Ingrid’s Adoption Story – Calgary, Alberta, 1960

“We were given lectures … about starting new lives and never looking back after this is over. We were told to just forget about it as if it never happened . . . . as soon as my daughter was born, they scooped her up and took her away”

I had my re-union with my daughter 14 years ago and it was wonderful. I became an instant grandmother to three children. My daughter lives in Cranbrook and we’ve had 4 visits so far, and we write and phone each other on a regular basis. We have a good relationship and I can’t describe how happy this has made me.

Since the time I started searching for my daughter and talked to dozens of people about these issues, I’ve started to realize that a lot of younger people do not REALLY understand how things were back in the late 50’s and early 60’s, and some really don’t understand most of us girls did not have ANY choices regarding our babies. I know that the choices girls have to make today are really tough, hard, choices but at least they do have choices. Many of us did not have any. There was absolutely no support for us to keep our babies and we were judged and condemned harshly for getting pregnant without being married.

My intention here is not to be negative and blaming but I feel that it is important for people to understand the reasons why we had to give up our babies, the reasons why many of us still carry guilt and shame, and the reasons many people feel uncomfortable talking about these issues.

Some adoptees carry anger and resentment against their mothers for giving them up. I say that this anger is misplaced – the anger should be directed towards the patriarchal attitudes of the day which gave women very little choices when they became pregnant. Many of us natural mothers carry anger too. Understanding the source of our anger, shame and guilt is the road towards healing.

I’d like to quote from Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ book, “Women Who Run With the Wolves”:

“One of the least-spoken-about oppressions of women’s lives concerns millions of unmarried mothers or never-married mothers throughout the world, including North America, who, in this century alone, were pressured by cultural mores to hide their condition or their children, or else kill or surrender their offspring, or live a half-life as reviled and disempowered citizens. For generations women accepted the role of legitimizing humans through marriage to a man. They agreed that a human was not acceptable unless a man said so.”

This quote sounds like it comes from the middle-ages but in actual fact, these were the prevalent attitudes of the day only 20 to 30 years ago.

The patriarchal attitudes of the day went something like this: Men owned women through marriage. Men owned children through marriage. If a woman got pregnant without the sanction of a man’s name, she was reviled by society and the child was not considered a legitimate human being. Not only was the woman punished for breaking society’s rules, so was the child. The woman and child were considered outcasts of society: unrespectable people to be avoided. The harsher labels were: whores and bastards.

When I was a teenager, I never questioned these attitudes. I had internalized the mores of the day. This is the way it was in small town Canada. If women broke the rules, they should accept their punishment. I can remember the whispering in high-school corridors about girls who mysteriously disappeared for 6 months or a year. “She’s knocked up” “She’s gone away to have a kid” “Her reputation is shot” “Nobody in this town will ever marry her.”  I’m ashamed to say that I took part in this type of gossipping. I felt superior to those “bad” girls. Not once do I remember anyone talking about the hardship, pain, and the struggle these girls went through. Not once do I remember anyone mentioning anything about the fate of the baby. I do not remember any compassion or sympathy shown towards the girl or the baby. They were bad girls and they deserved everything they got. I felt superior. I was a good girl. (2009 Comment: not to mention an unkind, unsympathetic, arrogant little girl)

In the high-school days of the 50’s and 60’s (at least in my small town) bad girls went “all the way”. Good girls didn’t. At least the good girls didn’t get caught. There was no birth control, except for condoms then. In those days, boys boasted about girls “giving in” to them and the boys considered themselves heroes. The more a boy could “score” the more of a hero he was. The girls got a bad reputation. Double standards were alive and well and most of us never questioned them. I do not remember anyone ever questioning the behaviour of the boys who relentlessly pressured their dates or girlfriends into sex, who used any means possible to attain their goal: to get the girl drunk, to use emotional blackmail by threatening never to see her again if she doesn’t give in – and there was date rape. Date rape had not been named, or identified, and was common. It was the girl’s fault for being alone with him, it was the girl’s fault for necking with her boyfriend, it was the girl’s fault because of the clothes she wore. And on and on. The boys could not be blamed. The boys were not responsible. After all, boys will be boys. It was their nature.

This was the general attitude of the day. But in defence of some decent and ethical young men, I’d like to acknowledge the fact that there were individual boys who did feel responsible if the girl got pregnant and did the “right” thing:  They married the girl. These were called “shot-gun” weddings. Some boys were forced by their parents, or the girls’ parents to do the right thing, and marry the girl. This was not a good foundation for a marriage.

So, society validated the nature of boys but girls were expected to be virgins until they got married. Good girls just did not have sex. Good girls did not even like sex. But the moment a female said “I do” at the altar, she was supposed to morph into a sexual nymph overnight. So, some of us succumbed to emotional blackmail, some of us suffered rape, some of us got drunk and were taken advantage of, and some of us simply could not resist the loving arms of the boyfriends we were in love with. A common tactic was “If you love me, prove it.” But no matter what the circumstance, we were the ones held responsible and we were the ones who were punished.

