Note: The below writing may be triggering for many reasons.

Give space and time to notice how the body reacts.

In naming what is there for us, we can name it, process, and release it.

Do you have children?

Recently, I’ve changed my response, “I’m childless not by choice”.

I’m not shy or embarrassed to say these words anymore. It’s a step forward, to be honest and authentic about my journey with motherless-ness. Still, I’m typically met with,

You should adopt.

or

I have friends who adopted.

While this is a go to phrase, that I believe others are coming from a place of good intention, if you said this to me, I would smile and nod, “We would love to still have children.”

I would sit and listen quietly to the success of others’ journeys. And I would walk away, burying my hands in my head – this standard phrase easily dismissing the real elements of the journey that rip out the heart.

I have friends who have adopted, their families are filled with amazing love, laughter, and growing children. I preface this experience, by expressing that I hope every child finds parents just for them, with the depth of this love.

But my experience was tainted by that first phone call.

This is the unspoken, painful part of my journey that I have not dared shared.

My heart froze that day.

A piece of me died that day.

We started our adoption journey like all parents in waiting – many phone calls, endless questions, books, Internet searches, and lists. I am an organizer by heart, so I had it all planned out. I picked up the phone and gave a short introduction followed with, “I’d like to know about your adoption services and fees”.

A voice on the other end,

For what race?

“Excuse me?”

For what race, Caucasian or Black?

Fumbling, I had no idea what to say. What do you mean? I couldn’t understand. Not knowing what to say, asking for both, I was provided a price different for each different race. I wrote both prices down on a piece of paper.

Hung up – speechless.

This was the first call.

Anger rose and boiled over. Honestly, I wanted to call them back and cuss them out. Scream at them. I wanted to report them. To who? My lips shut, and they stayed silent for a long time.

Years.

Did I want to be part of a system where the price of a child was based on race? Pay for a child of a particular race. A white child, a child that looked like us, pay more because the value of a white child was higher – and the value of a white baby was the highest.

Of course we called other attorneys, private adoption agencies, and looked at other avenues. But I couldn’t get this out of my mind. What systematic prejudice would I be a part of, and could I live with that?

Today, years after this experience, as we have more conversations around diversity in our communities, it is an important aspect that falls straight into the philosophical idea of white body supremacy. I understood the purest crystal clear that day – a white body was valued more. A white baby was valued more.

I have stayed silent with this experience, not knowing what to do with it, or how to process it. Tainted love, tainted prospect – not quite paper ready - motherly love.

The experience is still very visceral in my body.

A child for money.

I began diving deeper into adoption, wanting a fuller view of both the benefits and the drawbacks to all who are involved. I noticed a movement around flipping the script on adoption. Many adoptions fail before ever welcoming a child into a home. And after, some children have separation anxiety and behavioral issues. Some children were taken from their homes and then sold to adoptive families, the adoptive parents never knowing the truth. Some international adoptees were abused, or returned to their own country. There was much to consider in terms of ethical decisions around adoption that often lay unspoken.

Sometimes, it’s not all roses (and yes, sometimes it is – sometimes it’s amazing and after years of paperwork and waiting, a family is re-united).

How would we know?

Not long after we moved into our home, we were presented with a re-homing situation. This is where an adopted child doesn’t fit with their family and the family is looking for a re-placement home. In many adoption communities, it is taboo.

How would we know what to do? This is what we had always wanted, a child to raise. This is who we were taught to be, a mother and a father. To provide and protect, to nurture and raise the next generation. We listened, we dreamed, we were so excited. I looked at the extra bedroom and thought about re-decorating.

Many discussions on what to do. And in the end, after much heart ache, we decided not to move forward. It was one of the hardest things I have ever done, ever.

To say no.

We considered where we were with finances, and we considered the medical care the child would need, and the support we would need to care for a child. We considered aspects that most natural parents never even think about. It was heartbreaking this was part of our journey and our decision.

Tears flowed from both of us as the dream slipped away.

We listened to a couple who were fostering, but because of their inclusive family dynamics, experienced bias not only in their home study, but all the way through the foster system. We looked at volunteering, but when working with a local volunteer agency, told we could volunteer with a disability organization, one that my husband had worked for several years earlier.

We looked to become paper-ready separately, but again, was upended because of the fees and timing.

An adoption center up the street abruptly folded. We always believed that if we were to move forward, it would be with them. Yet they were a business, based on supply and demand. When they folded, there were no notifications, not even for families in the final stages of their adoption or for those who spent their last dollars on promises and dreams now shattered.

While most international borders are closed due to politics and the pandemic, there are a few successes, but more commonly, grief and heartache.

We are waiting.

We still dream of having a child – to foster someday, a dream that we hold gently, knowing that life is unpredictable. Those who have had successful adoptions give us hope that somewhere there is still a space to be parents. And even now, we know that we can contribute to the life of the next generation. There are so many spaces that need love and attention right now, so much service in our communities.

We all need support to survive this time.

And yet, if you see my eyes glaze over and nod, or I turn away silently at the standard line of adoption, know that I’m not being rude.

There are no words.

No words to express the grief and anger of a path tainted on its very first step.

Megan