A Coerced Adoption

I started dating a guy near the beginning of my senior year. He pressured me a lot to have sex with him and we were moving way faster and way further than I ever wanted to go. He knew my stance; he knew that I never wanted to have sex before I got married. Because of my naivety, I didn’t even know what the actual act of sex was. He eventually raped me on prom night, but not in the gruesome way that everyone assumes, it was more of a manipulative way. This behavior continued for a month and then I was pregnant.

I did not have a good relationship with my parents and felt very unwanted in my own home, so I truly felt like my boyfriend’s version of “love” was all that I deserved since it was better than what I was getting at home.

When I told him, he immediately looked up how much child-support he would be forced to pay. I refused to get an abortion even though he was adamant that that’s what I needed to do. At one point I eventually feared for my life and for the baby’s life, so I brought up adoption even though I told him that it was my baby and I’m gonna keep the baby—even if he wasn’t going to be a part of our life.

Once that word has been said, the adoption word, everyone in my family and his rallied behind that, completely forgetting that I was growing an actual human being inside of me that I wanted. We fought for months about it, and my stance continued that I wanted to parent, his stance continued that he wanted me to abort even into the third trimester.

I made plans anyway in case adoption was what I had to do, and I chose a family from an online profile through my agency. I met my agent about three times before I gave birth and she was very full of attitude, but not support. She gave me the recommendation to look up the church’s stance on unplanned pregnancy to help me with my decision, and everything I read was that either I had to marry my rapist or I had to give my child away. All the literature said that I would be a complete failure to my child and to god if I kept my baby. I voiced my opinions to my family that I still wanted to keep this baby and I didn’t want to go through with the adoption, but they said that it was too late since I already communicated with the family—that I couldn’t let them down since they already got their hopes up that I will give them a baby.

My boyfriend started beating me during my last month of pregnancy and I realized that if I did keep my baby, either me or the baby were going to die at the hands of my boyfriend.

When it came time to give birth, I was so excited to finally meet my baby, and yet so terrified because I knew the clock was ticking for my motherhood.

Less than 24 hours after my baby was born, my agent came in to have me sign my rights away and to sign forms that said that I wasn’t being coerced, but it was right in front of my boyfriend who was threatening my life and my mother who was saying I wasn’t allowed to back out.

I asked to stay a second night at the hospital, but 27 hours after he was born, I was clutching onto him, bawling and screaming at my mom and my boyfriend to let me keep my baby, and they shushed me and told me to put him in his carrier because the adoptive parents were about to come in, and that I shouldn’t waste their money on a hotel for another night.

To this day, my ex best friend continues with the opinion that I would’ve been awful mom to my son.

 But my mother and my sisters have finally seen sense, but hold fast that they thought it was too late and they thought adoption was what I wanted. Despite my begging to keep my baby for months.

I was finally able to escape the clutches of my boyfriend a year and a half later, 18 more months of abuse in every possible way you can think of. He would beat me if I cried over missing my baby, he would yell at me if I said that I missed him, he would throw my pictures of my baby across the room if he caught me looking at them. I’m amazed that I got out alive, but I definitely did not get out whole or unscathed.

I attempted to go to a birthmother support group that was held by my agency, but there was no support. It made me feel like they thought I made the right decision, and that the grief that I was feeling would only be temporary and that I would get over it after I realized it was the right decision. They failed to understand that it was not a decision. It was a desperate act to save the life of me and my child, and not one I wanted to make.