In the late 1960s, at the age of 20, I made the heart-wrenching decision to place my child for adoption. While it was my choice, it often felt like I had no real option. The prevailing circumstances dictated that without support from family, a partner, or financial stability, raising a child alone was nearly impossible. Through recent discussions surrounding the government’s apology, I learned that some financial assistance was available at the time, but I was never informed of this option.
Initially, I resolved to give my child up for adoption because I believed the misleading narratives surrounding unmarried motherhood—that I could not provide a suitable home. What I had not anticipated was the deep love I developed for my baby. When the child’s father proposed marriage, I seized the opportunity and decided to keep my child, preventing her adoption. However, just three days before our wedding, he abandoned me. With my mother refusing to take me back after my pregnancy became evident, I had no place to turn. I ultimately contacted the adoption agency and bid farewell to my child in a small room near Baker Street.
After signing the adoption documents, I experienced a mental health crisis. While I was prescribed medication, counseling was not an option for me. Twenty-two years later, my child reached out, and we have since built a relationship, albeit one fraught with challenges. Now in my late 70s, I still struggle with the emotional scars from that time. My bond with my other children has been affected by the trauma I endured. A part of me was irrevocably lost when I gave my child up.
While my child was not forcibly taken from my arms, the circumstances surrounding the adoption felt coercive. The emotional repercussions of that experience have lingered throughout my life and will always remain with me.
My birth mother passed away before she could hear the prime minister’s apology regarding the forced adoptions of over 185,000 children in England and Wales. However, she vividly recalled the immense pressure she faced to relinquish me to a family that was purportedly better suited to provide for me.
I was placed with a “good Catholic family” that was ill-equipped to show me affection, leading me to leave home at the age of 15. I was referred to psychiatric services due to behavioral issues, described as “the devil in the house.” My education was severely disrupted, and I grappled with suicidal thoughts, living intermittently on the streets and narrowly avoiding incarceration. Despite eventually establishing a family and professional life, I was always apprehensive about things falling apart, and sometimes they did.
Through therapy, I learned that the pain of injustice I felt kept me going, even if it couldn’t fully diminish my suffering. It wasn’t until my 60s that I found my birth mother and experienced her unconditional love, which sparked my healing journey. Now at 80 years old, I have come to realize that the shame I felt was not mine to bear, though it cost me dearly to learn this. I now seek to understand what the state plans to do beyond offering therapy, helplines, and apologies to atone for its past actions.
There can be no justification for the forced adoptions of thousands of children as recently as the mid-1970s. What remains unaddressed, however, is the impact this had on the many compassionate families who adopted these children in good faith, providing them with loving homes.
As highlighted by David Batty and others, while society no longer forcibly removes children from unmarried mothers, we continue to fail families and children in other ways. The rise in poverty and the decline of public services have coincided with an alarming increase in the number of children entering the care system. Adoptive parents and kinship caregivers, particularly those caring for children with special needs, are overwhelmed and in dire need of support.
As an adoptive parent and kinship caregiver, I have several grandchildren with special needs currently in the care system. Siblings are often separated, and children are disconnected from their heritage and extended families. My daughter was let down during her childhood, and her children are now experiencing similar neglect. The ongoing pain is profound for us all. While the government’s apology to those who faced forced adoption decades ago is appreciated, it feels hollow without meaningful changes to improve support for vulnerable children today. We have the capacity to do better.
If you or someone you know is in need of support, please reach out to crisis services. In the UK and Ireland, you can contact Samaritans at freephone 116 123. In the US, the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline is available at 988 or through their chat service at 988lifeline.org. In Australia, Lifeline can be reached at 13 11 14. Other international helplines can be found at befrienders.org.
