I was seventeen and a senior in high school when I found out I was pregnant.
The fear and confusion were real. The shame, pressure, uncertainty about the future—all of that was real too. But so was the love. I knew I would love my baby, long before I ever saw his face.
The father and I got married in February of my senior year. I graduated, and that July I gave birth to my son.
A couple of years later, my husband decided he didn’t want to be married anymore, and it wrecked me. I sank into survival mode, trying to cope with depression, and found myself pregnant again by a man I had not been dating very long.
It took a little time for the reality to sink in, but at first we both wanted to make it work. Then, about two months later, he left, and I knew I was alone in this.
So I looked for the good. I told myself it would be wonderful for my son to have a sibling. I was already doing the single-parent thing. And since becoming pregnant, this baby had become a source of hope to me and a reason to get my life together.
People told me early on that I should just have an abortion and forget it ever happened. But to me, a baby is a life, valuable and precious, no matter how small. It was never an option for me.
When people mentioned adoption, I responded the same way every time: “I could never do that. I love that others can, but I could never give my child to someone else to raise.”
I loved being a mom, that feeling was no different for the child I carried.
So I started preparing. Saving. Planning how this would work with the three of us. I carried my son. I talked to him. I prayed for him.
One night, while I was praying for all the usual things like wisdom, strength, a healthy baby, for my son to adjust well to being a big brother, I heard a voice: “You need to look into adoption.”
It was unlike any voice I had ever heard—loud, yet soft. Clear and unavoidable. I knew it was God. I went back to bed and cried myself to sleep, telling God, “I can’t do that.”
I sat with the idea of adoption for a few days. Then I began doing more research.
I called an adoption agency, and a woman came to my house with a stack of portfolios. Before I opened any of them, I made a list of what I wanted in parents for my son—carefully chosen qualities, characteristics, and stability.
I went through at least fifty books, and not one family matched everything on my list. That’s when I began to think maybe this was just a test of faith. I was convinced I had passed the test. I had done what God asked me to do.
Weeks later, I got a phone call. It was the agency: “I think we have a couple you’re going to like.”
I wish I could say I was happy, but I wasn’t. It was more like horror hit me as I read through their profile, checking each thing off my list, one by one.
I met them in person, and deep down I was praying I would find something to disqualify them as parents for my son.
Instead they were above and beyond what I had asked for.
I wanted Mary, the prospective adoptive mom, to experience as much as possible. I invited her to my next ultrasound appointment. I still remember watching her face light up as tears were running down her cheeks. Her dream of becoming a mother was about to come true. I was happy for her, even though my heart ached at what it meant for me.
I loved my son before he was born. And I loved him when I held him for the first time. I loved him when I looked at Mary, standing beside me during the birth, and handed her my son only after I had taken my time memorizing his face and gazing into his eyes. I loved him when I walked down the hospital halls with him in my arms—crying, pouring my heart out to him, singing every song I had ever sung, soaking in his sweetness, his smell, his eyes.
God was asking me to trust Him with my child in a way I never would have chosen for myself. I chose adoption because I knew God had a special plan and purpose for my son that stretched far beyond my understanding.
I couldn’t bear to walk away from him, so Brian and Mary left before I did. I felt empty, like my heart was being torn in two. The grief that followed was unlike anything I had ever known.
My son was alive. He was loved. He was safe. Happy. But my arms were empty, and my heart had no roadmap for what to do with that kind of loss. It was not a clean grief. It did not fit into easy categories. It stayed.
Over time, I learned that some grief does not disappear. It changes shape. Adoption was like that for me. It lived quietly alongside joy. I still laughed. I still raised my children. I still kept going. But there was always an ache for the child I did not raise. For a long time, I wished that ache would leave.
Later, I became thankful for it. It became proof that my love for him was real. It became one of my greatest acts of pure love, and I am so grateful to be his mother. I knew what an amazing man he would be, even before he was born.
My son’s adoptive parents honored me by welcoming me into the moments of his life like his school Christmas pageant and birthday celebrations. They made space for connection. They kept me up to date with pictures and phone calls and even had us over for a weekend.
Years later, after distance and silence and his own journey of processing and healing, my son and I began talking more. And one day, he called me Mom.
There are some moments in life words can’t fully explain. That was one of them.
It did not erase the years we had lost. But it was so special, it filled me with so much amazement. Because I was never sure exactly how he would see me. Brian and Mary asked how I wanted to be addressed, but I wasn’t sure. He knew the truth from the beginning, and so I went by Laura.
And here he is a young adult now, calling me momma.
All five of my kids are connected, through social media, video games together, texting etc. When we all get together it becomes a great treasure that goes into my box of memories. Everyone gets along. We all love each other because we are family.
To me, adoption is one of the deepest acts of true sacrificial love a human can express to another. It is joy and grief held in the same heart—yet still choosing what is best for your child instead of yourself.
Today, I work for a pregnancy center. I sit in a medical mobile unit meeting women in parking lots who are facing an unplanned pregnancy, and I get to be there when they see their baby for the first time on ultrasound. I can look into their eyes, while they’re hands are shaking and reaffirm them. They are not alone. Encouraging them, that they are brave and to just breathe for a moment.
I am writing my story and a companion journal to help others through grief, depression and to simply be encouraged and know they are not alone.
My son’s adoption formed my heart in big ways. God has prepared me to help others. I love how every heartache is used for good. It has strengthened me and given me the confidence to live in faith. Now, fear has no power over me. No lies sneak in and take me out of the game. I know the truth.
To any other birth moms, YOU are one of the greatest gift-givers in this world, and I wish there were more women as brave and full of love as you are.
