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Please Don’t Call Me a ‘Hero’ for Adopting a Child with Disabilities
“Wait, you really knew? And you still went through with it?”
I felt a wave of discomfort wash over me as I stood in front of this new acquaintance. “Well, wouldn’t you do the same if it were your own daughter?”
She just stared, her mouth slightly agape.
Just wait for it, I thought. Here comes the classic line…
With a deep breath, she exclaimed, “You and your partner are absolute heroes!”
Her question was about our adoption of Mia, a vibrant 5-year-old from Armenia. Mia was born with spina bifida, hydrocephalus, and congenital scoliosis, among other surprises (like her body producing almost no growth hormones, which means at nearly 6 years old, she’s the same size as her 15-month-old brothers). She can’t stand or walk and needs round-the-clock medical care.
My partner Jake and I are relatively young, educated, middle-class, well-traveled folks with a bright future ahead. As a military family, we often find ourselves far from relatives, moving frequently, and sometimes dealing with weeks-long deployments. We both love long-distance racing and staying active (Jake even dreams of competing on a certain popular obstacle course show!). To top it off, our adoption drained our savings and then some. We were already juggling three little ones, aged 3 to 8, before welcoming our new chatterbox into the mix, fully aware of the lifelong commitment her physical challenges might entail.
Given all this, we often receive disbelief and unwarranted praise when people hear our story. Many can’t fathom that we actively chose and paid for this life. I should be used to it by now; I watched my parents receive accolades when they adopted my siblings.
But I’m not. And here’s why.
Let’s face it: Jake and I are human, with our fair share of flaws. We argue about discipline, occasionally lose our tempers, and sometimes forget to get a referral from our insurance for Mia’s specialist visits. Her adorableness doesn’t always make up for our impatience. We don’t speak Armenian, had never adopted before, and were total rookies when it came to spina bifida.
Moreover, we were terrified—multiple times—about adopting Mia. Deep down, we both knew that, just like we were meant to be together, Mia belonged in our family. But that doesn’t mean it was easy.
We’ve felt fear—not because we were unprepared (because let’s be honest, every parent, biological or adoptive, feels that) or because of Mia’s medical needs, but because we worried we wouldn’t be good enough for her.
The truth is, we are flawed, complicated beings. All of us are. Jake and I just happened to say yes despite our fears. We kept pushing forward, learning, and improving, knowing that retreating into our comfort zone would haunt us far more than any mistakes we could make with Mia.
When people call us heroes—saying they could never do what we did—they’re actually letting themselves off the hook. By placing us on a pedestal, they’re giving themselves permission to avoid the hard choices: “Well, only heroes like Jamie and Jake adopt, and since I’m no hero, I guess that means I can’t!”
And that’s the kicker: By labeling us as heroes, they’re closing the door on their potential—and any child who might bless their lives in ways they never imagined.
If you want to dive deeper into related topics, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination for more insights.
In summary, while our journey to adopt Mia has been riddled with challenges, we are not extraordinary for doing so. We are simply imperfect people who chose to embrace the unknown. There’s no need for labels like “hero” or “saint” because anyone can take that step forward if they choose to.