I didn’t name you.

I never named you. I literally never sat down and started trying to pick out names for you, that seemed too intimate. I detached myself from the very beginning, trying to be “tough” and “strong”. Wow.  Yeah, the tough girl who won’t even try to come up with a name for her baby because she’s so damaged and traumatized that she didn’t even realize that she was either of those things! I thought I was being “courteous” by not allowing myself to be emotionally involved in my pregnancy. I thought I was doing the adopters a solid. I was so ignorant, that I felt that was the proper thing to do. I wanted my baby to be a “clean slate” for these people. What an ignorant person I was. Trauma happens in the womb, but I wasn’t aware of any of these things.

Little did I know, everything I was doing and feeling, my baby was experiencing too. My baby knew that I was feeling anxious, sad, scared, confused, ashamed, angry, depressed, hopeless. She probably knew when I was promising her parents-to-be that she was going to be “their” baby, that I wasn’t going to change my mind and keep MY baby. Oh no, we can’t have that happening now, can we? They’ve already built a nursery, they were so looking forward to being parents, I could never do anything to disrupt their little dream! </s> Excuse my sarcasm, but my sympathy for adopters is GONE. Never again will I put the emotional well-being of two people I barely know ahead of mine or my child’s well-being again.

I hate adoption and I despise the 23 year-old me.