On Grace...

I have never been very private when it comes to talking about giving my son up for adoption. In the two years since he was born I've been blessed with the opportunity to share his story many times with prospective adoptive parents, future birthmothers, and even strangers. I have talked about the grace that led Peanut and I to his family, the love that sustained me through the most heartbreaking moment of my life, and the beauty of my son's life and how it has shaped my own. 


It is, in short, my favorite part of the story to tell.


The part of the story that is not my favorite to tell is the part where I wasn't Enough. The part of me that has to admit that the reason I gave up my son was because I didn't have enough education or money to be the single-parent I would want to be; the part that still feels like all of me fell far short of who I should have been for my son. This is the part that is still so full of shame that it's easier for me to look away than acknowledge it. This recent realization came from watching a video of a talk given by Dr. Brene Brown, a researcher who has spent the last decade and then some exploring the cultural and personal effects of shame.


"Shame corrodes the very part of us that believes we are capable of change."


She said this and it resonated. In fact, it was like someone crashed the cymbals right next to my ear. Without realizing it, shame has become the lens through which I see myself. I have sat with it, befriended it, and encouraged it to have an opinion. Worse, I've encouraged myself to listen to that opinion. That opinion says that no matter what I do with my life, no matter how educated I am, or how many times I tell my story, that at heart I will always be the woman who wasn't Enough when it counted. Whether or not that opinion is true (though Lord knows I hope it isn't) isn't as important as the fact that I've believed it. Wholeheartedly. And this belief has worn down all the parts of me that used to be able to confidently say, "What WAS is not what IS."


The (fortunate) thing about hearing those cymbals crashing is that when they do, one is startled into looking up and paying attention. Coming to all these realizations about how much shame I have as a mother would probably have been completely unbearable if it had not come with the grace that it did. The grace that says that maybe my definition of being Enough has been wrong; maybe being Enough meant doing exactly what I was enabled (by grace itself, no less) to do: my very best to give my son the best life I could, at as little cost to him as possible. This grace reminds me how it lit a very painful path, giving me enough light to know I was headed in the right direction. I can see now that it has been here all along; I'm the one who has kept it out of the places I didn't think were worthy of it. But this is the glory of the grace: it miraculously made me Enough when I was incapable on my own, and it will happily invade any place I give up ownership of, including my shame.


This lovely grace says that I am not finished yet; that as long as I struggle to grow, growth is possible. That as long as I seek to be made more, I will be made more. It has revealed the depth of my shame and enabled me to face it, and has given me hope that it can transform the shame into something beautiful, the way it has transformed the rest of my story. 


More than ever I know that the work of grace will never be done in my life (a good thing, as I have no shortage of need for it). This fact used to be downright depressing to me, but I'm coming to terms with it; after all, life is much richer with the grace : )