Erin Brown Conroy


Erin's Personal Story

"Thirteen Kids?!"

That's always the first thing people say...along with a double take and proverbial jaw drop. Yes. Thirteen beautiful and diverse kids. There's quite a story behind it all. In fact, my story is such a...um...should I say... "different" story, that I've thought about writing a book about it. Kind of like Cheaper by the Baker's Dozen (or Brady Bunch Times Two Plus One...). Nah. It's been done. Besides, it wouldn’t be wild enough for the movies; we don't roller skate through the house and hang from chandeliers.

But I do have quite a story.

The beginning.
I grew up in a family with a mom, a dad, and 7 kids.  Fact is, I had a pretty boring and happy childhood. You'd find me either playing outside with salamanders or sitting in my bedroom with my nose in a book. Until high school, that is. Then I was practicing music, drawing pictures, or watching "The Carol Burnette Show" with friends and a bowl of popcorn (that dates me, doesn't it?). For the most part, I was quiet and, yes, kind of shy.

I married young, while still in college. He seemed intelligent, goal-oriented, and "safe"; after all, he came from a good church-going family, and his dad (an absolutely wonderful man) led Bible studies with the GIs in the Korean War. All-around decent people. I "walked" for my bachelor's degree in education with my pregnant belly hidden under the billowy black graduation gown. Then we moved to a little home in suburbia and began the Fairy Tale.

Problems.
But the Fairy Tale took a turn. All good fairy tales (and all good fiction books, for that matter) have what they call the "Moment of Confict" (with a capital "C"). Usually the Conflict, the problem, the issue, the challenge, the crisis – whatever you want to call it – comes within the first page, with an “inciting incident.”

My “inciting incident” – that first crisis – came one wintry night when my first born daughter was three months old: She stopped breathing and turned blue. I spent all night in the hospital watching her hooked up to monitors, wondering if she’d stop breathing again when I wasn’t looking and die. In that defining moment, my perspective regarding children changed dramatically. The fact that she, as a new baby, woke me every hour and a half with crying and a hungry belly became insignificant. The fact that I felt exhausted as a new mom was now irrelevant. With passionate understanding, I realized my daughter was a precious gift whose breath could be whisked away at any moment. I decided right there that I could withstand any amount of waking, crying, and exhaustion. That resolve influences me to this day.

Now we all know that the very best books - the ones we love to read again and again - don't just have one moment of conflict. In Donald Maas' words (a superb author and agent), the best books "pile conflict upon conflict." Well, here comes the next conflict. I guess my story would make a good book after all.... Truth is, I hated the fact that my life started feeling like a "good book."

Poor health.
I started feeling physically awful. Heart palpitations popped up at any time, any place: In the morning, when eating, even in the middle of the night. I felt nausea and couldn't eat. Exhaustion hung on me from the moment I woke. A minor heart irregularity, they said. Not a big problem, they said. Oh, and the chemical balance in my body is skewed. Don’t worry, they said; we’ll get it back on track. Hmm. I went on medication. The medication's side effects made me feel awful. I didn't know which was worse -- the health problems or the medication for the health problems.

I decided to put my health first. I had no other choice. I certainly didn't want to feel like this the rest of my life. I read every health book and magazine I could get my hands on. I talked to health nuts, gym rats, health store owners, and weight lifting competitors. I ate well, slept well, and exercised. And yes, I started to feel better. Life moved in the direction of "normal" again. As a stay-at-home mom, working here and there to help out our finances suited me well; it was about all I could stand, physically. The doctors said I shouldn't get pregnant (because of the meds for my heart). So years passed with me as the mom of an only child.

With each year, the desire for more children grew. Funny how, when we can't have something, we tend to desire it more. When my daughter was six, we adopted a baby from Korea. A year later, we adopted a four-year-old son. I was asked to be on leadership boards for adoption, for education....And then -- I couldn't believe it -- I was pregnant! Wow – and oh no! I titrated off the medication, and lo and behold, my heart was fine. Life seemed good.

Life falls apart.
Now here's the part in the story where I struggle as to "how many pages" to put in. I'll skip the details. But during those nine months of pregnancy, strange things started happening in my home, with my husband’s behavior. And only three weeks after my fourth child was born, it hit the fan.

My husband left. He had been living a "double life" that you only read about in tabloids, complete with alcoholism, breaking laws, infidelity, and more that I won't mention here (I’ll spare you from the torrid details to the story that initially scorched my soul in ways that words on this page can’t do justice to). And no one – I mean no one – knew about his dual existence. Now, before you write me off as a total doofus for not "catching it," let me just tell you this: One day a few months later, his counselor called me into his office. “The man is one of the best cons I’ve ever met,” the counselor said. Lucky me. 

There I was with four kids , no income (or savings, because he’d spent it all on illicit activities and booze), and an outdated teaching degree. I went back to school on a grant – and with lots of help from my folks and friends.

