What About the Babies?
What viral headlines often forget: the baby has a story too
Content Warning: This post includes personal reflections on adoption, specifically focusing on the emotional impact of abandonment and the trauma experienced by infants left in safe haven situations. Please be aware that the content may be triggering for those with similar experiences.
So… I did something I don’t normally do. I went down a rabbit hole on a social media post from an out-of-town news station that appeared in my feed.
It wasn’t political, but it was certainly controversial—especially if your life has been impacted by adoption. The post highlighted a baby left in a Safe Haven box.
I felt anger rise as I saw the image of a precious, vulnerable baby—traumatized and on full display for the world to see: local, national, and international eyes all bearing witness to his most fragile moment.
As I read through over 100 comments (this is the rabbit hole I mentioned earlier), my sadness deepened. I couldn’t stop thinking about the baby. He reminded me of my own story.
When I was born on a fall October morning in 1973, my biological mother made a similar decision. She placed me outside in the elements, in a place where someone would find me. I may never fully understand her reasons, but as I read those comments, I found myself empathizing more with the baby than the mother—who was being lauded as a hero by people she would probably never meet.
This is a personal reflection, and I am aware that adoptees have a broad range of feelings about their adoptions, and that my experiences are not universal. My hope is to offer an invitation, not a prescription.
My heart was focused on the newborn—left alone and abandoned in his most vulnerable moments. I longed for just one comment that echoed the ache I felt in my spirit. As I poured over each response, I kept wondering: Is anyone thinking about the baby?
On the day he was born, he was thrust into a story that began with grief and loss.
For adoptees, grief begins at birth—even before we know who we are.
Sitting on the side of my bed, reading one comment after another, it became clear that many believed this baby was “blessed” because his mother had chosen a Safe Haven option. But few were willing to acknowledge the duality—the fact that this same child was also being hurled into trauma he may not recognize or understand for years to come.
When this baby grows up, who will acknowledge and hold space for his pain?
I’m reminded again of my first day of life. Though I was rejected and abandoned by the vessel God used to bring me into the world, I was never forsaken by the One who protected me, shielded me, and comforted me—from the moment of my conception to this very second.
A powerful biblical example of this kind of pain and divine care is found in the lives of Hagar and Ishmael. Ishmael was born because of Sarah’s manipulation of God’s promise and became a living reminder of impatience and mistrust. Eventually, Sarah demanded that Hagar and Ishmael be sent away. Abraham gave them bread and water and sent them into the wilderness. When the water ran out, Hagar placed her child under a bush and stepped away, weeping—unable to watch him die.
“Then she went off and sat down about a bowshot away, for she thought, ‘I cannot watch the boy die.’ And as she sat there, she began to sob.” (Genesis 21:16)
But God didn’t ignore their suffering.
“God heard the boy crying, and the angel of God called to Hagar from heaven…
‘Do not be afraid; God has heard the boy crying as he lies there.’” (Genesis 21:17)
This is a reminder that God is always in tune with the cries of the downcast, the overlooked, and the rejected.
My dear friend, take heart. If you, like me, identify with the baby who was relinquished, know this: your pain is real, and you are not invisible. The grief we carry is valid, and the weight of our loss is not easily measured. But hear me—what happened to us does not define us, and it certainly does not diminish our worth.
We are seen. We are known. And we are held by the same God who heard the cries of Ishmael in the wilderness.
You are not alone. You are not forgotten.
And even in the most hidden places of your story, God has never looked away.
As you continue walking your healing journey, I invite you to join me at Adoptees in Arms—a space created with you in mind. There, your voice is heard, your experience is honored, and your story matters. Together, we are removing shame from our stories and reclaiming the truth of who we are—loved, chosen, and never forsaken.
📣 Community Announcement
The Adoptees in Arms Community Gathering is returning this May!
It’s been a while since we last gathered, and I’m truly looking forward to reconnecting with each of you. These monthly meetings have always been a space for honest conversation, shared strength, and healing in community — and I’m so grateful to be bringing them back.
More details will be shared soon here and via email. I hope you’ll join us. You belong here.