Adopted But Not Rejected

Chosen, more than once.

Adoption is complicated.

For me, the complications of infertility and adoption are intimately linked.

I feel judged when people ask why Lenny and I don't have children.

When onlookers tell us that it's time for us to adopt, my temperature rises -- I hate it. Yes, I know hate is a strong word. But, it is excruciating to be reminded that cancer stole our opportunity to share the bond of a biological child.

Let’s clear something up: Adoption isn’t a treatment plan for the grief that emerges from infertility. You’ll never fully recover if you use adoption as an oversized bandage for infertility-induced grief. Even amid new life, the wounds of grief fester.

It’s complicated.

Here’s some advice from one childless woman:

Before you inquire about their family plans, pause and ask yourself, "Why am I asking this question?" and "Is this really any of my business?"

If you want to show your support to someone struggling, just do that -- Tell them you love them or ask how they are managing. Then listen and don't give your opinion unless they ask for it.

Adoption is beautiful and complicated.

Who can agree that one of the most complicated blessings in life revolves around our families? Those people we love, embrace, and tolerate all at the same time. Families are beautiful, and I have yet to encounter one that isn’t steeped in complications. 

My genetics are central to my most complicated familial relationships—the family I share them with and the family I don’t. The more I try to make sense of my genetic connections, the more restless I become.

I used to be obsessed with the “why?” You know, I wanted to know and understand WHY everything happened. WHY was I abandoned? Why did the God I believe in choose to put me in a different family?

For most of my life, I hardly knew anything about the woman who carried me around in her belly for nine months. The mother that I never hugged, touched, or held.

Yet, my intense feelings around justice and equity indicate that I am clearly her daughter! As an adult, I learned that she staged a sit-in at her high school so girls could wear pants. I guess you could have called her an activist!

She was also a caregiver and a helper. As a much-beloved nurse, she dedicated her life to assisting people who were sick but unfortunately couldn’t help herself. Her life was complicated, and I was a part of that complication. I was a part of her crisis and the focus of her pain. That’s hard to swallow sometimes.

The complications continue.

I “met” my birth mother over a phone call long before face time existed. Hearing my mom’s voice for the first time was one of my life's most emotionally complex moments. (You’ll have to read my book to see how it all played out.)

When I got word from my biological brother that my mom had passed before I had the chance to meet her face to face, time stopped.

The grief.

The regret.

The pain was unbearable and impossible to understand. How could I be grieving someone I’d never actually met?

Years later, I can see the beauty of this complicated and devastating situation in every detail. I understand that connecting with my first mom only months before her passing was a gift. My first mom took her last breath, knowing that her firstborn child always cherished her and was safe, happy, and loved.

Adopted but not rejected

Last year, I shared a few thoughts on a social media platform about adoption and infertility. One comment hit me like a ton of bricks. 

They commented, “Adoption is a great way to give love to a child who has been rejected.”

Rejected. Is that how people see me?

These words stung.

Reframing what it means to be adopted.

Here’s what helped me reframe what it means to be adopted.

Even though I was abandoned at birth, I was not rejected.

I was chosen.

I was chosen not once but twice, first by my birth mom and then by my second mom.

Some things are just meant to be complicated and beautiful.

This is an important distinction. It helps me know that I was not a mistake but a blessing. It reminds me that a crisis can transform into a beautiful and meaningful mess if we are open to the possibilities.