Joye's Story:

My childhood began with all the odds (or statistics) stacked against me. My parents divorced when I was an infant, and my mother married a sociopath who would be my stepfather for 12 years. I was severely abused and neglected by him throughout the duration of those 12 years, and I had a horrendous self image and some equally horrendous ideas about sex, love, and the like.

I went into foster care for a 6 month stint when I was 15 and eventually went to live with my mom, once she decided to leave that creep. By then, though, I was very angry…defiant…and confused. I was admitted to a psych ward at a children’s hospital when I was still 15, for suicidal tendencies. I rebelled like crazy when I got out and was excessively truant from school. I made good grades when I was there, and most of the teachers described me as a “bright, intelligent student.” It didn’t matter though (I thought), because I was raised in poverty and never believed I’d amount to anything. I believed that education could only be wasted on me.

I began dating a 19 year old, who I’ll call “Will,” when I was 16. As mixed up as I was, I was still a virgin, but as is so common for teen girls with my background, I seemed to gravitate toward the creeps. Will was no exception. He preyed upon my low self esteem and pressured me into having sex with him. I finally relented and just went to my “happy place.” This relationship became violent and scary, but I couldn’t seem to find my way out of it.

After dropping out of school in the 11^th grade, I was sent to truancy court. The judge sent me to yet another psych facility for a month, after which I was “sentenced” to 5 live-in months at a military school. While at the psych facility, I got up the nerve to send Will a “Dear John” letter. He began stalking me while I was in military school and sent letters detailing my activities (to let me know he was watching).

In the meantime, I got wrapped up in a new boyfriend, who I’ll call “Shawn.” I had consensual sex with Shawn, and asked one of the adult directors for birth control from the health clinic. She said that she couldn’t do that without parental consent. There was NO WAY I was telling my mom anything!

I finally graduated and decided to move out to Utah with my friend, Laurel. I thought it would be a refreshing, new start…that would get me away from all the ugliness my life had been. Just before leaving Little Rock, though, I was raped by the psycho, Will. Although I wanted a fresh start in Utah, I didn’t waste much time before I had a one night stand with Pete, a very dark, wiry haired Tongan guy. (You’ll understand later why that pertains to the story.) Two weeks after I arrived, I met Russ. We began having sex right away.

About 2 months after I arrived in Utah, I found out I was pregnant. I was shocked and scared, but I knew my promiscuity had to catch up with me sooner or later. I may have had no self respect or couth, but I was smart enough to know that I was just asking to get pregnant. Automatically, I assumed that either Will or Shawn was the father. I don’t know if my abusive past made me want to protect Pete and Russ, so I didn’t have to face being rejected, or what, but I didn’t even think of them as possibilities. I was horrified and felt suddenly alone…more than a thousand miles from “home.” I dreaded telling Russ, because I just knew he would leave me, and I didn’t want to admit to my mom that I wasn’t as innocent (sexually) as she had thought. I felt like a complete and utter failure.

Nevertheless, when I called my mom to tell her, she was very calm and consoling. She asked, “Is there anything I can do?” I was so startled by her response, as I had come to know her as a very aloof mother. Unfortunately, my friend Laurel blurted out my “condition” to Russ, before I even had a chance to speak with him. I told him that he wasn’t the father. I told him that he could leave and never look back…and that I wouldn’t resent him for that. He broke down and cried to his mother on the phone that night…but he stayed.

I called Shawn and told him that I was pregnant. Even though we had parted on good terms, he abruptly replied, “What do you want me to do about it? I have a new girlfriend now, and she’s pregnant with twins. We’re going to get married and move to Michigan, where she’s from.” And that was that. I never spoke to him again. Will (as is common with stalkers) tracked me down and called me. I screamed at him for raping me. I told him I was pregnant and that there was an obvious possibility that the baby was his. I told him that I was considering adoption, and he had the nerve to reply, “If it’s my baby, you can’t give it up for adoption without my permission!” I reminded him that if it was his baby, it was a product of rape…a criminal act for which I had not turned him in. And that was that.

