Infertility, Adoption & Grief by M'Recia Seegmiller, CSW

Infertility, Adoption & Grief
Years ago, I sat across the desk from a urologist at the University of Utah. As I listened to the doctor review my husband’s test results, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach: due to his chemotherapy, we had less than a 1% chance of ever conceiving on our own. The doctor compassionately offered to schedule an IVF consultation, but we declined. We had already decided if we couldn’t get pregnant we would “just adopt.” 

In the days and weeks that followed, I was perplexed by my own emotions. I felt depressed and angry, but why? I grew up in a very adoption-positive environment (a few of my closest friends were adopted) and was taught that adopting a child was “no different” than giving birth to one of “your own.” I shoved those feelings aside and was soon filling out paperwork at an adoption agency. I didn’t know it at the time, but I didn’t actually want to adopt. I was trying to use adoption as a fertility treatment. 

How do you use adoption as a fertility treatment? You see, I was hoping we could be like the couples in those stories you hear from your well-meaning aunt: the ones who tried to get pregnant for years and, when they decided to adopt, got pregnant! Doesn’t God have a sense of humor? I was doing my part in this exchange with the universe- tempting fate by attending adoption education classes, completing background checks, creating a profile to show to expectant parents…but my heart was never in it. With every month that I didn’t get pregnant, I felt more and more like adopting was some kind of consolation prize. When I pictured my future, I didn’t actually see myself with an adopted child, I saw myself with a child of “my own.”

Learning my history, it may surprise you to learn that I did end up adopting a child- and he is no consolation prize. After four years of half-heartedly exploring every family building option under the sun, I welcomed a five pound baby boy into my heart and home. I was over the moon and completely in love with this tiny little human. Ten years later, I’m still wrapped around his little finger. Going from viewing adoption as second-best to the best thing that ever happened to me required me to do something that surprised me: grieve. 

What does grief have to do with adoption?
Grief is a confusing concept for a lot of people. We traditionally associate grief with death, which is why suggesting that grieving has anything to do with adopting can seem strange - no one has died. 

Grief expert David Kessler says this about grief: “When people say to me, “What is grief?” I’ll say, “it’s the death of something. It’s the death of a loved one, it’s the death of a marriage - it’s called a divorce. It’s the death of a relationship - it's called a breakup. A job loss is the loss of that work world you had.” 

Grief isn’t just about death; it’s about loss. For the majority of people who choose to adopt, that choice was preceded by the loss of - the death of - the way they imagined their family would grow. Many of us expect that our lives will follow the formula of “first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage.” Infertility interrupts the flow of this dream. 

Adoption is not a cure for infertility
After that fateful day with the urologist, I came home and checked out an adoption agency’s website in hopes of finding some comfort. I poured over every sentence, trying to grasp what was ahead of me. On their website was a list of discussion items to help determine if you are ready to adopt. This question crushed me: "Do you understand that adoption will not cure the pain of infertility?"
I took that question to mean: "Do you understand that there is NO cure to infertility? Do you understand that even if you do adopt, you're still going to feel this soul crushing pain? Do you understand that the only way you'll be happy is to get pregnant?" 
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Now, many years later, I understand this question was getting at something different. Adoption does not cure infertility, but it does cure childlessness.
Infertility is the inability to conceive and bear children. Childlessness is the state of not having a child. 

Adopting a child will not suddenly change a couple’s ability to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term. While adoption does give you the opportunity to be a parent, it does not give you the physical and emotional experiences of pregnancy, a genetic link that connects past and future generations, the conception of a child with your life partner, or a baby that has mommy’s eyes and daddy’s nose.
Does that mean you’ll never be satisfied with anything else? Not necessarily. That’s where grief comes in. One of the funny little realities of life is that there is always loss in choosing. When you make a choice, you feel the loss of what you did not choose. In order to joyfully accept the realities of adopting a child, it is necessary to grieve the losses of that choice. 
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How do I Grieve?
I often say that the easiest thing to grieve is death. I don’t mean the actual death of someone we love is easy, but what I do mean is that the grief is pretty straight-forward. The grief associated with infertility is often referred to as disenfranchised grief: when your grieving doesn't fit in with society's attitude about dealing with loss. When a loved-one dies, it’s common for your support system to gather around you, send flowers, and bring you a casserole. When you decide to stop pursuing fertility treatments, there is no funeral and there are no casseroles. The first step to grieving your infertility is to recognize that you are experiencing a legitimate loss. 

Humans will do almost anything to avoid grief. If we think there’s a way to opt out, we will try to opt out. It is our instinct to avoid unpleasant feelings, but grieving asks you to step into the pain. Validate your emotions and desires, remind yourself the grief won’t last forever, and find activities and rituals that help you hold space for your feelings. This includes things like journaling, writing a letter to a hoped-for child, finding something to nurture (pet, plant, etc), burying a box of sentimental items in the ground, creating art, sharing your story, joining a support group, and more. 

Acceptance
The magnitude of the grief we experience is in direct proportion to how much we cherish something. If a pregnancy with a genetic child really matters to you, you will likely experience a lot of grief around that loss. Grief is a process and when we have grieved in a good-enough way, we can come to a place of acceptance. While you may feel some lingering sadness about your infertility at different times of your life, fully allowing yourself to feel your pain and mourn what might have been can lead you to a place of peace with, and even excitement about, the options before you. As I like to say, on the other side of grief is fertile ground for something new. Adopting a child is in no way inferior to having a genetic child through pregnancy and moving through your grief means you can fully appreciate what is miraculous and wonderful about adoption.

In parting, consider what Dr. Alice Domar, author of Conquering Infertility, has to say about non-genetic parenting: “Very few people start off liking these parenting alternatives. But over time most couples come around to being okay, and eventually very happy, with these choices. They read, they discuss, they think, they let it simmer. They talk with other couples who have taken these paths. They read some more and think some more and agonize some more. Gradually their discomfort turns to acceptance. Their acceptance turns to excitement. And when they hold their baby in their arms—their adopted baby or their sperm-donor baby or their egg-donor baby or their gestational-carried baby—their excitement turns to sheer, unmitigated joy.” 

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