Adoption is Not Going Away: So Where Do We Go from Here?

Adoption is one of the most debated topics on social media today. Depending on where you look,

you may find stories of profound gratitude, stories of deep loss, and everything in between.

Everyone has a right to their perspective, and those perspectives are often shaped by personal

experience. The challenge arises when personal experiences become universal conclusions.

Over the years, I have met adoptees whose experiences led them to feel tremendous gratitude. I

have met others whose experiences led them to feel tremendous pain. More often than not, I have

found that people's feelings about adoption are shaped by the experiences they have lived

through. Those experiences do not necessarily make one person right and another person wrong.

They simply lead people to different conclusions.

The longer I have been involved in adoption conversations, the more I have realized that two

things can exist at the same time. An adoptee can be grateful for the life they were given while

still grieving the questions they may never have answered. Someone can love their adoptive

family while also wondering about their biological family. Someone can acknowledge the

opportunities adoption provided while also recognizing the losses that came with it.

Too often, people feel pressured to choose a side. They are expected to view adoption as either

entirely positive or entirely negative. But life rarely works that way. Human experiences are

often more complicated than that.

Perhaps the goal should not be convincing everyone to feel the same way about adoption.

Perhaps the goal should be creating enough space for people to feel differently about it. When

we recognize that two things can exist at the same time, we create room for more honest

conversations, more understanding, and less pressure to fit every adoption story into a single

narrative.

Creating understanding is easier said than done. We live in a time where many conversations

have become "my way or the highway." The longer we hold a belief, the easier it becomes to

assume that our perspective is the correct perspective. Over time, it can become difficult to

separate our personal experiences from universal truths.

Adoption conversations are no exception. One thing that has become increasingly clear to me is

how often people become convinced that their perspective is the perspective. While our

experiences undoubtedly shape how we view adoption, they do not necessarily define how

everyone else should view it. What may be true for one adoptee may not be true for another, and

what brings pain to one person may bring peace to someone else.

I remember being told during a conversation that no matter how happy I become; there will

always be a void because I am adopted. I understand why someone might feel that way. Their

experiences may have led them to that conclusion. But what stood out to me was not the feeling

itself. It was the certainty.

How can anyone know what every adoptee will feel for the rest of their life?

Some adoptees feel a lifelong sense of loss. Some feel overwhelming gratitude. Some experience

both at the same time. Some move back and forth between those emotions throughout their lives.

Adoption is not a single story. It is a collection of millions of stories, each shaped by different

circumstances, personalities, families, cultures, and experiences.

That reality is important because adoption is not going away.

Regardless of where someone stands on adoption, it has existed throughout history and continues

to exist today. Throughout generations, people have stepped into the lives of children and

assumed the role of caregiver, protector, and parent. The Bible contains several examples. Moses

was raised by Pharaoh's daughter after being placed in a basket on the Nile. Esther was raised by

her cousin Mordecai after losing her parents. Joseph accepted the responsibility of raising Jesus

despite not being His biological father.

The concept can even be observed in nature. There are documented cases of animals caring for

young that are not their own, including animals serving as surrogate mothers for orphaned

offspring. While human adoption is far more complex than these examples, they demonstrate

that caring for and raising vulnerable young extends beyond biological relationships alone.

None of this removes the complexities of adoption. None of it erases grief, loss, trauma, identity

questions, or unanswered questions about one's origins. But it does remind us that adoption is not

a temporary phenomenon. It is not something that suddenly appeared, and it is unlikely to

disappear.

So perhaps we should ask a different question.

Instead of spending all our energy debating whether adoption should exist, perhaps we should

spend more time asking how we can help people navigate it well?

I was adopted from China when I was ten months old. Before that, my story began on a doorstep

where I was found as an infant with no note, no name, and no information about my biological

family. Like many international adoptees, there are pieces of my story I may never know.

Those questions are real. They always will be.

But I am also not going to wake up tomorrow and suddenly not be adopted.

The reality of my adoption is permanent. The past cannot be changed. The circumstances of how

my story began cannot be rewritten. Because of that, I have found myself asking a different

question: How do I move forward?

How do I acknowledge the questions while still embracing the opportunities? How do I

recognize the losses without allowing them to define every part of my life? How do I make the

best of the life I have been given?

For me, those questions have become far more productive than trying to determine whether

adoption is entirely good or entirely bad.

The reality is that two things can exist at once. I can wish I knew more about my biological

family while also being grateful for the family that raised me. I can acknowledge loss while also

recognizing opportunity. I can have questions while still finding peace. I can appreciate the

challenges of adoption without allowing those challenges to become my entire identity.

Yet social media often struggles with this idea. Platforms reward certainty. They reward strong

opinions. They reward declarations that tell people exactly what they should think. What they do

not reward nearly as often is nuance.

As a result, adoption conversations can become divided into extremes. Some portray adoption as

entirely positive. Others portray it as entirely harmful. In reality, most people's experiences fall

somewhere in the middle.

The problem with extremes is that they leave little room for people whose experiences do not fit

neatly into either category.

I know adoptees who carry significant pain. I know adoptees who are deeply grateful. I know

adoptees who experience both. Their stories are all valid.

My concern is not that we talk about challenges. We absolutely should. Adoptive parents should

educate themselves about trauma, attachment, identity development, and the unique experiences

many adoptees face. Difficult conversations matter.

What concerns me is when awareness turns into certainty. When people begin speaking as

though every adoptee will feel the same way. When one experience becomes everyone's

experience. When pain becomes a guarantee rather than a possibility. When healing becomes

impossible because someone has already decided what another person's future will look like.

The truth is that none of us know exactly how another person will process their adoption over the

course of a lifetime. People grow. People change. People gain new perspectives.

The views I hold today are not the same views I held five years ago. I suspect they will not be the

same views I hold five years from now. That is not a weakness. It is part of being human. As we

gain new experiences, our understanding evolves.

Perhaps adoption conversations would benefit from a little more of that mindset. A little more

curiosity. A little more humility. A little less certainty. A little more willingness to acknowledge

that our experiences, while real and important, may not represent everyone else's.

At the end of the day, adoption is not going away. The adoptees already here are not going away.

The questions are not going away. The challenges are not going away.

Because of that, I believe the most important question is not, "Who is right?"

Instead, I believe the more important question is, "How do we move forward?"

How do we help adoptees build meaningful lives? How do we help birth parents heal? How do

we help adoptive parents love their children well? How do we create conversations that leave

room for both pain and hope?

Those are the questions that interest me most. Not because they provide easy answers, but

because they focus on something we can actually influence.

We cannot change the past. We cannot undo adoption. But we can choose how we respond to it.

We can choose to learn. We can choose to listen. We can choose to extend grace to people whose

experiences differ from our own. And perhaps most importantly, we can choose to leave room

for the possibility that someone else's journey may not look exactly like ours.

My hope is not that everyone agrees with me. My hope is simply that we become more willing to

challenge our assumptions, listen to perspectives different from our own, and focus less on

proving who is right and more on helping people move forward.

Because behind every opinion is a person. Behind every adoption story is a human life. And

perhaps that is where meaningful progress begins.