Adoption is Not a Cure for Infertility - Perspective from an Infertile Adoptee

I feel like this blog should start with a disclaimer.

This post is not intended to offend anyone. I am going to try my hardest to address this topic from multiple angles - because I find it to be extremely complex. The topic of adoption can drudge up a slew of feelings from adoptees, adoptive parents, and those battling infertility. It is my hope that I have given this post thought for enough time to write it in a way sheds sheds light on an important and sensitive topic.

For those who have struggled with fertility, chances are at some point, a well-meaning person has brought up adoption.

"Have you thought about adoption?"

"You could always adopt."

"There is more than one way to grow your family..."

And the worst... "Why don't you just adopt?"

Let's first get what should be the glaringly obvious out of the way. Anyone who has struggled with infertility has likely considered ALL the possible options... including adoption. During our infertility struggles, we discussed adoption on multiple occasions. Please trust me when I say that asking if we thought about adoption is not a question that needs asked. And imploring those struggling with fertility issues to adopt... well, that's not much better. ESPECIALLY if you ask why we don't "just" adopt.

Now, I would like to share a bit of my personal backstory to help put into perspective why I have the stance I do when it comes to the topic of adoption as it relates to infertility. I hope it will create the necessary frame needed to understand where I'm coming from.

I'm an adoptee. I was adopted from South Korea as an 11 month old. My adoption was private and closed. I know very little about my biological parents. What I do know is my adoptive parents (henceforth referred to as my parents, because that is who they are) are incredible parents and I have two wonderful sisters. I grew up in a stable and loving home and was given opportunities I never would have had growing up in Korea with a single mother in a country that favors boys.

My biological father left when I was very young, 10 years my biological mother's elder. At some point, my biological mother, now single and just 18 or 19 years old, felt she could not care for me. She wanted more for me.

The other thing I know is that no matter how great my childhood may have been, no amount of unconditional love could prevent the deep-seeded abandonment issues, deep-rooted loss of feeling of security, and a deeply desperate desire for answers.

My parents struggled with fertility issues. For that reason, they chose to look into adoption. And after loads of paperwork, background checks, and waiting (and waiting... and waiting...), the outcome was me coming from Korea to America in January 1987.

At this point, I'd like to pause and look at my particular adoption story. Did you notice something?

My parents suffered through miscarriages.

My biological mom lost her daughter.

I lost my biological parents.

That's three major losses suffered by four different individuals. And I'd put money on the fact that this is the case for the majority of adoption cases - the adoptive parent or parents, the biological parent(s), and the adopted child(ren) have all experienced loss.


So what am I trying to say? Part of what i'm trying to get across is that adoption isn't a case of adoptive parents rescuing some poor orphan. It is not NEARLY that simple. (Sidebar - for the love of Pete, please never say to an adoptive parent that their child is "lucky" to have them. That goes double for saying it in front of or to the child Absolutely nothing is "lucky" when it comes to adoption. Just... don't.) When you flippantly suggest someone adopt, you're failing to recognize the utter heartbreak that is involved.

Time to tie this back into the struggle of making the decision to adopt that those who are experiencing infertility.


When I read articles on topics like IVF, the comments that make me the MOST angry are the ones that say anyone struggle with infertility should adopt because there are so many children who need homes. Is the fact there are many children who need homes false? No. But does that make it the responsibility of those struggling to have biological children? Absolutely not.

There's this weird stigma that I have observed that I can't wrap my mind around. The idea that it's somehow selfish to want biological children. After all, remember all of those children who need adopted? It's as though parts of society shun the idea of reproductive therapy when there are children who need parents. Why bring more children into our already overpopulated world?

There is nothing wrong or selfish about wanting biological children. (Conversely, there's nothing wrong with not wanting children... but that topic alone could take up an entire blog post). It's a natural animal (yes, we are animals) instinct - to continue our bloodline. And if a couple has tried and tried and tried to bring a child into the world, it's hard-wired into our genes.

This next bit isn't really easy for me to write. There are very few people who I have verbally expressed this to, but I'm hoping my perspective will give well-meaning individuals something to consider before they suggest adoption.

I'm an infertile adoptee who has (after multiple discussions with my husband) decided that adoption is not for me. My personal story plays heavily into this decision. I know it seems backwards... as an adoptee, why wouldn't I want to turn around and do the same?

Because I have seen and experienced the realities of adoption first-hand. I remember what I put my parents through. I remember how hard I struggled with my identity and self-worth. As an adult, I'm still working through my identity, self-worth, abandonment issues, and attachment issues. I have come a long way, but it has taken multiple years and therapists to get me to where I am today.

After years of wanting nothing more than to be called "mom", I know that if we adopt, there's a chance I'll be told "you're not my real mom". There will be questions about the biological parents. Questions that are natural and valid. Questions that are inevitable. I know because I asked questions. No matter how good of a life we provide, the desire for answers and a sense of closure will always exist. I know myself. And I know that there is no way after the pain and loss from a more than 5 year period of time I can handle taking on those questions. Not only that, I am being honest with myself and recognize that these questions will not only hurt as a reminder that if I adopt, I still didn't get to experience pregnancy. I don't get to look down and see my eyes or nose combined with my husband's smile and hair. Wounds that have taken years to heal would be ripped open. It's just not for me.

