I was raped. I didn’t realize that I was pregnant until I was seven months along and with that realization, I felt utterly lost.
I grew up in the foster care system and knew that I couldn’t allow the child growing inside of me to live the life I’d lived. I thought that my only option was to raise the baby myself until something inside of me seemed to push me toward learning about adoption. As I learned about what would be required of me in order to place the baby, I became very scared. I didn’t want to do it.
On the very same day that I found out that I was pregnant, the woman that would be the adoptive mother of my child was told by her doctor to stop trying to get pregnant. For nine long years, she and her husband had undergone a series of techniques, medications, and even surgery to try to get pregnant.
I remember the seemingly unimportant conversation that I was having with a co-worker on the day that I identified the future mother of my child. I was complaining about health care coverage and confided in this co-worker that I was indeed expecting. She casually mentioned that there was another employee within the company who was seeking adoption.
That employee became the adoptive mother of my child. Our open adoption is working; I am the baby’s godmother and I get to see her and connect with her often. I do feel immense depression at times; it’s hard to sleep or eat or even move. Living with the decision to place that adorable little girl is one that I have to remake nearly every day.
But I do it. I live with it. One day at a time. I am proud of myself for giving my daughter the opportunity to grow up with a mother and a father.
I believe that God sent me a gift to give to a family; I was guided to that family by Him. I love them so much – and they love me. I know they do. There were many ways my pregnancy could have gone, many different directions my daughter’s life could have taken, but I find comfort, even in moments of sorrow that could swallow me whole, in knowing that I made the best choice.
