I knew what I was signing up for. At least… I thought I did.
When I chose open adoption for my daughter, it wasn’t because I didn’t love her—it was because I did. I wanted her to grow up knowing where she came from. I wanted her to know I didn’t vanish, I chose what I believed was best.
The adoptive parents, Mara and Kevin, were everything I hoped for. Kind. Steady. Prepared. They let me visit, send gifts, even be there the day she was born. And that moment—the photo you’re looking at—was one of the most beautiful and brutal of my life.
But no one prepares you for what comes after.
Like how Mara started calling me “Mama Sera” in front of her. Or how they started tagging me in holiday posts with captions like “Our co-parent in love.” It sounded sweet, but each time, it twisted in my gut.
Because I wasn’t parenting. I wasn’t choosing schools or soothing midnight fevers or watching her grow up in real time. I was still the girl in the hospital room who kissed her baby goodbye and walked out with empty arms.
I tried to draw the line gently. “I think we need some boundaries,” I texted one night, after Mara asked if I could come to preschool orientation.
She replied: “But you’re family. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
I stared at my phone for a long time.
Was it?
Then, just last week, I got a voicemail—from their lawyer.
“Hello, Sera. This is Emma from Mara and Kevin’s legal team. We need to discuss something important regarding the custody arrangements for your daughter. Please give me a call back at your earliest convenience.”
I felt a cold wave wash over me. My heart raced. Custody? I hadn’t heard that word in years. I had agreed to an open adoption, but I’d never imagined it would come to this. My mind began to race with all the worst-case scenarios. Did they want to cut me out completely? Were they looking for full control of everything, even my ability to see her?
The thought stung more than I cared to admit. I loved my daughter. I wanted her in my life. But as I sat there, listening to the voicemail again, I couldn’t help but feel like I was losing grip on something I had once believed I could navigate.
I called Emma back, my voice tight with anxiety.
“Sera, thank you for returning my call,” Emma said. “So, as you know, Mara and Kevin have always been incredibly open with you about their intentions to make sure your relationship with your daughter remains strong. However, after a few recent concerns—particularly regarding your involvement in their family life—they’ve asked us to initiate a formal agreement that clearly outlines visitation, boundaries, and responsibilities.”
My breath caught in my throat. “What does that mean exactly?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“It means they’re asking for some legal clarity on the terms of your involvement. They want to ensure that there are no misunderstandings moving forward. They’ve mentioned the possibility of reducing the frequency of visits and taking a more structured approach to your role in their daughter’s life.”
The words hit me like a slap across the face. My mind flashed to the holiday posts, the way they had been slowly merging our identities. To the moments when I had felt like I was being invited into their lives, only to realize I was just a guest—someone they were tolerating, rather than a co-parent. I had never intended for things to feel so confusing, but somehow, they had gotten tangled in ways I didn’t know how to untangle.
“I don’t understand,” I said quietly, almost to myself. “We’ve always talked about being a family. I thought I was being a part of her life, just… in a different way.”
“I understand this is difficult,” Emma’s voice softened. “But Mara and Kevin are just trying to set some guidelines that work for them as parents. They love your daughter and want the best for her, and they need to know that the boundaries are clear for everyone involved.”
I hung up the phone and sat there, numb. The realization started to sink in—this wasn’t just about me. This wasn’t about being a mother in a different way. This was about my role in my daughter’s life being redefined by someone else’s vision. They had their own family, their own rules, and I was just… a visitor.
The next few days were a blur. I tried to stay calm, but the thought of losing the connection I’d fought so hard for was suffocating. I felt helpless. The love I had for my daughter was real. But did Mara and Kevin feel threatened by it? Did they think that by being involved, I was somehow challenging their role as parents?
I wasn’t trying to co-parent. I wasn’t trying to undermine them. I just wanted to be there for her, as much as they would let me. I had accepted that I wasn’t going to be the one waking up to midnight cries, or watching her first steps, or having the everyday moments that a mother gets. But I had hoped for more than this—more than just the scraps of a relationship.
Then came the twist.
It was a Saturday afternoon when Mara called. Her voice was strained but calm.
“Sera, I’ve been thinking a lot about what we talked about,” she began, the words slow and careful. “And I want to apologize. I think we’ve both lost sight of what we really wanted in this relationship. It wasn’t supposed to be about control or boundaries or lines in the sand. It was supposed to be about love and trust. I think I may have crossed some lines with you, and I want to make it right.”
I didn’t know what to say. A part of me felt vindicated, like I was finally being heard. But another part of me was still raw with hurt.
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
“I realized that I’ve been acting out of fear,” Mara continued. “Fear that you might want more than what we agreed to. Fear that you’d want to take over, or that somehow, this would all unravel and we’d lose her. But that’s not fair to you. You’re not here to replace us. You’re here to be her family, just in a different way. I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.”
Her words were like a balm to my heart, but they were also the hardest thing to hear. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand her fears—I did. I just didn’t know how to prove to her that I wasn’t trying to disrupt their family. I didn’t want to replace anyone. I just wanted to be part of her life, in a way that worked for everyone.
“I never meant to make you feel like you had to walk on eggshells around me,” I said quietly. “I love her. I just… I don’t want to lose her, you know?”
“I know,” Mara replied. “And I think we’ve both been too caught up in trying to protect what we have that we forgot to honor what’s best for her.”
We agreed to meet. We decided to take the next step—together.
When we sat down face-to-face, something shifted. There was still tension between us, but there was also understanding. We talked openly, honestly, about our fears, our expectations, and what we needed moving forward. We created new boundaries that felt right—clear, but flexible enough for all of us to adjust when necessary.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.
And that’s when the karmic twist came in. Shortly after that meeting, Kevin came to me, looking a bit hesitant but with a genuine smile. “Sera,” he said, “Mara and I have been talking. We’ve both been selfish about what we thought was ‘best’ for you. But we’ve realized… we need to let you be her mom in the way that works for you, too. We want you to have a role in her life. Not as a visitor, but as someone who truly matters to her. We don’t want to take that from you.”
I almost couldn’t believe my ears. The relief I felt in that moment was overwhelming. It wasn’t just about the visitations, the lawyers, the custody—this was about love. About understanding. About seeing each other for who we truly were, and not what we feared we might become.
In the end, we all learned something important: the real role of family isn’t about titles or boundaries or how much time you spend together—it’s about showing up for each other when it matters. About trust. About love.
And sometimes, the hardest lessons lead to the most beautiful transformations.
I encourage anyone who’s ever struggled with the idea of family—whether biological or chosen—to remember this: love is messy. It doesn’t always look like what we think it should. But when it’s real, it has the power to heal, to grow, and to make us better than we ever imagined we could be.
If this resonates with you, please like and share. Let’s spread the message that family isn’t about perfection—it’s about connection.
