look, our allergies, physical weaknesses and strengths, creativity. The nature-versus-nurture debate is ongoing, but no one denies that nature plays a strong part in the make-up of our lives. Nothing can change that. But it is still, more often than not, an uncomfortable relationship – if there is a relationship at all.

‘Adoptive parents generally see us as a possible threat,’ said Doreen Ward, a founder member of the Natural Parents Network (NPN). ‘And the birth mother is full of fears that she is inadequate and not as good as the adopters. There is a lot of fantasy, envy and jealousy on both sides. But that shouldn’t be. You both love the child and you are connected because of the child.’

She believes that fantasy and fear are made worse when birth parent and adoptive parent know nothing of one another. ‘Fears vanish and the sense of being different diminishes once you meet.’

But sometimes you never meet. ‘The adopted child wants to protect the adoptive parent who has brought them up, so they are kept out of the picture and often not told about meetings between children and their first mothers,’ said Jean Robertson-Molloy, chairman of the NPN. She said that both in the past and today birth mothers never forget the trauma of the decision. Some go on to have more children, to create new families; others are so traumatized that they can’t conceive a second time.

However, increasingly in today’s adoption world, some openness in adoption is the norm – even when it is limited to letterbox contact once a year.

‘I have letterbox contact with my two oldest children who were adopted when they were five years old and eight weeks old,’ said birth mother Angela, who made a revolutionary turnaround in her life after having to face up to the trauma of her children going into care and, despite her efforts to challenge the order, ending up being adopted.

‘Knowing I had that contact, helped me to pull myself together, to finally leave my abusive partner and start again.’ She moved to a different area, completed training as a lawyer, remarried and now has a five-year-old daughter and maintains a good relationship with her older son’s birth mother. ‘When she writes to me she always says “your children” when talking about the children. I cannot tell you how much that acknowledgement means to me. When I write back to her I always say “our children”. Because they are our children.’

In the past it was always expected that birth parents would disappear and get on with their lives – good or bad. But birth parents don’t disappear. And today birth parents have as much right to contact their birth children when they reach 18 as children have a right to find and contact their birth family.

‘In this day and age, there will almost certainly come a day when curiosity takes over and my daughter looks for her birth mother on Facebook,’ said another adoptive mother. ‘If we are talking about her all the time, and I don’t vilify her (she was very young, emotionally damaged and prioritized drugs and alcohol over her daughter), it might feel more natural for her to share that contact with me, rather than everything being secretive. She then can’t look back and blame me for “ruining” her relationship with her birth mother.’

However traumatic the circumstances are that bring a child into care, many birth mothers suffer a lifetime’s sense of loss and constantly want to know whether their child is well and well cared for.

‘When adoption becomes the option, the birth mother is taken over: having her child adopted is usually a decision made for her not with her,’ said Doreen. ‘That is not healthy and is why many birth mothers end up feeling angry and victimized. It is not good to feel a victim. It is better if they feel a part of what is happening and partly responsible for it.’

My daughter’s baby

I am an adoptive mother and have been a member of Adoption UK for many years.

What follows may be a distressing read but I would like to say that I do not ever regret having adopted my two children. I treasure the memories of their childhood, and still enjoy a close relationship with one of them.

My adopted daughter Ellie, then aged 19, fell foul of the child protection system when pregnant with her first child. Discrepancies she gave to a midwife about her medical history when she attended an antenatal appointment caused her to be referred to social services who decided to instigate child protection proceedings. She had previously told a doctor that she had had a dramatic adolescence with the usual problems that we associate so much with that age group. Now she was denying (in truth) most of the things she had previously said. Without our knowledge, social services accessed confidential records under the child protection legislation.

I was astounded to receive a phone call from a social worker to inform me that a child protection conference was taking place and it was highly likely that my daughter’s baby would be taken into care at birth! She had accessed records of our CAMHS sessions that I didn’t even know existed and greatly exaggerated the seriousness of my daughter’s problems. I could not reason with her. At the time, I thought she must be some kind of rogue social worker – surely, this was a huge mistake.

An initial child protection conference took place two weeks later and the social worker’s report contained damning information which was not only incorrect but also made subjective assumptions about my daughter’s difficulties – such as that she must have attachment disorder and therefore would not be able to bond with her baby!