Shortly thereafter, Laurel retreated to her parents in Charlotte, and I felt even more alone than before. Luckily, my biological father and his new wife, Jillian, lived in Utah already, and I began working on building a relationship with him. I told them that I was pregnant, news that they were surprisingly calm about (perhaps because of the lack of relationship). They invited me to move in with them after Laurel left, and I gladly accepted, as I felt that I had no other options at that point. (I was not employed.)

I decided that with all of my baggage, my lack of employment, and without a father in the picture, I should relinquish the baby for adoption. Jillian was childless, infertile, and “too old” (she said) to be considered for a baby. It didn’t take long before she started pressuring me to relinquish my baby to her. I didn’t really answer her, but still, she was quick to say, “But it would call me ‘Mom,’ not you.” I finally told her that I wasn’t comfortable with that situation and declined her “offer.” Our relationship quickly fell apart, and she conveniently kicked me out in short order. (Looking back, I think she only invited me to move in, in hopes of getting my baby.)

I had no where else to go but Russ’. I moved in with him, and we played house. He took care of me and went to all of my doctors’ appointments with me. He was there for the ultrasound and spent more than one night in the hospital with me, as I was very ill throughout my pregnancy. This didn’t go over well with his parents, though, and I became the “antichrist” and “live-in whore” overnight.

Regardless, they told me about a great couple they knew that had two children and were desperate to adopt. We began exchanging letters, and eventually I chose them. (I had gone to an agency before, but that memory is just a blur now.) The one request I made was that they send me pictures “at least once a year.” They agreed and said they would do whatever (with pictures) that I was comfortable with.

Well, my birth daughter’s birth came and went, and I struggled internally, in deep dark places, over the relinquishment and aftermath.

Eventually, Russ and I would marry…after dating for over a year. Many people viewed him as a hero…a noble person to have remained with me throughout my pregnancy. Two years after the birth of my first child, Russ and I gave birth to our son, Roddy.

Marriage was sometimes a struggle in those early years. We both had gobs of baggage to sort through before we could be whole. Somewhere around when Roddy turned five, we began to come together in a new way, with more peace, love, and commitment. Our relationship has continued to improve ever since!

Somewhere along the road, I was talking to a friend about my pregnancy, those early days in Utah, etc. She blurted out, “Joye, didn’t you have a period after you got to Utah?” I certainly didn’t think so, but I asked her why nonetheless. “Joye, the first time you came to my house after you got to Utah, you asked me for a tampon and ran to the bathroom.”

Oh my God! She was right! I remember now! I did have a period after I got here! Why hadn’t I remembered that before? Why hadn’t she told me before?

After we hung up, my mind was reeling! I started counting and recounting the months of my pregnancy. I began to remember other details of my post-Utah-arrival period.

Why had I assumed Will or Shawn was the father? Why had I discounted Russ and Pete?

I finally decided to approach Russ with this “discovery.” He had a hard time at first believing that I had forgotten something important like that now notorious period. I presented the evidence to him…asking for the tampon at the friend’s house, buying tampons while I lived with Laurel, etc. But there was still this three week discrepancy between mine and Russ’ first sexual encounter and my birth daughter’s birth date. That would put the timeline squarely in Pete’s lap, but here’s the thing. My birth daughter has straight, silky strawberry blonde hair, blue eyes, and is tall and skinny. As I mentioned earlier, Pete was Tongan. It just didn’t add up.

I didn’t bring it up again for a long time. Recently however, yet another clue dawned on me; I had been so sick, so often during my pregnancy (in and out of the hospital), that my doctor began stripping my membranes during every visit and doing other various things to “encourage” my body to go into labor early! There were the three weeks!

