A Tale of Two Adoptees

On January 6, 2025, Congressman Rob Wittman (VA-01) announced the re-introduction of his Adoption Information Act. According to a press release, this act “…would require family planning services to provide information on nearby adoption centers to anyone receiving their services. A family planning services’s eligibility to receive federal grants or contracts through the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (HHS) would be contingent upon providing this information.”

An adoptee, Congressman Wittman also shared his perspective about adoption:

“A lot of people say they would not be where they are today without their parents—for me, that is the absolute truth….When I was eight months old, my mom and dad adopted me. My birth mother’s decision to choose adoption gave me more opportunities than she felt she could provide, and my parents’ decision to adopt instilled in me a passion for public service and a desire to give back. That’s why I’m proud to reintroduce my Adoption Information Act so that all mothers know what options are available to them. This legislation is a simple step that can make a world of a difference.”

In addition to being a constituent of Congressman Wittman, I’m also an adoptee who believes the Adoption Information Act would cause more harm than good.

I was born in 1969 and adopted nine months later. I was part of the Baby Scoop Era, the period between 1945 and 1973 when infants born to single white mothers were plentiful as were couples desperate to adopt. About four million babies were placed for adoption during that period.

My parents’ infertility prompted them to adopt. They told me my first mother was a nineteen-year-old college student when she became pregnant with me. She relinquished me because she couldn’t afford to raise me. My parents emphasized that my birth mother had chosen relinquishment for my best interest—an act of love.

Sound familiar? That’s because my story is eerily like Congressman Wittman’s adoption narrative.

My adoption was closed, which meant the state forbade contact between my birth families and me. I always wanted to meet my first mother, but reunification with her seemed forever out of reach.

Until it wasn’t. In 2022, my first mother reached out to the agency that arranged my adoption. Soon after, the agency informed me that a letter from her was waiting for me. Excited beyond belief, I couldn’t read it fast enough.

Then we had a glorious reunion.

As we became acquainted, I learned some shocking details about my relinquishment. One part of my adoption narrative was technically true: my first mother had no money or resources to raise me by herself. However, her parents certainly had enough money for the job. Furthermore, my first mother would have kept me if not for their lack of support.

Ironically, I was adopted by a couple whose socioeconomic status resembled that of my maternal grandparents. My adoptive father was a professor at a college in the same city where my biological grandfather lived (they worked three miles apart, no less). My adoptive mother juggled employment and being a stay-at-home parent, just like my biological grandmother.

As Roman Catholics, my grandmother and my adoptive family attended mass at churches that shared the same name. A family friend who was so close I considered him my uncle worked for the post office, just like my birth mother’s husband. One of my adoptive uncles was a Vietnam War veteran, just like my birth mother’s husband.

I’m also the oldest child in both my adoptive and maternal first families. I grew up in suburban neighborhoods like those of my biological sisters. One of my childhood family homes was a split-level ranch identical to the one where my birth mother lived. During the first two decades of my life, I lived within easy driving distance of her home. I likely drove on the same roads, visited the same places, and shopped at the same businesses as members of my biological family.

Here’s the wildest detail of all: I took ballet lessons for ten years in a house basement dance studio just like the one my maternal grandmother built in her home for her dance business. I was taking dance lessons at the same time my birth mother and maternal grandmother were teaching dance classes.

The commonalities between the lives of my biological family members and mine are so striking that I wonder why my adoption had to happen at all. My adoptive parents didn’t save me from anything; rather, I made a lateral move from one middle-class family to another.

A deep sense of shame about out-of-wedlock sex prevented my biological grandparents from wanting me in the family, but that doesn’t change the fact that they had the financial means to help their daughter raise me. Instead of redistributing some of their wealth to my first mother so she could keep me, my biological grandparents redistributed me to other parents.

My adoption didn’t make my life worse, but neither can I claim it made my life better. It simply made my life different. That’s why I disagree with Congressman Wittman that adoption automatically equals a better life or provides “more opportunities” for adoptees.