My daughter did have some emotional and behavioural problems, but she is also a very warm, caring person – brilliant with babies and young children. Whilst I was concerned that she had become pregnant before achieving any kind of economic stability, I respected her choice to go ahead and fully believed, and still believe, that having her own baby would bring out the very best in her.

The report also claimed that as we were not deemed to be assertive with our daughter, and because we disagreed with the social worker’s assessment, we would not be able to protect her child from her. This was based on one sentence in the CAMHS notes from three years previously, ‘parents not assertive’, and a meeting following the social worker’s phone call at which my daughter became angry when we discussed the discrepancies she had given about her medical history. Naturally, my daughter was distressed – she was being told that she wouldn’t be allowed to keep her baby.

Because we remained calm and did not admonish her for her behaviour (she just walked out of the room and came back in when she had calmed down), we were ruled out as supporting or alternative carers. There were 12 social work and health professionals at the conference, only one of whom – the midwife – had met my daughter. The anxiety we felt was unbearable, but it must have been far worse for my six-month-pregnant daughter. We did our best to draw attention to the inaccuracies in the report and to explain misunderstandings, to no avail. A child protection plan was made. There were further meetings including a meeting chaired by a legal officer at least half my age whose demeanour was icy and rigid, rejecting all our attempts to rectify significant errors. The meeting agreed that a care order would be applied for immediately after the birth of the baby. My daughter – now seven months pregnant – was absolutely devastated. What would that kind of anxiety do to the growing foetus inside her?

The above is just a snippet of our story. A very protracted court case followed and we fought very hard to keep our grandchild in the family. Sadly, we lost. In trying to find out how to help our daughter and ourselves, we accessed ‘forced adoption’ websites with stories which echoed our own. We were dismayed to learn that our chances of success in challenging the local authority were almost zilch. This was a shock! We considered ourselves to be respectable members of society. We were approved as adopters, and had undergone the detailed personal assessments which that entails. How could this be happening to our family? I discovered that it was and is happening to families, quite innocent of any actual or suspected future abuse, up and down the country.

I find some of the blogs on forced adoption websites somewhat reactionary in the language they use, but then, if you have had your own child taken away from you, how can you avoid being emotive about it?

Adoption is both a lifeline and a minefield. We need to see all sides.

Angela’s story

My name is Angela. My eldest two children were adopted 12 years ago. This is my story.

I grew up in a household where mental and physical abuse were the norm and, struggling to cope, I began self-harming at the age of 11. I continued on a self-destructive path, becoming involved with drink and drugs in my early teens.

My first serious boyfriend very quickly became my husband – I was only 19 and the marriage barely lasted 18 months – at the end I was left homeless and penniless and so depressed that I attempted suicide. Due to the quick thinking of a friend who found me, I was resuscitated. My Catholic mother disowned me and has never spoken to me since.

On release from hospital I moved away, got a job and started a new life, hoping to leave my problems behind. My relationships with men were always complicated by abuse and I bounced from one disastrous relationship to another. One of these relationships resulted in my first pregnancy. The father of this unborn child left me.

Shortly afterwards, I began a new relationship. This was my first real taste of domestic abuse. He was controlling, manipulative and violent. I had such little self-respect that I felt I should be grateful that he was prepared to take on another man’s child. After a really serious beating, I stabbed him in self-defence and I was arrested for attempted murder. The only way I could secure bail was to agree to leave the area. I lost my job, my home and any support that I had.

After a few false starts I managed to sort myself out in time for the birth of my son. I accepted a plea bargain from the prosecution, had the charges reduced and was given probation. I found a house to rent and returned to work as a paralegal and began training to be a solicitor. Life was good, at least on the outside. But the pressures of being a single mother, working and studying full-time, put a huge strain on my mental health and I began drinking again and self-harming in secret.

Then I met ‘him’ – the man who would eventually destroy me. At first he was charming. He had had an abusive childhood and struggled with drink and drug addiction, but had sorted himself out and was working. We seemed to be kindred spirits and I fell helplessly in love with him. My friends tried to warn me but I didn’t listen. Within six months I was using drugs regularly and eventually had a complete breakdown and was unable to work. I spiralled into drug addiction and my son suffered. My GP recommended I speak to social services in order to access the mental health services that I desperately needed. Within weeks my son was in care.

