My name is Megan Cohen, and this is my story: why I put my baby up for adoption.
I’m an adoption attorney but long before that I identified as a birth mother. My son was born and adopted in 1988. If you are pregnant and unsure what to do, I have been there and I can help.
I put my baby up for adoption because I was overwhelmed. I had cancer as a teenager, and my doctors told me I couldn’t have kids. So I was absolutely shocked when I found out I was pregnant at 20. I remember believing that I’d wake up one day and discover I’d made a mistake.
Maybe I just didn’t know how to take a pregnancy test. Or how to read one. Maybe it was a false positive! But I had taken five pregnancy tests, and the truth was that I was totally in denial.
The thought of taking care of another human being overwhelmed me. I was in school, didn’t have any money, and I was living with my parents. I knew my baby’s father wouldn’t help (I was right), and I didn’t want my parents to raise my son. While I love my parents, they had already raised five and I couldn’t imagine them starting over with another. But it was more than that. I had zero confidence in myself in just about every way and didn’t believe I’d be a good parent. I felt immature, selfish, and lost in my own world. The thought of how badly I could screw up a child terrified me.
I felt totally alone.
I put my baby up for adoption because I knew I’d be taking on the emotional responsibility of parenting alone. My parents would have helped in a very practical way, and they would have loved my son like their own, but I would still be a single parent. Still trying to grow up and make something of myself.
I also didn’t want to live with my parents for what would clearly be an indefinite period of time. I’ve been pretty independent my whole life. Today, I’m sure my lack of self-esteem had a lot to do with feeling like my family didn’t support me. But today, I know and love them as fiercely loyal and loving in their own way.
The middle child screwing up, again.
I believed I was living in the shadow of more talented siblings, trying to sass my way out into the limelight. As the the middle child, I always stirring the pot, causing trouble and getting in trouble. When I found out I was pregnant, I felt so stupid, completely in character, and like a failure. I felt like a screw-up and knew my family would not be happy with me.
I have never once asked my parents for advice. Even then, in my heart I knew that the difficult choices were mine to make alone, and that I was absolutely going to do whatever I decided to do. I also knew, heart-broken, that I wasn’t going to parent my baby and that I would have to deal with those consequences.
I isolated myself.
When I decided on an open adoption, I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want to hear their advice or opinions. I especially didn’t want their judgement. When I finally got up the courage to tell my parents, they paid for an apartment so I could live by myself and avoid interacting with anyone, including them. My best friends didn’t even know about the pregnancy and adoption. I lost every single friend I had at the time because I didn’t return their calls. I shut myself off from the world. To this day, my family does not talk about the adoption or ask about my son.
I believed I got pregnant for a reason.
I was raised to believe abortion is wrong. My beliefs have changed over the years, but at the time I was resolute, and I was scared of abortion. I also had a sinking feeling that, given my medical history, this was the only baby I’d ever have. So I figured I’d gotten pregnant for a reason, and maybe the reason was that someone else was going to be my baby’s parents.
When I finally went to search for them, I had no idea what I was looking for until I found it. My relief was immediate. I felt like I was playing God giving this family another kid. My love for them made it easy not to think about how I would feel at the hospital when I left without my baby. They were kind and compassionate, smart and stable. I knew that if I changed my mind they would be okay with it. I trusted them completely. At some point during my pregnancy, I started to feel the baby had been theirs all along.
Adoption was my idea… or maybe it was my mom’s.
I put my baby up for adoption because my mom told me to. Well, not exactly. I was 20 years old and afraid to tell my parents I was pregnant. Any time I told them about something really stupid I had done, I’d start to laugh. Like the time I smashed in the back of the car at the gas station. Before I could explain what had happened, I laughed so hard my dad started to laugh. Then I told him. He was livid.
I didn’t want to laugh when I told them this doozie, afraid they’d think I was kidding. The conversation would be short. I had been stalling for months and had no idea how to bring it up. Here’s what it came down to: I finally had the not so good sense to tell my youngish and cool aunt with the big mouth.
Did I know my aunt would tell my uncle, who would then tell my mother, his sister? Probably. All I know for sure is that I came home one day, and my parents called me into their room saying we needed to talk. My dad was lying on their bed in a red polo shirt and black pants (why do I remember this?). He hung his head and looked exhausted. Mom looked like she was about to jump on me. “So,” she says in her church lady voice, “Do you have something to tell us?”
Have you thought about adoption?
I don’t remember what I said next, but I’m sure it was short and to the point. I remember word for word what Mom said in response. She looked at me with crossed arms and a stony face and mumbled: “Well, at least we know you can have kids.” And then, “So, now what? Have you thought about adoption?” I didn’t think my mom knew me very well but at that moment, and as I’m writing this now, I think she knew me better than I knew myself. She said the word I had been afraid to say for months, and I looked at her and nodded yes, and I knew I was committed. My mom knew it too. Somehow, hearing Mom say the word adoption made me feel better.