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For those of you who are adopting after infertility, have you actively grieved the loss of your fertility? I used to believe that this was not necessary because I became a mother through adoption. I have learned that becoming a mother is not the same thing as overcoming infertility. Adoption cures childlessness, NOT infertility.
Alison Kathleen Whitney wrote the best description of infertility that I have ever read in a story entitled A Mom Wannabe. Before you click over and read it, make sure you grab a full box of tissues. I have been a mother for 6 years, and I still cried when I read this story again. She does such a wonderful job of enumerating the many losses of infertility.
I am now a mother, so I have experienced some of what she longs for, such as shopping for “adorable, soft, tiny outfits” for my baby. But most of what she wrote about I have never experienced even though I am a mother. I don’t know what it is like to hold my baby who is only minutes old. I don’t know what it’s like to feel a baby move inside of me or the wonder of having two hearts beating inside of my body. When my friends sit around talking about their pregnancies or their labor & delivery stories, I have nothing to say – I have not experienced those life events. These are all losses that I have had to grieve.
Another loss to grieve is the biological child with my nose and my husband’s eyes. It’s the loss of a dream rather than of an actual human being, but it is a loss nonetheless. Sometimes I will see a little girl with features similar to my own, and I will feel like I was just punched in the stomach. A part of myself will always wonder what our biological daughter would have looked like. This does not take away from my love for my son. I love him with my whole heart. But one child cannot replace another, even if the “child” being replaced was only a hope and a dream.
Each of these losses needs to be grieved. Unfortunately, Western culture generally does not recognize the value of grieving. We might allow for grief when a loved one dies, but soon after the funeral we are expected to move on with our lives. There is little support for grieving other losses, such as the loss of fertility.
Ryan Jacobson wrote a good article on this topic called Infertility: I Wish Someone Would Have Told Me. I agree wholeheartedly with his comments on infertility:
Infertility is death, but with this tragedy there is no funeral. There is no gathering of friends and family. There is no closure.
Now that you have chosen to adopt, it is time to grieve your infertility losses and bring closure to that part of your life. The passage of time heals nothing; it is what you do with that time that provides healing. The pain will always be there until you actively grieve your losses. Now, as you wait for your child to come into your life, take some time to grieve the biological child who will never join your family.
This really touched me. I have finally concluded that I don’t think that this will ever go away for me – the feelings of loss. It’s not soemthing that I feel regularly and as the years go by the episodes of these feelings sweeping over me ebb more than they flow – mostly surfacing when we have begun and waited for our second and third adoptions.
For me it’s not that I even long for a bio child – I wish I could have carried and delieverd my boys. I long for the journey/the experience. I still dread conversations that turn to pregnancy, labor, the hospital, etc. I use to feel shame about still feeling some loss.
I recall sitting in a group discussion with moms at my church. As I told my story of infertility and adoption, one woman across the room silently sobbed into her hand. As she caught her breath to tell her story she explained that she had 3 bio children now and had struggled with infertility for years. My story triggered all of those emotions in her again. It made me realize that no matter the outcome with infertility, it is still a very real pain, and my pain was ok. If this woman could still feel this strong of an emotion with her infertility struggle, wouldn’t it make sense that I would too?
Heather,
I am glad that this post touched you. This was a difficult thing for me to work through, too. As I said in the post, I still cry whenever I read the “Momwannabe” story, even though I have been a mother through adoption for 6 years. I still have never carried a baby in my body, and that is a loss. Like you, I, too, dread each time the conversation turns to pregnancy, labor, and delivery stories. I am reminded again that something so basic that almost ever woman on the planet has experienced has been denied me. That hurts.
I, too, wish that I could have carried my son. He has some special needs that are a direct result of things he experienced during the pregnancy — things that I never would have done. In fairness to his birthmother, she did not know she was pregnant for most of her pregnancy, so it is not like she purposely put these things into her unborn’s baby body. Regardless, my son and I live every day with the consequences. If only he could have been spared exposure to certain things in the womb, he would not have to struggle with these issues throughout his childhood. I have never partaken of these substances, so I can’t help but wish that he could have grown in my womb and been spared this. But, this is our reality, and we work through it. I would never change being this child’s mother, even with his special needs.
We did consider adopting again and even went through another home study before we decided to stop at one. During this time, I was sitting with a bunch of mothers at a play group. Everyone but me had a new baby on her lap while their older children played with my son. One woman said, “Last summer, everyone was pregnant, and now we all have our babies.” I left the room and broke down crying. Once again, I was left out, and it hurt. None of these friends knew me during the infertility years, so they did not know the depth of the pain involved.
I can honestly say that I no longer wish to be pregnant. I am nearing 40, and I am content with my life as it is. I have grieved my losses. That being said, the pain can still sneak up on me. I have learned that it is okay for this happen. I comfort myself, and then I move on with my life.
My father died when I was a teenager, and that pain will still sometimes sneak up on me, too. It doesn’t happen often anymore, but it does bubble up on occasion. I think that this is normal with all grief, whether it is caused by death, infertility, or any other loss.
Thank you for your comment.
Take care,
- Faith