That's MY reason. But, to be honest, no one owes others an explanation as to why they would choose not to adopt. To anyone struggling with infertility who has heard the adoption suggestion or question over and over again... you do NOT have to share your reason unless you WANT to. Whatever your reason may be, I know it has been a topic that has weighed heavily on your heart many times. I have been there. And for some time, I felt guilty about the fact that it's not for me.

For the sake of what may be your curiosity as to why a couple would choose not to adopt, let me share a few other potential explanations.

If someone has seen negative pregnancy test after negative pregnancy test, experienced miscarriage or child loss, and/or has had reproductive therapy fail - that person has already been through the emotional (and potentially financial) ringer. There was a dream. And that dream was shattered.

Adoption isn't a simple solution by any means. And for couples who have already suffered disappointment, going through the adoption process does not guarantee that the process will be smooth. There is no guarantee that it will result in immediate placement. The biological mother could always change her mind. Another member of the child's family may step in. Many cases require fostering before adoption. In those instances, multiple court dates are typically involved. For a couple that has already experienced waiting and waiting only to have the rug pulled out from under them again, the prospect of adopting can be terrifying.

And none of that takes into account the financial aspect of adoption, the home studies, Some couples don't have the financial resources to begin with. Others may have already tapped out their financials undergoing fertility treatment.

Please do not misunderstand me. I think adoption is an absolutely beautiful and wonderful way to grow a family. I have my family because of adoption. I know and love families that have grown through adoption. But, for all of us... I am aware of the heartbreak that is there. Adoption is NOT a cure for infertility.

Adoption is wonderful, but it is not for everyone. And there is nothing wrong with that. Those who think otherwise have probably not been through the trenches of infertility, and I can understand why. It's hard to grasp the full magnitude of something you haven't experienced.

If you know someone struggling with infertility... please stop bringing up adoption.

If it gets brought up will we disown you or yell? Probably not. Will we feel jolted and shaken and possibly burst into tears after we part ways? Probably. Will we gently correct you? Maybe. While it may be a legitimate question, it's not a very supportive question.

The next time you want to ask about adoption? Try asking how you can support that person instead. It will make a world of difference.

Love,

The Infertile Adoptee

A New Decade - Finding the Grace to Move Forward

 

I have had this post on my mind for some time now, but I struggled with getting my thoughts out in a way that wasn't just a jumbled collection of the many things that have tugged at my heartstrings for the past several months.

I began the year thinking I would blog more. Be inspiring. Be motivating. Help others. Unfortunately, that never happened. It wasn't for a lack of content or ideas. It wasn't due to lack of time. It wasn't due to lack of motivation. Looking back on it now as I face another new year, I realize what held me back was doubt, fear, and self-loathing I had allowed to build up over a period of time.

I went into 2019 wanting to radiate a positive example - to be the light in the dark for someone. How could I possibly do that if I was in such a dark place? I felt like I was just repeating myself. I figured it was best to just keep quiet and force myself through the day-to-day survival. I was ashamed of still feeling hurt, angry, confused, abandoned, and dismissed. I didn't want to admit that my faith in God was completely non-existent - I had come to a point where I had essentially written Him off and wasn't on "speaking terms" with Him. If I couldn't say anything positive, I didn't want to say anything at all.

I realize now that doing so was a mistake. That I had allowed my life to be controlled by lies I had convinced myself to be truth. 

Now, some of the beliefs I have developed about myself were a result of past traumas from which I never fully healed. Add to that the chronic pain, health issues, failed IVF cycles, and instances of being treated poorly as a result of my health issues - it's a great recipe for compounding those negative thought patterns. It allowed them to grow and flourish rapidly, like weeds. I found myself suffocating.

In the spirit of the new year, I think it's time to come clean and admit where I have been this past year. It's time to break my silence, be honest, and start healing without allowing shame to weigh me down.

My endometriosis came back and I was constantly in pain.

My husband's grandmother passed away.

My chronic pain got worse, to the point where I was back on strong pain medication and couldn't work.

My endometriosis and pain got so bad, I ended up in psychiatric care due to active suicidal thoughts because I just wanted the pain to stop.

My work life got interrupted because I was incapable of working full days without suffering flare-ups.

My work life became strained and uncomfortable as I found myself being treated differently being on medical leave and part-time disability.

My family life suffered because I couldn't do something as simple as go and watch a softball game or go to the zoo without suffering a flare-up.

My family life suffered because I couldn't stand car rides without suffering 3-4 day long flare-ups after trips.

My social life suffered because I couldn't commit to plans.

My grandmother passed away.

My work life got to a point where I was so uncomfortable with how I felt I was perceived I decided it was time to pursue a new career path.

My search for a doctor locally to treat my endometriosis left me feeling frustrated and angry that no one was listening to me.

My car was totaled on Halloween - a day we struggle with anyway because it was our second cycle loss - because it snowed and I lost control of my vehicle on a slick patch.

