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My life started out as Baby Girl Martinez, in Santa Ana, California. When I was three days old, my biological mother chose a couple to adopt me. Life was idyllic, growing up in a modest one-story home in a working-class neighborhood near Disneyland, raised by my loving adoptive parents, both immigrants.
Cancer took my adopted mom when I was just eight years old. I felt ripped off, having lost not one, but two mothers. It would have been more than a little girl could handle, if not for the mothers of my friends who took me under their wings. They provided the nurture I desperately needed. A village of strong, compassionate women helped to raise me while my adopted dad, a union plumber, worked 12-hour days, six days a week.
Even with the immense loss of the most important women in my life, I felt destined to be a mother. It was a dream in my heart and something I took for granted. Until I realized I couldn't get pregnant.
Infertility prevented me from having biological children.
I had fostered children, and when I was 42 years old, my husband and I fostered and then adopted a teenager. We went into parenting following intensive training and with our eyes wide open. There were challenges, as one would expect with a child who suffered through trauma and abuse for most of her young life. I visited residential treatment centers and pediatric psychiatric hospitals across Southern California countless times in efforts to help our daughter.
Then, when I was 44, my husband died unexpectedly. I was suddenly a widow and a single mom.
The grief was brutal. But I forced myself every morning to get out of bed, go to work, and be the mom that my adopted daughter needed me to be.
Despite my circumstances, I knew I was fortunate. I had the support of friends, coworkers and neighbors who gave me the courage and confidence I needed to be a mom.
I knew that there were other women who didn't have the advantages I had. But in a country that is rich with resources, programs, education, and career opportunities, there is no reason we can't provide what women need to be mothers.
Every woman deserves equal access to motherhood.
I believe that a woman can have a baby and have a career. I believe that a woman can go after her personal dreams and raise her children. I believe that our culture needs to let women know that it's okay to be a mom. I believe that communities and churches need to come alongside women to provide equal access to motherhood.
My story of motherhood isn't traditional. But I believe I have made a difference in this world.
Too many women are told that because of their circumstances, they can't be a mom. But when we offer support, resources, providers, and programs, we can empower women to not just survive as a mom but thrive.
There are many areas we need to collectively work on to ensure women have equal access to motherhood. Daycare, for one, is difficult to find for many families, and it is expensive. Imagine companies allowing parents to work remotely when feasible, or providing on-site, affordable daycare for employees? There are thousands of churches across the United States that have beautiful Sunday School facilities for babies, toddlers, and elementary-aged children that could open Monday through Friday to serve as a community daycare.
Let's eliminate obstacles and provide equal opportunities for future moms everywhere. Let's make sure moms are celebrated not just on one day in May, but 365 days a year.
Diane P. Ferraro is CEO at Save the Storks, a national non-profit organization with the mission to create a story of hope and empowerment for every woman facing an unplanned pregnancy.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