How can “more opportunities” ever justify separating babies from their mothers?

My experience contradicts the narrative that adoption is always for the better. It wasn’t even a necessary solution to my parents’ infertility because soon after they adopted me my mother gave birth to the first of three biological children.

In retrospect, I was adopted for nothing.

If adoption is so amazing and gave Congressman Wittman “more opportunities” than his birth mother could provide, why did The Turnaway Study find that 91% of women who couldn’t obtain an abortion chose to parent their child? The flipside is that only 9% of mothers in that study chose adoption. In other words, The Turnaway Study revealed that birth mothers consider adoption as a last resort.

Furthermore, there’s no scientific basis for the Adoption Information Act. The statistics from The Turnaway Study alone don’t justify making federal funding for “family planning services” contingent upon such agencies providing“information on nearby adoption centers to anyone receiving their services.”

According to the press release for the Adoption Information Act, Congressman Wittman also stated he “believes in treating pregnant women with compassion and providing them and their children with the support and resources they need.” If that’s true, instead of pressuring pregnant people to relinquish their children for adoption just because they’re poor, he should support legislation that provides them financial support so they can keep and raise their child(ren).

Rather than feed the voracious appetite of the profit-hungry adoption industry, we need more social safety nets such as child care, food assistance, health care for all, infrastructure, reproductive freedom, and public education. The goal should be prioritizing family preservation over adoption.

A key issue at play here is that legislation like the Adoption Information Act reinforces adoption as an individual solution to the systemic problem of poverty. This harmful strategy has deep roots, dating all the way back to the Baby Scoop Era. Society told my first mother that because of her “poverty” she had no right to keep me. If Congressman Wittman could go back in time and give his birth mother enough money to raise him, would he do it?

Positing adoption as an alternative to keeping one’s child implies that our society doesn’t need to support vulnerable families, and that comprehensive reproductive health care (including infertility treatment) isn’t necessary. The myth is that adoption is always a force for good, but how is it benefiting the pregnant people who are affected by it?

My birth mother couldn’t choose between having a safe abortion or not having one because the procedure was illegal in 1968. Choosing between an illegal, potentially harmful abortion and forced birth isn’t a proper choice at all. Relinquishing me also caused her a lifetime of heartache. So again, who benefits from adoption?

Economically disadvantaged women who relinquish their children aren’t even meaningfully compensated. Like my birth mother, they’re expected to give their children away for free so others can profit. If they do receive resources to help them during pregnancy, it’s far below what their time, money, and childbearing risk are worth.

Meanwhile, adoption agencies obtain children for free and profit from selling babies to adoptive parents. I’m well acquainted with the impact of that business arrangement because my adoptive father once told me he didn’t want me doing anything that would “ruin” the “investment” he and my adoptive mother had made. His stern remark made me feel like I was nothing more than a stock to be traded and sold.

Why is adoption based on a profit-driven model? If adoption provides “more opportunities” than living with biological kin, shouldn’t adoption agencies switch to a nonprofit model on behalf of the precious children they distribute to new parents?

Here’s an absolute truth: I would not be where I am today without my birth parents—yes, even the biological father who wanted nothing to do with me. I’m a product of their combined genetics, and that factor is as important as any opportunities my adoptive parents provided.

That’s why I’m proud to introduce alternatives to Congressman Wittman’s Adoption Information Act. Let’s choose the compassion of family preservation programs over the cruelty of family separation. Let’s treat babies as human beings rather than commodities to exploit. Let’s help parents vanquish poverty instead of enriching the adoption industry.

 I want all pregnant people to know that if they want to keep their children, poverty doesn’t have to be an obstacle. Lawmakers should create legislation that supports family preservation and reproductive freedom. Economically disadvantaged pregnant people should have options besides adoption and by working together, we can provide them. These alternatives are a giant leap for humankind and will make the world a better place.