My fifth surgery in a five year period happened more than 5 hours away from home.

My amount of hospitalizations ended up being more than I care to try to count.

My desire to go to church and connect with God was completely gone.

Now, I don't say all of those things because I'm looking for sympathy. There are a couple of reasons I have chosen to share them now.

One - I know I'm not the only one who has had a tough year. In fact, I'm willing to bet there are many out there who have had a worse year. And I want those people to know that they're not alone. And, if you are like me and found yourself at the end of 2019 wondering where on earth the year went and why you "allowed" yourself to curl up in fetal position and stay there, that you're not the only one who did that. I don't like admitting that's what happened to my year, but it did. And I can choose to let that shame carry with me into the new decade, or I can reflect on what happened, pick myself back up, and give it another shot. If you spent last year in a similar fashion as me - hiding out because you were embarrassed or ashamed of how you felt about yourself and/or your faith and/or your life - I want you to know that it's ok. I think had I recognized the anguish I was feeling, my struggles, and my pain - not just within myself, but outwardly and honestly - the healing process could have happened quicker. And that's an important lesson, I think. Just because we cannot see the silver lining doesn't mean what we have to say, our thoughts, or our feelings are invalid. It means we are human. And sharing those stories might just be what someone else needs to hear.

Two - out of many of those struggles listed, something absolutely beautiful has bloomed.

Sure, there are things I lost. But there is so much more on the horizon as a result.

I learned even more the importance of advocating for myself. You are your own best advocate. Believe in that. And if you need help? Please let me know and I'll give you some tips and a pep talk. If you don't speak up, you won't be heard.

I have made new connections. I have found that as I am more open about my struggles with endometriosis and infertility, others are sharing with me their stories. When I totaled my car, I ended up being taken by ambulance due to neck pain as a precaution. I'm not sure why, but I shared with the EMT the story of my struggle with endometriosis and our infertility issues. I was met with that person's story of their family's struggles with the same issues.

I became stronger mentally by recognizing I don't deserve to be treated poorly because of something I cannot help. I didn't ask to have endometriosis. I didn't ask for it to come back. It's not my fault, nor is my infertility. I stepped back from situations where I felt there was a lack of understanding - and, in some cases, borderline bullying and abuse. I realized I didn't have control over my medical condition, but I had control over how I would allow myself to be treated.

I took a huge leap of faith when my grandmother passed away and decided it was time to go back to school and finally go into education. She was a third grade teacher for most of her life. Losing her was a wake up call for me. Life is too short to be doing jobs I'm not passionate about. Not just that, but it gave me the courage to finally embrace what I believe I have been called to do with my life.


Now - as for my faith. We started going back to church towards the end of 2019. I had to force myself into it. But, I'm so glad I did. Each message not only brought me closer to wanting to rebuild my relationship with Christ, but made me realize I was exactly where He wanted me to be. While I can't recount every sermon topic, I can recall that each time, I was moved because it felt like it was a message I needed to hear at that time.

Most recently, my husband and I came across a song called "Scars". (You can listen to it here). The gist of the song is being thankful for the hardships we have endured because they have made us stronger in our faith and convictions. Not only that, they shape us into stronger people.

With that, we can choose to stay silent, or we can choose to speak our truths and struggles into the world and share how we got through them. And while it's not always a nice, neat, tidy path, we got there.

The sermon that Sunday - just a day or two later - was on "The Old You - Leaving the Past Behind". And that sermon is what inspired me to finally write again. Not because I think the past is some taboo, awful thing. Not because I'm abandoning "old" Kristy. But, because despite what happened in 2019, 2020 is here. And I get to decide if I just cling on to the past hurt, insecurity, and shame I have carried with me - or if I leave it behind me. That's not to say we'll ever forget the hurt, or that the hurt won't resurface. I embrace those parts of my past - those parts of me - because I wouldn't be who I am today without those struggles.

I have heard of people choosing words to represent their year. My word is grace. I'm giving myself grace. Grace to hurt. Grace to heal. Grace to celebrate to despite the hurt. Grace to hurt despite the blessings. Grace to make mistakes. Grace to share what's on my heart and stop censoring myself. Grace to free myself from shame. Grace to move on.

My hope for you this year is that you will also give yourself that same grace. I know it can be a struggle. I know you might be in a place where this sounds completely foreign and you think I'm full of it. I've been there. Which is why I often refrained from speaking out about my faith journey - I didn't want to offend anyone. I didn't want to alienate someone who was hurting because they were or are angry at God. I didn't want to bring down those whose faith is strong. I didn't want to hurt those whose faith had been shattered. So here it is - no matter what I share with you this year, I hope you give yourself grace to allow yourself to feel how YOU feel about it, without feeling ashamed. Shame is such an ugly thing that weighs us down and it is SO hard to shake. But, if you need it - I'm here for you.

So here's to 2020. A year of finding the grace to continue to move forward. Grace to be exactly where we are, free from shame, self-doubt, and judgement.

For the past year, I have asked others for prayer because I couldn't bear praying myself. This year, I want to do the same for you. Please reach out to me if there are prayers I can lift up for you.

Love,

Kristy