About a year ago, I asked my eight year old nephew how he’d
feel about getting another cousin. His eyes lit up, and instinctively flicked
to my tummy, then back to my face, with a questioning smile. Having witnessed
his other auntie pregnant twice, and been fascinated by the development of each
bump, and the little friends that eventually materialised, I could see in his
beaming face the excitement of what he assumed would be about to happen again. I
almost felt sad to have to break the spell in order to tell him that this time
it would be a bit different; there would be no bump.
I had picked my moment carefully to talk to him about this,
because he’s incredibly important to me, and I wanted him to feel completely
involved and comfortable with my journey to parenthood. “Do you know what
adoption means?” was my next question; there was less recognition in his
expression, but his inquisitive nature kept the impetus of the moment alive,
and I began to explain. He was remarkably relaxed and accepting of what he was
being told: that Auntie RoRo and Uncle Ant would give a home to a child or
children whose parents couldn’t look after them anymore. His inevitable concerns were: “will it be a
boy?” and “will they be older than me?”. Since then, we have talked about it in
an open and matter of fact way, and he seems to be looking forward to the
event.
The day I told Isaac we were adopting.
I have had the same, if slightly more sophisticated, version
of this conversation, with many of my friends, family and colleagues over the
past few months. All of them have been excited and encouraging, too, but I sometimes
get the sense that their initial well-wishes are couched in an underlying
sadness on my behalf. I suppose it is (and rightly) assumed that if you are
coming to adoption, there must be a sad reason that you could not conceive
naturally, and that adoption is somehow second best. This is not at all how I feel about it.
At this moment in time, just weeks
away from becoming a mum, I am as joyful and expectant as any parent-to-be. I
am nesting, putting child-proof catches on cupboard
doors, making regular trips to Mothercare, and all the other usual things that pregnant women do. The only
differences are that I am also preparing myself for the unique challenges of
being a parent to an adopted child, I don’t have to pick out names, and I’m not
carrying round an ever-growing bump for all to admire. I am bursting with love for
my two almost-children, and grateful to fate, karma, or whatever you believe
in, for bringing them into my lives. This pregnancy is of the heart.
Several of my colleagues at work have also been expecting
over the past year, and have been very considerate in including me in their
conversations about imminent parenthood. But it has thrown into contrast again
the differences in reaction between physical pregnancy and adoption. When one
of the girls announces they are pregnant to the rest of the office, there is
group merriment and a surge of shared emotion. The words “congratulations” and
“wow” are used a lot. This usually happens just after the 12 week scan, once
they are into the “safe” stage, but with adoption, there is no such milestone
around which to stage a big announcement. We have been filling in forms,
meeting social workers and swotting up on child psychology for months, and the
process of telling people has been very gradual during that time. It’s only in
the last few weeks, when we’ve known who our actual children would be, that the
real excitement has been evident. I suppose until then, with no bump, it is
just not as tangible an event.
As we approached our panel date recently (the moment when we
were officially approved to become parents to the children with whom we’d been
matched), I’d been pondering on how to celebrate the (hopefully) good news.
Like any expectant parent, I wanted to be able to share my excitement with
friends and family, and to involve them in my children’s lives before their arrival. It felt much like that 12 week scan moment, only much closer to the
arrival, and there’s no picture of a foetus to put on Facebook. So I started
looking around for ideas – perhaps other people had come up with a way to share
the news – but everything I found was from the US, and largely to do with
international adoption. I found photos of couples holding a globe or map
showing the country from which they were adopting, but nothing from this country
by parents who’d adopted from here. It seems people are reluctant to shout
about the fact that they’re adopting, like it’s a dark secret they have to
conceal from the world. I find it hard to accept this, and I think the lack of
open celebration about adoption probably contributes to the ongoing mystery
surrounding it.
Photo by cambodia4kidsorg on Flickr
Increasingly I get the sense that the very concept of
adoption is intimidating to most people. As a nation, we are remarkably
ignorant about it – and I’d have included myself in that up until recently. I
have begun to think that if there was less mystique about the whole process,
and if we knew more about the children waiting for new families, we would be
less inclined to produce more of our own biological offspring, and more likely to embrace the idea of
bringing up someone else’s. And if it were more commonplace, maybe we would
celebrate news of an adoption in the same way that we swoon over a pregnancy. But
we are afraid because we know that adopted children can be difficult. We know
that they might reject us, might not look or behave like us, worried that we
won’t be able to love them.
I know it won’t be simple or straightforward, but I am
filled with conviction for the task ahead. I have been given the opportunity to
turn two little lives around, and I mean to embrace it wholeheartedly. Alongside
this determination is a growing need to enlighten others about adoption and to
make them feel more open to the idea. My nephew’s unaffected reaction was the
right one – if someone’s parent can’t look after them then it makes sense that another
adult would naturally want to help them.
In some cultures this is the case, and there is no concept of children
waiting perhaps years to find a new home. Having had the urge myself at
some point, I can completely understand the need to produce at least one
biological offspring, but why have two or three more when there are children
already out there without parents? In 2013, there were over 65,000 ‘looked after’ children in the UK, and only 4,000
or so adoptions. If only a fraction of the 700,000 people who had given birth that
year had adopted instead, all of those children in care could have found new homes. To me these are startling, even shocking,
statistics.
