When I was first asked to write a blog I thought, “What a strange word?” Sounds a bit like it should be the title of a B rated horror flick.

For a bit of background, I’m a part of the adoption triad. Not the usual, adoptive parent or adoptee, but I am a birth mom. I say not the usual because back in my day, we didn’t share that information. “Giving a child up” for adoption was kept secret and swept under the carpet. I’m grateful that it’s not that way today.

One of the hardest parts of this process for a birth mother is the signing of The Consents for Adoption. This is the document the birth mom signs that actually places her child for adoption.

I had only been here about a month, when I was asked to go in person to witness a consent signing. My panic button went to high gear. In complete disbelief my first response was “Are you talking to me?”

I was concerned that this would bring back the grief that I experienced when I was faced with signing those same documents so long ago.

The signing was not what I expected at all. The birth mother was pleasant, cheerful and realistic. She did get emotional and shed a few tears, but she really wanted to push on. I found that in a very short time, I admired her. I respected her. I felt empathy for her. I could relate to her. Here I was expecting all this unpleasantness and discomfort only to find that it was rewarding and healing.

I am healing.