A Truthful Testimony of Pain and Redemption
For decades, I held back my story, afraid to disrupt the status quo or expose painful truths. No more. This is my account—raw, imperfect, and honest—of my experiences as an adopted child, a mother, and a seeker of God’s redemption. I’m not here for appearances. I’m here for truth, as I’ve lived it and understand it, flaws and all. If you disagree, bring evidence, and let’s talk. If not, please listen. My story is for anyone who’s felt abandoned, struggled with parenting, or sought healing through faith. I’m not perfect, but I’m committed to honesty, no matter the cost.
The Weight of Adoption Without Love
Adoption can be a beautiful gift, but only when it’s rooted in genuine love and selflessness. My adoptive parents provided food, shelter, and clothing, but when I needed emotional or spiritual support, they were absent—every single time. As a child, I craved their acceptance, but their actions often felt driven by appearances rather than care.
I don’t believe God withholds children from some to punish them. Sometimes, He brings children to those equipped—mentally, emotionally, and spiritually—to raise them. Other times, people adopt for the wrong reasons, like social approval. My parents, avowed atheists, raised me to believe God didn’t exist. When life’s hardships led me to faith, they mocked me, unable to see beyond their own worldview. I don’t blame them entirely for my struggles, but their lack of support left deep scars. To anyone considering adoption: search your heart. Are you in it for optics, or are you ready to love a child fully?
A Devastating Choice at Seventeen
The most painful example of their absence came when I was seventeen and pregnant. I was scared, vulnerable, and desperate for guidance. Instead of support, my adoptive parents gave me an ultimatum: terminate the pregnancy or be cut off from the family. There was no discussion, no compassion—just a demand to preserve their image. I longed for their love, so I made the selfish choice to obey them, a decision that haunts me still.
Looking back, I see their insistence on abortion wasn’t about me or my unborn child. It was about control and avoiding the inconvenience of a grandchild. True love doesn’t demand death to maintain appearances. It seeks life, even when it’s messy. I failed my child by not standing up to them, and I carry that guilt. But through faith, I’ve found forgiveness at the foot of Christ’s cross, and I hold onto hope that others can too.
Losing My Sons to Optics
Years later, as a young mother, I struggled to raise my two sons. I was ill-equipped, carrying the wounds of my own upbringing. When I needed help, my adoptive parents didn’t offer support. Instead, they took me to court, seeking custody of my boys. They won, not out of love, but to maintain their facade of righteousness. The proof? They failed my sons even more than they failed me.
My youngest son, diagnosed with autism as a child, is now in his thirties and has never been set up for Social Security benefits to support his disability. Both boys faced severe challenges as adults, shaped by the same superficial care that marked my childhood. If my parents truly loved them, why didn’t they ensure their stability? And if they believed I was unfit to parent, why didn’t they teach me love and responsibility when I was in their care? These questions linger, not out of bitterness, but as a call for accountability. I, too, failed my sons as a mother, and I own that truth. But God’s grace offers a path to healing for all of us.
Abandoned Again
Much later, as the only parent left, my adoptive father urged me to sell everything and move to his state, promising support. I trusted him, hoping for reconciliation. But soon after I arrived, he reneged, leaving me and my husband financially ruined and alone. Worse, he spread lies to paint himself as the victim. Once again, appearances trumped love. This betrayal reinforced a hard lesson: no one can wear a mask forever. Truth, not optics, is what matters when we face God.
Finding Redemption Through Truth
Through all this pain, I’ve learned that redemption begins with honesty—first with ourselves, then with God. My adoptive parents’ denial of God stemmed from their own wounds, but it didn’t justify the harm they caused. I, too, have caused harm, especially to my sons, and I’ve had to face that truth at the deepest level. Jesus Christ—the way, the truth, and the life—has been my refuge. He forgives my failures, and He offers the same to anyone willing to be honest about their own.
If you’re carrying pain, guilt, or a need for revenge, there’s a better way. Open your heart to God. Let Him heal the wounds that drive you to hurt others or yourself. The late Billy Graham’s sinner’s prayer is a simple step toward salvation: acknowledge your need for Christ, confess your sins, and invite Him in. He can turn ashes into beauty, not just for me, but for you—whether you’re the one who caused pain or the one who endured it.
A Final Word
I share this not to judge hearts or intentions, but to speak truth as I’ve lived it. My words are colored by raw emotion, and I’m far from perfect. But I’ve promised God and myself to be honest, even if it costs me everything. Truth is worth more than man’s opinion. If my story resonates, I pray it leads you to reflect, seek forgiveness, or find courage to face your own pain. God’s love is real, and His redemption is for everyone who dares to believe.
Updated to add the disclaimer that my own original words were too emotionally charged and disorganized, so I first wrote the entire blog entry and then copied/pasted it to Grok AI to turn into a much better-written piece. I did not do this for deceptive purposes but more to bring organization, better tone, and other good/improved elements that I lack naturally; historical facts are correct to the best of my recollection and understanding with the caveat to remind you, dear Reader, that this is only one person's perspective and, need I say again, that I do not purport or pretend to be perfect.
Look to Jesus.
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