Carly Johnstone - A Perfect Circle

 

Okay. So, in August of 1998, I was trying to give birth. And it was well tended. I had a nurse and two midwives, my boyfriend at the time who was not the father, my foster brother, and two women who were also awaiting the birth of their first child, who also happened to be my child. Seven months prior to this, after many visits to the bathroom, glasses of water and sticks peed upon, I had come to accept the fact that I was pregnant. And this was not the best of news for a bunch of reasons. One of them was that I was 16. More so than that, my life had been a lesson in negatives. It had been a lesson in what not to do. My mantra had been how not to be my mother.

 

My mother was a prostitute, and I had grown up with her and many other prostitutes and the men that handle them. And when she died in the '80s, like so many from AIDS, I went into foster care. I did a year and a half there before my mother's parents, my grandparents, took me under duress. And as you might note, people who don't want children probably shouldn't have them. And I went from being touched much too much in really painful and monstrous ways to never being touched at all. They lasted about five years with me before they threw in the towel, retired to Florida, and put me in a Southern Baptist children's home. And I lasted about a year and a half there before I thought I could do better than this. I could raise myself. I mean, the bar was pretty low.

 

And I studied a lot and I took a lot of tests and I graduated high school two and a half years early. And then I got in Greyhound and went back to New Jersey because that is where I grew up and that is where I felt safe. And I started college at a local community college. I got my first full-time job with full health benefits and I got my first place. I was 16. And by the end of my 16th year, we get to the point with the bathroom and the pee-sticks and a wrench was thrown in the works. I knew a few things right off the bat. I wasn't going to abort. A lot of people asked me why I wasn't going to abort. A surprising amount of people were willing to ask, why don't you abort?

 

And it wasn't because of some misbegotten belief in God or because I am pro-life, because I am not. It was because I really, really wanted this baby. I desperately wanted this baby to be. It was a pain. I always wanted a baby. I always wanted to be a mother. I always wanted a family. I always wanted something that was mine and pure and good and whole. And I wanted it, but I couldn't keep the promises I made to myself about having a family, that whole mantra about not being my mom. I couldn't give this kid a home. I couldn't give them a life without fear or want. I couldn't promise that I would be there all the time. I couldn't give unfailing support or provide a net. And so, I had to find another solution. And I looked at traditional adoption.

 

But I couldn't have a kid grow up the way I did with so many questions about who you are and where you come from. And I looked at fostering. But again, you know, I traveled that road. It hadn't really gone so well. And finally, someone explained open adoption. And if you don't understand what it is, it means that the adoptive parents want an ongoing relationship with the mother. And the mother, she gets to choose the parents. And I thought, I can do this if he never has questions, if he always knows where he comes from, I can do that. And so, I attacked this like I attacked everything else in my life, like a research paper. And I made a lot of calls and made a lot of notes and I finally found an agency that could meet my criteria. And I had three.

 

My first was that it was a same-sex couple because at this time it was a little harder for them to adopt. But additionally, despite my own sexual ambiguity, I realized that if I ever settled down, if I ever found anyone to settle down with, it would be another woman. I never wanted that to be an issue. Number two, they had to not have any extreme religious affiliation. I had religion shoved down my throat and I thought faith should be a choice and something questioned. And number three, they had to want an interracial child as their first choice. This father-- the father of this baby was black. And I was half very white and half something very brown and short. [audience laughter] And so, I never-- I wanted this kid to be a first choice. I didn't want it to be something they settled upon because they couldn't find a perfect blond-haired, blue-eyed baby or because they were trying to better their karma.

 

And even with those narrow parameters, I had over 200 couples that were viable choices. And each of them had a brochure. And each brochure was full of pictures of their family and friends and their homes and how well educated they were and how much support they had and how financially stable they were. And so, if you are ever thinking of adopting, I recommend a history in marketing. [audience laughter] And after going through those, I found about 40 or 50 couples that I really liked. And I made a long list of questions and some of them are what you might expect, like why are you adopting?

 

But a lot of them were a little different, like how are you going to do this kid's hair? And why don't you believe in God? And what do you do when you are mad? And eventually I found a couple that I really liked. Their names are Gwen and Gretchen. I did not pick their names, but it is really fucking cute. [audience laughter] And they lived up in Portland, Maine, which was far enough for me because I didn't want them to be too close because I totally knew I might be a stalker mom and I didn't want to find myself on a playground. [audience chuckles] So, they were far enough away that I could get there if I needed to, but also far enough away that I couldn't like run there in 10 minutes. And they came down from Maine to meet me. And Gretchen is tall and strong and unflappable and Gwenny is tiny and sweet and nurturing and I like them and they liked me, which was really important because they had to deal with me for a really long time and a lot of people had not really hung in there, so-- [audience chuckles] . But I knew they were right. I knew that they would work and they--