Without my son, I lost all motivation and was under the complete control of my partner: he told me what to wear, what to eat, what music to listen to, who I could talk to. I wasn’t allowed out on my own. I became a recluse and a total mess. Social services kept telling me I had to sort myself out if I wanted my son home, but never offered me any help. They kept moving the goalposts; no matter how much I did, the social workers always wanted more.

I then found out I was pregnant. He was furious. He insisted I have an abortion. He told me I wasn’t fit to be a mother. I couldn’t go through with the abortion. I sorted things out enough for my son to come home four weeks before the birth of my second child. I was still on the waiting list for psychiatric help.

Things went wrong from the minute my second son was born. He had colic and cried constantly. My partner hated it. I used to hide upstairs with the baby, terrified of what would happen if I couldn’t keep him quiet. I became very ill and ended up using drugs again. When my son was six weeks old, I haemorrhaged very badly and had to be rushed to hospital. My partner refused to care for the children, so I discharged myself and within an hour of arriving home he was dragging me by my hair and throwing me down the stairs as the baby was crying. He broke my thumb, cracked my ribs and battered me black and blue. I phoned the police and went to court for a restraining order.

Social workers told me that my children were now on the ‘at risk’ register as I had failed to protect them. Over the next couple of weeks the police failed to arrest my partner, failed to take photos of my injuries and failed to stop him coming into my house. I had to ask social services for help around the house as my injuries made everything very difficult. They provided someone to help me who kept a list of all the jobs I didn’t do. This was eventually used against me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t keep my partner away. He would walk past the house and spit on the windows, throw paint up the wall, pour rubbish on the path and over my car. He threatened me and the boys.

I couldn’t take any more. I walked into social services and begged for help, sobbing on the floor. The following day they took my eldest son from nursery and my ten-week-old baby from my home. It was two and a half weeks before I got to speak to my son. He was destroyed. My happy, bubbly, carefree little boy was quiet, ashen-faced and withdrawn. My baby boy was so quiet they took him to hospital only to be told he was fine; it was just the shock of being taken from his mum.

My partner came back and the abuse escalated. My mental health plummeted. I was suicidal but I fought to have my boys returned. A full psychiatric report ordered by the court stated I needed a minimum of 18 months’ therapy. This was considered too long for the boys to wait and I was told on New Year’s Eve that they wouldn’t be coming home. They were being adopted. The report said it was not a case of if I would commit suicide but when. Six weeks later I took a massive overdose of pills; a neighbour phoned an ambulance.

By the time I reached hospital, it was thought too late to save me. Social services attempted to get my boys to the hospital to say goodbye but a snowstorm prevented them. They told me if I fought and got better, I could have the children back. Three weeks later I walked out of hospital and went to a refuge where I was given help to understand what had happened to me.

When I contacted the social worker, I was told that they had lied; there was no chance of me ever getting the boys back. I was told if I stopped fighting them and agreed to the adoption, I would be allowed continued contact with the boys until an adopter was found. They said I could help choose the right family, meet them and there could be a proper ‘hand over’. I didn’t really have a choice.

After this, at each contact session my eldest son would say, ‘They haven’t found me a new mam and dad yet so I still get to see you…’ After a couple of weeks I received a letter saying that after consulting a child psychologist it was no longer felt appropriate for contact to continue. There were concerns that my son would resent the adopters and blame them for stopping contact. I was devastated but more concerned about my son. At the next contact session, as soon as I walked in my son said, ‘Mam, you better sit down, I’ve got some bad news.’ Once I was sitting, he said, ‘Not this week but next will be the last time you ever see me.’ They had told him. He was five years old.

On 2 July 2004 I said goodbye to my sons in a conference room while a social worker looked on. I was instructed not to cry and to make it as easy as possible for my boys. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help it. I held my children and I cried. I feel it was better for them to know I was sad that they were leaving than have them believe that I didn’t care. I was promised postbox contact twice yearly, maybe more. One of the last things I ever said to my eldest son was ‘Mammy will write very, very soon’.

At the end of the session I carried my boys to the car, strapped them in and kissed them goodbye. I pasted a smile on my face as they drove away, out of my life forever. As soon as they were out of sight I collapsed. My children were gone and I would never know if they were happy or safe.

