My name is Jessica, and I chose to place my perfect baby girl for adoption while I was still pregnant with her.
The heartache of saying hello and goodbye so quickly is something that has stayed with me every day since. But the joy I’ve seen in the couple I chose—their smiles, their tears, their laughter as they held the baby they had waited years for—reminds me that my pain gave birth to someone else’s miracle.
It was December 2016 when I found out I was pregnant. I was twenty-three years old, raising two kids alone, working full-time, and attending college. The moment I saw that test, I dropped to my knees. I loved that baby instantly, but I knew I couldn’t give her the stability or life she deserved.
I decided to move closer to my family and start over. A few months later, in February, I met with a local adoption agency and was paired with the most compassionate coordinator. She handed me twelve family books. My mom sat beside me as we turned each page, reading about their dreams, their love stories, their hopes to become parents.
Together, we narrowed it down and I was able to meet families in person. The first one felt instantly right. The nerves faded, and I felt this warmth—this sense that they were the ones.
Over four short months, we built a bond rooted in love, trust, and shared hope. They weren’t just “the adoptive couple.” They became part of my story.
Labor was long and painful. Hours later, my daughter entered the world—tiny, perfect, and loved beyond measure.
For a short while, she was mine alone. I held her against my chest and told her how much I loved her, over and over again. I let her feel my heartbeat, hear my voice, and know that she was wanted—deeply wanted.
During my hospital stay, we laughed and cried together with her new parents. We played cards, shared stories, and made memories that would last forever. And then, the hardest moment came.
Saying goodbye.
The couple told me she would never love me any less—that they would make sure she knew where she came from, that she was born from love, not loss.
The car ride home was silent. Tears came and went like waves. The following weeks were filled with sleepless nights, empty arms, and quiet moments where I felt pieces of my heart breaking all over again.
But even in the pain, I found peace in one truth: she was exactly where she was meant to be.
She was loved.
She was safe.
She was home.
Today, I’m remarried and work with Children and Families locally, helping other families through their hardest moments. My daughter—the one I placed—is now eight years old. She’s fun, silly, beautiful, and everything I ever hoped she’d be.
Her parents and family are incredible—kind, gentle, and forever respectful of my role in her life. They’ve honored me in ways I never expected. I'm beyond grateful.
Since then, I’ve had another child, and I still have zero regrets about my decision. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without it. That family, that little girl, and that love changed my life.
Adoption doesn’t mean goodbye. It means love—multiplied.
It means a child growing up surrounded by people who adore them, people who may not share their DNA but share their heart.
Through my journey, I’ve learned that birth moms deserve to be seen, supported, and celebrated. We are not women who “gave up” our children. We are women who loved them enough to give them more.
Now, through my work and my story, I want to help other birth moms find peace in their choices. I want to break the stigma and help families understand how beautiful open adoption can be.
Because when love leads the way, everyone grows.