 

I chose them and they gave me an 800 number so I could always reach them. And we weighed the weight of expectant parents and I get bigger and eventually we find ourselves back in this delivery room. And after 23 hours of back labor, I gave birth to an 8-pound 6-ounce baby boy. And he was perfect and he was whole and he was so beautiful. And he had all of his fingers and toes. And I had 48 hours with him and I sang him every song I knew. And I tried to say hello to him and I tried to say goodbye to him. And at the end of that 24 hours, I brought him downstairs and I helped them strap him into a car seat. And I watched these strangers walk away with my baby. And I hoped I had made the right choice.

 

I hoped they were the right people. I hoped he would forgive me. And I never cried. And when I went home, I finally did. I shattered. I broke into a million pieces. And I looked at my body, this 17-year-old body that should be healthy and strong and young. And it was broken too. I had stretch marks that looked like purple claws had come from my belly button to my pubis. And my stomach that had so recently been filled with life was flaccid and dead. And my breasts were heavy and hard and swollen and leaking, trying to feed a child that wasn't there. A baby that was gone. And I didn't know what to do. And I had such a good start. But I stopped living the mantra of how not to be my mother. And I did my best to prove I was just as bad as her. I was someone that could give away a baby. I was the person that could throw away a child.

 

And after never drinking and never smoking and never doing anything bad, that is all I did for the next three or four years, was just try to destroy myself as quickly as possible. And after four years, I made my way to Maine. I finally got up the courage to visit this family that had my child. And I went to their home and it was beautiful. And everyone in it was the kind of person that did what they said they were going to do as a child. They are actors and inventors and dancers. And the kitchen is the kind of place where everyone goes to tell their story and friends meet.

 

And all I saw was everything I wasn't. All I saw was a bar I would never meet. And I watched these people raise a child that I was incapable of holding or touching or saying, “I loved you.” And I didn't know how to do that. I didn't know how to do it for myself. I didn't know how to do it for them. I just hadn't been given those tools in my life. But I did realize on that trip that I had to get my shit together. I had to be someone eventually that this kid, when he was old enough to ask the questions, I had to be worth some-- I had to be someone worth asking those questions to.

 

And so, I went home and I stopped doing all of those horrible things to myself slowly, over years, and [giggles] I made better friends and started building my own family. And eventually I got better. And every year in August, I would visit them. And every year it was a little easier to talk and it was a little easier to share. And it wasn't so horrible when everyone stared at me and said, “You look just like him.” And when he was turning 9, I realized I really needed to change. And I was invited to a meditation seminar about an hour north of Portland. And I went with two of my best friends and we were given homework. We were asked to bring something we needed to get rid of and I had a lot to get rid of.

 

But the one thing I had to get rid of was this concept, this idea about myself, this comparison, this idea that I was Henry's mother, because that is his name, Henry. Because I wasn't. There is a big difference between the person that gives birth to you and the people that raise you. I knew that from my own life. It just took me a long time to learn that lesson for myself. And after this shedding [giggles] and meditation, went to Portland. It was the first time I brought friends with me. It was the first time I didn't second guess myself every time I spoke to them. It was the first time I didn't stop myself from touching him. And I realized this meditation hadn't changed me as a human being. It had just changed my perception in this comparison. It had changed how I saw them.

 

Because I realized these people, these wonderful, amazing people who did such an amazing job raising this brilliant kid had given me the only blueprint I had. They gave me the foundation for what a family should be and what love was and loyalty and what a mother could be-- what two moms could be. And I left there and it was the first time I did not cry all the way till Boston and scream until New Jersey. And I got home. And the year he was turning 10, I found out I was pregnant again. But this time it was so much different because I had spent these years trying to build a real family. And the people in my life were so excited because this baby was the first in our family. And I was still poor and I was still uneducated, but I wasn't alone.

 

I had this wonderful family. And they called and they wrote and they put ads on Craigslist and they drove all over the tri-state area and they filled a storage space with so many baby things that I had to give away two of many things. And when she was born, this birth was also well attended. So many people were there, they had to turn people away at the maternity ward. And Henry carries a picture of Asha in his wallet. I named her Asha. It means hope in Sanskrit. And it was so different.

 

And this year in April, when she turned four and my son will be 14 this year. He came with his mother Gretchen to our house and shared our home and stayed with our family and all the people that chose to be there. And I watched him hold her and play with her. I watched them as part of my family for the first time, really realizing that they were part of me too. And I watched this beautiful, brilliant, strong boy carry his beautiful, brilliant little sister and realized he had become part of the net that would hold her up. Thank you.