I got pregnant when I was 16 while still attending high-school. Horror of horrors, I had become one “them”. You know, a slut, a tramp, a whore, a pushover. I was overwhelmed with shame and fear. I had brought shame onto myself. My reputation was shot. I had brought shame to my parents. I had brought shame to the family name. I could not tell anyone, and I had nowhere to turn to. I felt that my parents would disown me. I was terrified. I was alone. And, I was so ashamed.

I was terrified of my father. This terror was based on reality. My mother had once told me (in great secrecy) that my father had fathered a boy before he married my mother. I was excited about the idea of having a half-brother and asked about his whereabouts. My mother told me that we have nothing to do with him because dad says that his mother is a wanton woman.

I made up lies and told my parents that I wanted to start my secretarial career a little earlier, and then I quit school. I was in grade 11. I left my small town and went to a big city where I got a job as a typist and receptionist. I lied about my age. I lived alone: working and saving my money all the while terrified that someone from my home town would see me. I was so ashamed. I saved enough money to take a train to Calgary and there I contacted Social Services. I ended up working in several homes in exchange for room and board.Then I was placed into The Providence Creche, a Catholic home for unwed mothers which also housed “orphans.” Here our shame was re-enforced: We were given wedding rings to wear when we went out. We had to use pseudonyms with each other. I had chosen the name Kathy Pruden. I think I chose Kathy after a girl I knew in high-school who seemed respectable. I think I chose Pruden from the word “prude” as if the name might rub off on me and make me more respectable. Most of the girls in this home for unwed mothers were from out of town, and none of us knew each other’s real names. We were in hiding from the world. We were instructed to be secretive with each other. We were outcasts of society.

Through this period, there was a lot of grief and confusion. We were given lectures by the nuns about starting new lives and never looking back after this is over. We were told to just forget about it as if it never happened. No one spoke about the sense of loss, the grief and trauma we experienced, and would continue to experience. No one validated our real feelings. We were not supposed to have them. We weren’t entitled to them.

I went into labour in the middle of the night and had to wake one of the nuns up. She drove me to the Holy Cross Hospital and left me there by myself. Through my labour, I was attended to by impartial and aloof staff and as soon as my daughter was born, they scooped her up and took her away. I had no one by my side to give me moral support or any sort of kindness. I was alone and far away from home.

I watched from my bed as nurses brought the other women their babies. There was a lot of smiling and cooing and warmth from the nurses. I was totally ignored as they walked by my bed. I had asked if I could see my baby and was told icily that it was not a good idea seeing as I was giving her up. I wandered down the hallways peeking into nurseries hoping to recognize my baby but was shooed away as soon as I was noticed.

Just before I left the hospital, I asked again if I could see my baby. I was told it was not a good idea. I persisted and finally they said okay but only for 15 minutes. I finally got to hold my baby daughter and before I knew it a nurse swept into the room and scooped her up. I remember whispering into her pretty little face that I would come back to get her as soon as I could.

After I had given my daughter up for adoption, I returned home and went back to high-school pretending that nothing had happened. I lied and made up stories. I didn’t recognize that I had been profoundly changed and it had left a deep wound in me. This grief manifested itself in various self-destructive behaviours which I didn’t recognize at the time but understand now.

The shame affected my self-esteem. The shame kept me in denial and kept me lying to others and myself. I had to protect my reputation. I had to protect the family name.

I kept this deep, dark secret to myself for 30 years. I kept the sense of loss and the grief to myself for 30 years. The tragedy is that it didn’t have to be like that. It was like that because of the attitudes of the day which ruled our lives.

Times and attitudes have changed. Society has become more humane. Unmarried women and girls are not considered bad or immoral. Unmarried women have choices now, even if they are hard. Women are allowed to go through a grieving process and it is recognized and validated. Systems are in place to support unmarried girls and women. I’m so glad that many mothers of today do not have to go through what some of us went through. There is still a lot of work to do in raising the awareness of these issues with the public in general, and the members of the adoption triangle in particular.

We have to understand history to understand the present. We have to understand our personal history to understand ourselves. And we have to understand the prevailing attitudes of the day because most of us internalized them. Until we fully understand that the social attitudes of the day were built on artificial rules made by men according to patriarchal tenets, we can never fully get rid of our shame and guilt. We are working towards ridding ourselves of the self-blame that says it was our fault for breaking the rules. Sharing our stories is one way towards healing.

Notes:

After making a request some thirty years later, I received a copy of “Application to Surrender” from Government of the Province of Alberta, Department of Public Welfare, Child Welfare Branch. I notice that I had signed the application just as I was leaving the hospital, only 5 days after I had given birth to my daughter.