Perhaps the main reason more people don’t come to adoption
proactively, and that there aren’t any common customs for celebrating with
those who do adopt, is that we don’t talk, or even think, about it enough in
society. It’s an uncomfortable truth; something other people do. We teach
children about safe sex and the responsibilities of parenthood, but many of
them will never come across adoption unless they happen to know someone who is
adopted, or have friends who are adopters. And even then, there are no accepted
conventions for exploring the subject.
The past year and a half has been an incredible learning
journey, during which I have become increasingly enlightened about adoption; I
have found the process to be in equal parts fascinating and emotional. I’m
academically stimulated by the books on child psychology and therapeutic
parenting techniques, but constantly affected by the shocking case studies of
real children who have been neglected, abused and un-cared for. Having known a few adoptive families throughout
my life, I considered myself fairly well informed, but I now realise there was
so much I never knew, or even considered, about adoption. I find myself eagerly
sharing my recently gained knowledge with anyone who shows an interest, wanting
to spread more understanding. My friends and family have readily engaged with this, and the questions that people ask, and the
assumptions they make about adoption, have made for interesting discussions. I've welcomed the opportunity to dispel a few myths along the way, for
example:
They’re only babies –
surely they won’t remember anything from before? Firstly, there are very
few babies available for domestic adoption these days. Since the stigma of
unwed mothers and underage pregnancies has become less intense, hardly anyone
relinquishes babies any more. And as for not remembering, there is a lot of evidence
to suggest that even children who are adopted at a very young age carry baggage
from their life before – whether that be fully formed memories or primal,
sensory ones. Nancy Verrier argues in her book, The
Primal Wound, that children separated from their mothers will always bear
the scars created by that fundamental, life-changing rift. On top this, most
adopted children have also been exposed to some form of neglect or abuse which
will have affected their very blueprint for operating in life. To try and sweep
that history under the carpet is like ignoring a lump – it may seem easier not
to confront it, but you know deep down that it will be worse in the long term
if you don’t. Everything I have been learning is about unpicking the past for
these children, while helping them to survive and thrive in the future.
Why does the adoption
process take so long? People don’t
have to go through all that to have birth children – it’s ridiculous. No,
but birth children come to you fresh and unsullied. You can rely on your
instincts to parent them, protect them from harm in the world, and raise them
with your own values and habits. Adopted children have already been imprinted
with tragedy and loss, and your job in parenting them is more challenging, less
intuitive. I have been grateful for the time to prepare, and do not in the
least resent having been subject to a thorough screening process that is
entirely in the interests of both parents and child. And in fact it doesn’t
take that long these days – at least it shouldn’t if things go smoothly. It
only took us six months to get approved, and a further nine to find the right
match – which is about the same as an average physical pregnancy if you count
the time of trying to conceive.
When will you tell
the child he or she is adopted? There is no big reveal - it will be
something we always talk openly about. We’ll create a life story book for the
child, so that they can learn about their birth parents as well as us, their
‘forever family’. We’ll try our best to answer their questions and proactively
help them to come to terms with their unique journey.
What will you do if
your child tries to find its birth parents later? Most adoptions these days
have some form of ‘contact’, which means their birth parents will be present in
some capacity all along. Usually this is in the form of annual letterbox
contact between birth parents and adoptive parents, although sometimes there is
direct contact, if this is deemed in the best interests of the child. I welcome
this, because it takes some of the mystery out of it for the child. I don’t
want them - like Orphan Annie singing “maybe far away, or maybe real nearby” -
day dreaming about the fantasy mum and dad who will one day come and sweep them
up. Better that they should have a realistic picture of their birth parents,
and that they come to understand why they needed to be adopted. If one day they
decide they want to get to know their birth parents better, I will do all I can
to support them, and be there to help them through the likely emotional
fall-out.
You’ll probably get
pregnant as soon as you’re placed with a child – that always happens. I
find this a difficult one to respond to, because I know people mean well in
saying it, but this belief undermines my own acceptance of the journey to
parenthood that I have chosen. If you are struggling to know what to say
in response to someone’s adoption news, the best thing you could ask is “what
can I do to help?”. More than any
cursory encouragement you’d offer a new mum, extend your sincere promise of practical
and emotional support for the person who will be facing the daily, perhaps
all-consuming, challenges of parenting an adopted child.
For me, the journey of adoptive parenthood is just
beginning, and I’m sure there’ll be many more outpourings of words, opinions
and emotions to come. This is a moment, a standing-on-the-edge-of-something
moment, where I cannot help but reflect on all that brought me here and all
that lies ahead. If in sharing my thoughts I have inspired even one other
person to open their eyes to the realities of adoption, and to feel more
comfortable about celebrating it, I am content.
***
Should you be interested in learning more about adoption in
the 21st century, there are some useful resources on Adoption UK’s website, and
I would highly recommend the book 20
Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew by Sherrie Eldridge,
which gives a voice to the great unheard.