When I noted this to Russ, he was speechless. He had a question for a long time about whether or not he was the birthfather, but that missing three weeks had him stumped. We immediately pulled out my birth daughter’s baby pictures and studied them. “She definitely looks like a (our surname) baby!”

We have no red hair on my side of the family, but Russ’ does. That would explain the “strawberry” in her hair. My family isn’t comprised of tall or skinny people, but Russ’ is. We also reflected on the description others have given us of her. Her features fit Russ’ family features to a T.

That was it! We were both convinced! Russ still hasn’t found it in himself to tell his parents that he was/is the father of this beautiful child, but I don’t fault him for that. (They have a strained relationship anyway.)

But I marvel now as I reflect back upon the fact that he was there. He was there the whole time…believing I was pregnant with someone else’s child. He held my hair back when I vomited. He rushed me to the ER over and over and stayed in the hospital (on a cot) with me for a week, when I was very ill. He was holding my hand when I gave birth. He held this fresh baby. He bathed her. He changed her diapers, and ultimately, he was the one that lovingly handed her to her adoptive parents. How marvelous that he was able to experience that! He doesn’t have to be overwrought with regret or sorrow now, because his actions then were indeed noble enough to ward off any regret that could have otherwise occurred.

My birth daughter’s adoptive parents defaulted on their agreement to send pictures after she turned 14 months old. Their decision to do so, which they said was in her “best interest,” was devastating to me. I felt abandoned on some level. I was grief stricken enough when I relinquished my daughter, but then I had to cope with the adoptive parents relinquishing me. Someone coined a defaulted adoption agreement as a “secondary loss.” I find this term to be very appropriate and validating. It’s been nine years now since I’ve seen a picture of this young lady, and I haven’t ever stopped hoping that a magic envelope will arrive in the mail one day. Oddly, I have known where her family lives all along. I know where they work, where they go to church, and where she attends school, but I have never breeched their boundaries. If only they could find it in themselves to return the same level of respect to me.

My life has changed a great deal in the years since. Russ and I have a wonderful marriage. As of this writing, Roddy is eight years old and in the third grade. I am a full time psychology student, with hopes of attending graduate school…for a PhD in clinical psychology. We own a home now and have three pets…all rescues. We started and ran a donation center for two years, which provided free clothing, toys, and gifts to children in foster care in our county, as well as domestic violence victims…almost 200 all together.

Last year, we became licensed as foster parents and recently “upgraded” our license to “therapeutic level” to handle the “toughest” kids. We’ve had 14 foster children in our home in the last year, four of which have been long term. We are in the process of adopting two of them…sisters (ages 11 and 10), and there are hopes that we will be able to adopt the other two…stepbrother and sister (ages 12 and 10). Ironically, I would have had these children when I was 16, 17, and 18…a time when I was a mess and relinquishing my first child. My “new” children often express concern, hurt, and fear that I could have given up a child and tend to equate that with the abandonment they feel with regard to their own birth mothers. That is one price I pay…but I am willing to pay it. I am not just surviving now; I am thriving and have broken the generational cycle of abuse.

Perhaps my daughter will someday wonder how I could adopt these other children, after “giving her up” for adoption. Perhaps. I suppose I will have to face that question if and when it is presented to me, but for what it’s worth, I know that I have been deeply touched and altered by the process of adoption. Adoption will always remain near and dear to my heart, after having lived with the psychological repercussions of relinquishing my first child for adoption. As a result, I feel that I am honoring the spirit of adoption by now adopting traumatized children…now that I have overcome my own past demons and bettered the original model of myself. I have something to offer these children…empathy, understanding. I have been there…where they are. I was in foster care for six months and was abused for longer than any of them have lived thus far. I understand. I understand, and it makes me more capable of holding them up until they are able to use their own feet to walk the earth.

I just hope my first daughter is able to understand that someday.

Left - Joye's children, clockwise from top left are: Tanisha (10), Talissa (11), JR (12), & Roddy (8).
Right - Joye's hubby, Russ

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