Erin Brown or Erin Brokovich?
You know that scene in the movie where Erin Brokovich is standing in the kitchen opening the last can of beans? That was me. Totally broke, borrowing money to live. Eating beans and oatmeal. I cried until I could cry no more. Then I got down on my knees and – like Joseph of the Old Testament kneeling in the pit after his brothers threw him in there to die – asked God to make something beautiful of the mess. It wouldn't happen just yet.

In 18 cram-packed months, I had a masters degree in rehabilitation. I moved to Chicago for a job, away from family, away from friends, away from all I ever knew. The job was good – in a premier government facility. They let me know that if I followed their suggestions, I was on the fast track for a high-fallutin' supervisory position. Working with a special needs population, I felt privileged to learn and practice significant skills and invaluable behavior and management truths. Counseling others, I realized how far I’d come myself – and how much I needed to continue on through my entire life with an attitude of learning.

But I'm not a city girl. And first and foremost, I value my position as a mom. I wanted to be home with my kids. After two bizarre years in the city working and commuting more hours than I care to remember, I moved back to a small town in Southwest Michigan, near family and friends.

Starting again.
I humbly started a day care in my home and for seven years, I centered on kids and “early childhood development.” It grew. Putting into practice the organizational, management, and supervisory skills I'd learned in Chicago, I hired teachers and developed curriculum. Eventually, we put together a pilot year with a private school.

I was asked to speak at an early childhood conference. And another. And another. I was asked to step into a leadership position in a church. Then someone suggested I apply for an open adjunct position at Cornerstone University. And I've been teaching leadership, organizational development and strategic management, interpersonal communication skills, health and wellness, and research and writing since – and loving it.

A new life.
I met my husband at church. What a great place to meet. He had two, I had five, and we became seven. Sort of the Brady Bunch – without the singing.

One day, while surfing the web, I stumbled across an "international adoption photolisting" website – one with hundreds and hundreds of children's faces. I was shocked. So many kids without families! That night, I showed my husband the site. We agreed: We would adopt a child together.

And so our family grew. We adopted two children from Russia (that's a whole different story that I'll have to tell you in person). Then we saw a baby from Korea on the web with a cleft lip and palate, and six months later, we had ten children. We were trying to help an agency find a home for two children from Latvia. One day, I asked, "Are we to adopt them?" Then we were twelve.

The first book.
One day at lunch, my sister-in-law said, "Erin, I'm convinced. You need to write a book." I laughed. "No, really," she said. "You have so much to share. Especially with all you've been through. You have a whole bunch of kids who are happy, they get along, and they listen to you – that in itself is something. You're a birth mom, an adoptive mom, and a step mom – and look – you still look great! You've been through so much. You know so much. You have a lot to share. The bottom line is this: Our company wants to publish your book."

Me? An author? Yeah, right! Kicking and screaming, I thought of every excuse that I could think of, to NOT write a book. I'd written manuals, curriculum, even speeches. But a book?! In the end, she convinced me. 20 Secrets to Success with Your Child was born. And at home....

"Unless God brings a baby up to our doorstep, I believe we're finished adopting," said my husband. One week later, a couple walked up to our curb (almost the doorstep) with a baby in a stroller and asked if we'd talk to them about possibly adopting the child. After the initial shock of God’s blatant finger tap on our shoulder, we started the paperwork...only to have it fall through three months later (which often happens with domestic adoptions). We were devastated. Should we still try to adopt? Yes. So we switched our paperwork to adopt a baby from Haiti. Then another tragedy: The day before getting on the plane to go to our baby, we got the phone call that our little boy died. Again, we were devastated. But with our adoption paperwork totally complete, we decided that whatever was going on must be for a reason – to adopt someone. After grieving three months, we surfed the web again. A year later, our thirteenth child – a son from Guatemala – joined us. Yes, all eight of our adopted children originally had some kind of “special need” that made him or her what’s called “a waiting child.” Some “needs” were correctable, some not. No matter. They’re all beautiful.

Life is never dull.
Of the 13 kids ranging in age from 6 to 26, we still have 9 kids at home. Yes, it takes an incredible amount of energy. And yes – it’s worth it!

My days are filled with PBJ sandwiches, late night teen talks, writing, speaking, and teaching. So positively full. God is good.

The truth is, “The Fabulous Fairy Tale Life” doesn’t exist. But God exists. And He’s infinitely aware of our lives – interested in sculpting us into beautiful people with depth and an ability to grow beyond ourselves – no matter what the outward circumstances. How we respond to circumstances has the potential to change us into the person that God ultimately desires us to be. It’s our choice. God of the Universe has a heart for you and me. He likes to turn potentially-awful situations into victorious, epic best-sellers.

Who would have thought that you and I would be sitting at the computer together? I certainly didn’t plan it. But I’m glad you and I are here.

My passion to “do life together” only grows. Why? Because our children are our most precious gift in life. We’re called to be more tomorrow than who we are today. We’re called to touch our children’s lives – teaching them, loving them with leadership skills, compassion, and wisdom. Creating moments of relationship together that last into eternity.

We’re in this together. We all have struggles. We all have tough situations. It's what we do with it all that counts. Every moment is a new moment. Every breath is a chance for a new direction – a positive direction. You and I – with God’s help – have the power to get there.

 

 

 


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