Thankfully, my solicitor put me in touch with a charity called After Adoption. After almost two years of fighting, I finally received a letter from my sons. It was handwritten by my eldest and contained loads of beautiful photographs. The spark was back in their eyes! They were happy and healthy but most of all they were safe.

Knowing that my children were happy, combined with the help and support of the charities I was working with, gave me the strength I needed to finally walk out on my abusive partner and I never ever went back.

I moved away and started my life all over again. I met a wonderful man who is now my husband and we have a beautiful daughter. It has been a hard road. I still suffer flashbacks and panic attacks. It has taken seven years for me to be able to trust my husband won’t hurt me, but together we have found a way through and are happy.

My sons are now 13 and 17 and live in Australia. They write to me and I have as good a relationship with them as the situation allows. Their adoptive parents are amazing and have kept me a part of their lives which means the world to me.

I hope that eventually they will want to meet me.

Letter from a birth mother**

Dear Mr and Mrs Wakefield

I just wanted to say thank you for supporting Natalie in her decision to find me and to reassure you about my own reasons for wanting to meet her.

I can remember reading an open letter in a woman’s magazine from a woman who had given up her baby for adoption years earlier and hadn’t ever seen him again. She said that she was ‘grateful’ to the couple who had adopted him for ‘bringing him up for me’.

I don’t agree with that: you brought Natalie up for her and for yourselves and made a far better job of it than I would have given my situation. She is your daughter, it was you who sat up in the night with her, comforted her when she fell over, treasured her first crayon pictures from school and all the other million and one things that make a family. You are her mum and dad.

I am looking forward very much to meeting her, not because I want to see my ‘missing’ baby, not because I want to call myself her mother, but because I gave her to you from love. I have never forgotten her and I want to meet the young woman she has grown into and, if she wants it, to become friends with her.

I have never forgotten, either, how very kind and understanding you were to me all those years ago, and please believe me when I say I would do nothing to hurt you now. All I want is Natalie’s happiness, and if that means including me in her life as a friend, that will make me happy also.

I suppose what I am saying is that I am not hoping to have my missing baby back, I am hoping to make a new friend of this person who is so very precious to you and that I will bring a new and happy dimension to her life but not replace what she already has.

I do hope this makes sense. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love her, even though I haven’t met her yet. I’ve loved her since before she was born, and time and distance do nothing to change that. But loving means letting go and I did that 24 years ago, and I don’t intend to try to ‘take back’ now. Thank you for your care and compassion all those years ago and thank you for understanding now. You are very special people.

My son and his mum and dad**

I get upset that someone else is calling my son their son. I have often wondered what the word ‘adoption’ really means to the parties of the adoption triangle. To the birth mother it means losing all her parental rights, but it cannot mean that her child does not exist any more. To the child it seems to mean that he or she has a new family and a new name, but still has a genetic history that adoption cannot change. To the adoptive parents it seems to mean that they are the parents of children who come to them with an extra package – their past.

After 32 years of ill health, I approached my son’s adoptive family because I did not know what had happened to him; among other things, I often wondered if he was still alive. If he had died, no one would have taken the trouble to find me and tell me.

When I had my family of two more children, they did not replace my lost child. He will always be the special individual that he is.

I know that in my son’s heart his adoptive mother is his true mother and the feelings he has for me are different. We love each other but more like a brother and sister or aunt and nephew. I am great friends with his parents and they welcome me with open arms every time I visit their home. Our son still lives with his adoptive parents because they are all happy together and they are his true family. I would not destroy what they have created for each other; that is sacred. I am grateful for that, and I feel privileged to see at first hand the bond they have with each other. If I could have only known that years ago, my life would have been a lot better.

Despite this wonderful reunion, I still cry for my lost baby. I have lost 32 years of his life, but I try to make sense of all of this by saying to myself that I gave those years to his parents. Because they have welcomed me with open arms, I cannot begrudge what they have together.

It is six years since I made my approach to them, and at the time I did feel a lot of guilt. Looking back, I wish my intermediary had done a better job when he approached my son’s adoptive family by offering them counselling. Three years after the reunion, my son’s mother went ahead and got some counselling for herself. Adoptive parents do suffer in silence when adopted children and their birth families are in touch with each other. I am sure that if all parties of the adoption triangle received counselling at this crucial time, a lot of questions could be answered, which would mean a little less heartache.