It means my two children and being lucky enough to be their mum.
Both of my children came to me when they were just three days old, and I’ve had the privilege of watching them grow into the incredible little people they are today. But if I’m honest, I don’t think I truly understood what adoption meant until I became a parent through it.
I adopted A first. Then, two years and eight months later, I was given the chance to adopt A’s biological sibling, T. By that point, I already knew what it felt like to love a child who hadn’t grown inside me but was completely and unquestionably my child. The second time around felt less overwhelming because I knew what to expect, but it still carried all the emotion and significance of becoming a parent again.
I’m actually the odd one out in our family, and I love that.
Watching their relationship grow has been one of the greatest joys of my life. They drive each other mad. They argue, compete, annoy each other endlessly, and then five minutes later they’re laughing together like best friends. The bond they have is something really special. They have each other for life.
But adoption is not a simple story with a happy ending. And that’s probably the hardest thing to explain.
I am incredibly grateful for my family. Every day I feel lucky that these two children are mine. But alongside that gratitude sits another feeling that never really goes away.
For me to have my family, another family experienced loss. That truth exists whether we talk about it or not.
My children’s birth family no longer gets to parent them in the way that I do, and I find that genuinely heartbreaking. I can feel enormous joy and enormous sadness at the same time. Those feelings don’t cancel each other out. They simply coexist.
There are moments when that reality feels particularly present. Birthdays can be difficult. Christmas can be difficult. While we are celebrating and making memories together, I often find myself thinking about other people who may be wondering what the children are doing, what they look like now, or whether they are happy.
As my children grow older, I know they may experience complicated feelings too. They may feel sadness, anger, confusion or grief about parts of their story. They may have questions that I can’t answer. They may struggle with things I can’t fix.
That can feel daunting as a parent because all you ever want to do is make things better for your children. But I’ve come to realise that my job isn’t to take those feelings away. My job is to make sure they never have to carry them alone.
I will always be grateful to their birth family for giving them life. They are part of who my children are and part of how our family came to be. Their story did not begin with me, and I would never want them to feel that it did.
That’s why Staying In Touch, where it is safe and possible, feels important to me.
My children deserve to know where they came from. They deserve to understand their history and ask questions about it as they grow. Most importantly, I never want them to feel that loving me somehow means they can’t love, care about or be curious about their birth family too.
Love doesn’t have to be a choice between one family and another.
We’re very fortunate that we get to see their biological siblings twice a year. There are seven children altogether, and seeing them together is one of the most incredible things. They compare who is tallest, who looks alike, who is good at sports, and what skills they’ve gained since they last met. They find pieces of themselves in each other.
Watching those relationships develop reminds me that adoption doesn’t erase where a child comes from. Those connections matter, and it’s wonderful to see them being able to build them.
We also receive occasional updates about their birth mum and dad. Sometimes the news is positive and reassuring, and sometimes it isn’t. When things aren’t going well for them, that can be hard to hear. It brings back that same mix of gratitude and sadness that adoption so often holds.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that adoption is complicated.
It is full of love, but it begins with loss.
It can bring immense happiness while still acknowledging heartbreak.
The reality is that both things can be true at the same time.
For me, being a parent through adoption means holding space for all of it. The joy, the grief, the pride, the uncertainty, the laughter and the difficult conversations. None of those things makes adoption less beautiful. They simply make it real.
Looking ahead, I hope my children grow up knowing how deeply they are loved. I hope they feel secure in who they are and confident that being adopted is just one part of their story, not the thing that defines them.
I hope they always know they can talk to me about anything, even if it’s painful or difficult. I never want them to feel they need to protect my feelings or hide parts of their own experience.
And for us as a family, I hope for all the ordinary things: laughing together, arguing over silly things, making memories, supporting each other through difficult days and enjoying the good ones when they come.
Because ultimately, adoption means family.
And family, like adoption itself, is messy, complicated, imperfect and beautiful all at once.
