Approximately two and a half years ago Eli and I decided to expand our family through adoption. The decision was made after having two miscarriages, but don’t let that fool you, it was not made for us. We chose and still choose adoption. A biological family wasn’t necessary for us. Around the time that we made this decision we felt so excited. We knew that this was exactly where we were meant to be. We researched agencies, talked to lawyers and adoption experts, and attended informational meetings. We stood at the edge of the lake just ready to jump in headfirst.

I now cringe at the “adoption newbie” I was at that point.

Today Eli and I attended one of three informational sessions to pursue the next step of our journey to adopt. To update you all we are pursuing public adoption of children, specifically sibling groups, out of foster care (side note: the number one goal of foster care is reunification, and we are not only very aware of it, but we also vehemently support it). But let’s face it…we have now relinquished to the fact that who knows where we will end up.

So exciting, right? No, that’s what I felt and thought as I sat in a chair at a private adoption agency two and a half years ago looking at adopting a cute and cuddly infant from a brave first mom (again my naiveté showing). The lake that we had just jumped headfirst into began to slowly but surely freeze. Today, being very well informed, we walked into an informational session that we already knew most of the information for, but that was required of us. We were updated on the two licenses we would have to hold, the 30+ hours of training we would have to do, among other things. That isn’t what made me cringe at the wide-eyed Chelsea of two and a half years ago. Today I didn’t feel excited. The ice on the lake became super thick at this point and was strong enough to walk on.

Don’t get me wrong…I am eager to begin parenting, especially with such a great partner in Eli, but I’m not excited. Why? The children who will come to me through adoption will be coming to me after being removed from their first home. This is a devastating event to have to deal with, regardless of the reasons for removal. Then they will be placed in a foster home, will spend an extended time there, before being placed in an adoption permanence resource. Notice how I said “the children who will come to me through adoption”? Perspective, and a little bit of wisdom, has allowed me to really notice that it isn’t my place to call them my “future children”. Not when their first families are fighting like hell to keep their family together. This is where the very frozen lake we had been walking on began to shatter, but not break. We could still walk on it.

See I’m not excited because I’m aware.

This is going to be a really hard journey. But it should be…especially for us as future adoptive parents. Why? Because it shouldn’t be easy to take a child away from their first family. Every attempt possible should be made to assist a child in remaining with their biological family, whether that be their biological mother and father or their biological extended family. Because the children who come to us through adoption will hurt and long and ache for their first family. As they should. The trauma of losing a first family is a big wound, and we understand that. Because nothing is as simple as it seems.

Awareness is key, and I’ve really learned that in the two and half years. It isn’t about your “missing puzzle piece”. It isn’t about cute little blackboard signs acknowledging the addition to your family. It isn’t about acting like this child’s DNA and biology doesn’t matter. What it’s about is the willingness to open your eyes to just how monumental it is for a child to adjust to his or her identity of being adopted.

So for those of you who have been closely following our journey…we aren’t confused, although I know at times it may seem like we are. As a matter of fact, I think we have more clarity than ever, even if it is still a little a cloudy. See, sometimes the water is liquid and you jump in headfirst and realize it’s just not the right time to swim. Eventually the lake freezes over, becomes crystal clear and you can walk on it. And even though that big crack exists and it looks like you are going to fall through you don’t. It supports you, holds your weight, provides a sense of stability. And it’s at that moment you realize you should have been standing on the lake the whole time and not swimming in it.

~Chelsea and Eli