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May 30, 2023·edited May 30, 2023Liked by Tony Corsentino

For me (an Australian adoptee) I find the most challenging thing about all things "mothers' day/s" is that it is still all about them. As babies and children we had no agency in decisions that impacted us for life. Once I became a mother myself any enjoyment of "that day" with my own children took decades to overcome the anxiety of managing any expectations and the 'other' mothers' emotional needs. It is tiring. I decided not to celebrate or acknowledge the public construction of the day at all and put my own needs first now on this one.

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May 30, 2023Liked by Tony Corsentino

Another profound and beautiful essay--thank you, Tony.

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founding
May 29, 2023Liked by Tony Corsentino

Outstanding!

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I always love reading your thoughts and words. <3

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Tony, if I had a blow torch, I might've incinerated my laptop when I got to the paragraph from the brainwashed "birth" mother. Spence-Chapin, a large adoption agency in Manhattan, has an annual Birth Mother Commemoration "party" a week or two before Mother's Day. Sometimes I went, sometimes I didn't, but each time the invitation circulated, I was triggered. Now I live too far away to have to make that horrible decision every year.

Once, a woman I knew told me an amazing story. The woman who was raising her relinquished son reached out to her when he turned 16. She said he needed help and ultimately, the young man traveled to the first/natural/original mother's city to live with her.

Eventually, he grew up and got a life and had a wedding. Both mothers attended the wedding together, and when introductions were going around, they stood up, holding hands, and said, "We are Adam's mother." How I loved hearing that story! (Adam is a pseudonym.)

The parents who raised my son refused to meet or speak to me. I think of how much we all missed, and are missing now.

Words are important. Titles are important. Once, in a grocery store with my son, someone from his job came over to say hello. He introduced me and then said, "I'm her birth son." That phrase was burned like a brand in my mind and now, almost 20 years later, it still comes up to haunt me.

Thank you for your profound thoughts and eloquent writing.

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I love this, Tony. Words matter. I have read that some object to the term Birthmother, because it implies the only value of the person was biological; they gave birth. It negates the love and connection they felt toward their baby while they grew together for nine months. Some of the alternate words suggested are: First Mother, Natural Mother, Original Mother. The pushback against these terms from adoptive mothers (oc there is pushback) are they don’t like First bc that makes them secondary; they don’t like Natural bc that implies they are unnatural; they don’t like Original bc it makes them a duplicate, copy or facsimile. My own A mother got quite upset with me referring to my original mother as a Birthmother, and by comparison within that conversation, referred to my A mother as an adoptive mother. She said she felt like she was my “real” mother (bc she raised me — oc). She said that my calling her my adoptive mother sounded like I was saying she was less than a real mother. Her other evidence was that after adopting two infants, she had a biological child a decade later. She insists she “feels the same” about all three of us, that she loves us all the same.

For myself, and speaking only for myself here, that is delusional on her part. There were/are stark differences I observe/d in her behaviour between how she behaved toward me as compared to how she behaved toward our sister. There are toxic and vicious aspects to her in her relationship with me, in spite of her belief and best efforts to try to “love me the same.” Some of which continue to this present day. I despair of ever having a mother who loves me unconditionally, who actually shows through her actions that she does.

On the other hand, the birthmother I searched for and found in the late 80s has since cut off contact, in spite of a joyous reunion of many years. With both of my mothers, I hunger for the 3 As — affection, attention and acceptance. Which clearly I shan’t receive from either. But on the plus side, I’m being welcomed into my Birthfather’s vast Italian-American family with open arms, including the next family reunion.

Loving your essays, always enjoy reading your reflections. Thank you for shining a light on things adopted people think deeply about, yet often dare not say out loud, especially not to the adoptive mothers.

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