What If I Were Her?

Healing is not a straight path. One day, I am angry. Next, I feel blessed because of my story. Then there are days when I feel nothing at all. My emotions shift not just toward my adoption itself but toward every person involved—my adoptive mom, my biological parents, and even myself. Sometimes, I wonder, what should I feel? But then, I remind myself—there are no “shoulds” when it comes to feelings. No right or wrong. Just emotions, flowing as they need to. And part of healing is learning to sit with them, even when they feel uncomfortable, even when they don’t make sense.

This morning, during my devotion, I found myself stepping into my birth mother’s shoes. What was it like to be her?

A woman, married with children, whose husband is working overseas. The loneliness of raising kids alone. A time when letters and occasional phone calls were the only connection across the miles. A moment of weakness, or maybe longing, leading to an affair. Was it love? Was it just an attempt to fill a void? And then—a pregnancy.

What was she feeling? Confusion? Fear? Shame? The weight of judgment from society, from family, from her own conscience. What would her husband say? What would people think? What were her choices? Carry the child in secrecy? Face the lifelong consequences? End the pregnancy and live with the burden of that decision? None of the options was easy.

And yet, I am here.

She chose to endure the months of pregnancy. She carried me in silence, perhaps in hiding, through nausea, discomfort, and fear. And then, she let me go. I never considered what it must have been like for her—until today.

As a counselor-in-training, I’ve spoken to people who have faced infidelity, people who never imagined themselves in such situations until they were. No one is immune. Not religious beliefs, not strong values, not a moral upbringing. Vulnerability is part of being human. And as I imagined myself in my birth mother’s place, I realized—I don’t know what I would have done. It’s easy to say, I know my values. But values are only truly tested in the moment of decision.

For years, I cycled through emotions about her. Anger. Gratitude. Resentment. But today, I see her in a different light. Today, I see a brave woman.

A woman who endured shame and fear.

A woman who carried a child with the knowledge that she might never see that child again.

A woman who chose to give me life, even if it meant letting me go.

For so long, I saw my beginnings as something to be ashamed of, something painful. But today, I see bravery.

I know that in the coming days, my emotions might shift again. I might feel something entirely different tomorrow. But today, I hold onto this moment—this moment of seeing my birth mother with a new kind of understanding. Maybe, just maybe, wherever she is, she still thinks of me. Maybe I was not just a mistake in her life, but also someone she fought for.

And maybe, that’s enough for today.