I found myself in a profoundly difficult place a few years back when I sought the help of a counselor. Despite having faced challenges before, nothing prepared me for the overwhelming despair that engulfed me. My then 5-year-old daughter, Mia, had just received a diagnosis of PCDH19, a rare and severe epilepsy that carries no cure and can even be fatal. As I grappled with the implications of this diagnosis for Mia and our family, I felt utterly shattered.
During my third session, the counselor suggested I consider “re-adopting her out.” His reasoning was that much of my stress stemmed from Mia’s struggles; therefore, relinquishing her to another family might alleviate my own suffering. That moment was pivotal—I never returned to that counselor.
This recommendation touched upon a contentious issue known as rehoming, a practice in which some adoptive parents choose to abandon their children. Often, this occurs when families are unprepared for severe psychological challenges resulting from past trauma or when they fail to access necessary services to support their children. Unfortunately, rehoming frequently occurs without proper oversight, leading to devastating outcomes for the affected children.
While I believe the counselor’s suggestion was well-intentioned, it struck me as deeply insulting to imply that I could simply abandon one of my children to ease my own pain. Such advice stems from a misunderstanding of the essence of family; to me, there is no distinction between the children I have adopted and my biological child.
Long before Mia came into my life, I would sneak into the empty nursery, praying for my future daughter. I collected books about inspiring women to share with her, envisioning the remarkable person she would grow to be. I had already embraced motherhood well before I ever laid eyes on her.
When Mia arrived, she was in turmoil. She cried incessantly, displayed aggressive behaviors, and expressed her anger by lashing out. On her first visit to therapy, she even flipped off her counselor, a reflection of her inner struggles. Although she was far from easy, she was still my child.
The moment Mia began having seizures, my heart plummeted into a realm of fear known only to a mother watching her child flirt with mortality. I spent countless nights by her hospital bedside, attuned to the sounds of medical machines, praying for her recovery. My commitment to her care was not merely my duty as her foster mother; I believed it was essential for a child to have their parent beside them during such crises. When our caseworker suggested we might consider stepping back from our commitment, it was an opportunity to walk away. But I had already been her mother for a year and a half, and I couldn’t abandon her then. My husband and I finalized Mia’s adoption a few months later, fully aware of the uncertain road ahead.
What my former therapist failed to grasp was that, for our family, adoption is a lifelong commitment. Adopted children can present significant challenges, pushing us in ways we never imagined, and our lives must adapt to provide the necessary care. Our families should not be disbanded but rather supported. When adoption is treated as a flexible arrangement, it leads to a troubling cycle where children are shuffled between homes without adequate support.
If rehoming is considered an option, it can create a situation where caseworkers, facing adoption quotas, may rush placements that are fundamentally flawed from the start. This perspective reduces families like mine to temporary solutions, prompting misguided suggestions to return children like unwanted pets. My children are not disposable. I would never consider sending away my biological son because parenting him is challenging; my adopted children deserve the same unwavering commitment.
Months after finalizing the adoption, we received Mia’s genetic testing results, confirming her diagnosis. Despite the emotional turmoil, when asked if I regretted our decision to adopt her, my answer remained a firm no. Regardless of the challenges that lie ahead, she is my daughter.
Every morning, I pause at Mia’s door, praying she is still breathing and that the seizures haven’t won while I slept. This fear lingers, and it likely always will. However, I refuse to discard my child simply because living with the fear of losing her is arduous. While I am uncertain of where this journey will take us, I am committed to staying on it until the end.
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In conclusion, the bond between an adoptive parent and child is unbreakable, and the challenges that arise should lead to increased support, not abandonment.