My son was born (out of wedlock, as they say) two years before Roe v Wade came into existence. I was in my 20s, starting a professional career and still and ardent Catholic. He was the result of my first serious relationship which fell apart before I knew I was pregnant. My boyfriend, also Catholic urged me to get an abortion which I didn’t seriously consider. Part of me accepted that I was the one at fault for not getting birth control pills or some reliable method of contraception and that the only solution, since the relationship was over was to place him for adoption.
I got involved with Catholic Social Services and got a social worker who doled out the advice of the era, that a child needed two parents (married people) and that I would forget about the whole experience later in life when I was married with other children. I never considered telling my parents who lived in another state that I was pregnant and I couldn’t see myself raising my child on my own, or asking them for help. I had been raised with very limited sex education and pretty much instilled with a deep shame and guilt about my unmarried situation.
The path I took of placing my son for adoption was very painful. I fell into a deep depression after giving birth and returning to my career. Fortunately, my two roommates were psychiatric nurses aides and they recommended a woman psychologist who helped me twice a week for two years. I clung onto the hope that I would someday find out how he was and if my decision was good for him, at least. I had a brief marriage a few years after placing him for adoption. I think that I was just happy that someone would marry me. That marriage lasted 2 plus years and was followed by long and short term relationships until I met my second husband in my later forties which having another child was impossible.
However, when Dennis (the name his adoptive parents gave him) contacted me to meet when he was 28, I was thrilled and we have had a long and good relationship (although not close) for more than twenty years.
From time to time, I wonder what would have happened if I had swallowed my pride and told my parents (never did) that I was pregnant and needed help to raise him but I can’t see that that would have happened without a lot of pain and shame on their part and mine. Most of the information I received about sex had to do with the terrible plight of women (like I turned out to be) who had children out of wedlock and had to ‘give them up for adoption.’ I did not want to return to live near or with them and I couldn’t see myself raising a child in that era alone.
I’ll never know how that path would have turned out. I have pretty much forgiven everyone involved and left the Catholic church in my early thirties. I associate the church with reinforcing the guilt and shame that I felt around that experience.
My son, Dennis, had wonderful adoptive parents who reluctantly accepted his need to find me and learn about his origins. They are long dead as well as my parents. I’ll never know that answer to so many questions, but I am and have always been thrilled to know Dennis as an adult, and to see the traits he inherited from me, notably his smile and sense of humor. Who knew I could pass that on?
— Oxnard15
I got involved with Catholic Social Services and got a social worker who doled out the advice of the era, that a child needed two parents (married people) and that I would forget about the whole experience later in life when I was married with other children. I never considered telling my parents who lived in another state that I was pregnant and I couldn’t see myself raising my child on my own, or asking them for help. I had been raised with very limited sex education and pretty much instilled with a deep shame and guilt about my unmarried situation.
The path I took of placing my son for adoption was very painful. I fell into a deep depression after giving birth and returning to my career. Fortunately, my two roommates were psychiatric nurses aides and they recommended a woman psychologist who helped me twice a week for two years. I clung onto the hope that I would someday find out how he was and if my decision was good for him, at least. I had a brief marriage a few years after placing him for adoption. I think that I was just happy that someone would marry me. That marriage lasted 2 plus years and was followed by long and short term relationships until I met my second husband in my later forties which having another child was impossible.
However, when Dennis (the name his adoptive parents gave him) contacted me to meet when he was 28, I was thrilled and we have had a long and good relationship (although not close) for more than twenty years.
From time to time, I wonder what would have happened if I had swallowed my pride and told my parents (never did) that I was pregnant and needed help to raise him but I can’t see that that would have happened without a lot of pain and shame on their part and mine. Most of the information I received about sex had to do with the terrible plight of women (like I turned out to be) who had children out of wedlock and had to ‘give them up for adoption.’ I did not want to return to live near or with them and I couldn’t see myself raising a child in that era alone.
I’ll never know how that path would have turned out. I have pretty much forgiven everyone involved and left the Catholic church in my early thirties. I associate the church with reinforcing the guilt and shame that I felt around that experience.
My son, Dennis, had wonderful adoptive parents who reluctantly accepted his need to find me and learn about his origins. They are long dead as well as my parents. I’ll never know that answer to so many questions, but I am and have always been thrilled to know Dennis as an adult, and to see the traits he inherited from me, notably his smile and sense of humor. Who knew I could pass that on?
— Oxnard15
Beautiful, heart-wrenching story told with pain still there and covered with a patina of acceptance and gratitude. I try to tell people - young women - what sex before marriage as evidenced by the girl's pregnancy meant for the girl and her family. They don't believe me. I appreciate your telling your story.
ReplyDeleteNot only are you and Dennis the heroes of this story for me . . . but so is therapy! I'm glad you found what help you needed to endure!
ReplyDeleteVery straightforward and honest story-telling. A friend of mine went through something similar, but she did tell her parents (in the late 1960s). She wanted to keep her daughter but instead was sent to a Catholic home for unwed mothers and was allowed to hold her baby for a few minutes before giving her up. It affected her entire life. She did get in touch with the daughter eventually, which resulted in a similiar relationship as you have to your son Dennis. It must have been difficult, too, pretending in your parents' presence (if you did see them or talk to them at all) that a most important thing in your life had not happened.
ReplyDeleteSorry... forgot to say that was "Macoff" speaking (fellow Dipper)
DeleteWhat a wonderful, painful story you have written.
ReplyDeleteThe two people I know who were forced to give up their newborns turned right around and had another baby within a year. One by marrying the father, the other by convincing her parents to help raise the child.
I was told to save myself for marriage like my teenage parents did. Instead, I drove myself to Planned Parenthood in the run down part of Pasadena, CA when I was in high school and got the pill. It was the Norinyl 180 which was a lot stronger than the low dose pills of today.
Sorry. Those are my comments above, after Macoff’s.
ReplyDelete