“Wait, you knew? And you still decided to adopt?” I felt a bit uneasy as I spoke with this new acquaintance. “Wouldn’t you do the same for your child?” The woman looked at me, clearly surprised.
And then it came, just as I had anticipated: “You and your partner are such heroes!”
Her comment referred to our decision to adopt Mia, a vibrant 5-year-old from Armenia. Mia was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus and has congenital scoliosis, among other challenges. She also produces little to no growth hormones, meaning she’s about the same size as her much younger siblings. Mia can’t walk or stand and requires around-the-clock medical care.
My partner Tom and I are a young, well-educated couple, and we’ve had our share of adventures. As a military family, we move frequently, often away from relatives, which means we endure long deployments and extended absences. We also love staying active—Tom dreams of tackling an American Ninja Warrior course! Yet adopting Mia drained our savings and added to our already busy lives with three other young children, aged 3 to 8, fully aware of the commitment her special needs would entail.
Given these details, I often receive disbelief and unwarranted praise from people when they hear our story. They can’t quite wrap their heads around why we chose this path, especially knowing the challenges involved. I should have grown accustomed to the admiration; I’ve seen my own parents celebrated for adopting my siblings.
But I haven’t. Here’s why.
Firstly, we are just regular people with our own flaws. We argue about parenting strategies, we lose our tempers, and we sometimes forget to check insurance details before taking Mia to a specialist. Her cuteness doesn’t always make up for our frustration. We didn’t speak Armenian, had never adopted before, and we were certainly not experts in dealing with spina bifida.
More importantly, we were scared—really scared—about adopting Mia. From the beginning, both Tom and I felt that, like we were meant to be together, Mia belonged with us. But that realization didn’t make the process easy.
Yes, we experienced fear—not of being unprepared (because every parent, whether biological or adoptive, feels that!) or of Mia’s medical needs, but the fear that we might not be enough for her.
The reality is that we are imperfect, flawed individuals. We simply took a leap of faith, pushing through our fears and uncertainties. We continued to learn and adapt, knowing that retreating would haunt us more than any mistakes we might make along the way with Mia.
When people label us as heroes for adopting a child with disabilities, it allows them to excuse themselves from considering similar paths. By elevating us to a pedestal, they inadvertently close the door on their own possibilities—and on the chance to help a child who could enrich their lives in ways they never imagined.
If you’re interested in more about navigating parenthood and fertility, check out our recent blog post on at-home insemination kits here. For further information on infertility, visit this excellent resource. And for those curious about the benefits of reflexology, here’s a relevant link.
In summary, while adopting a child with disabilities may seem extraordinary to some, it’s simply a choice we made out of love and commitment, just like any parent would for their child. Let’s encourage everyone to look beyond labels and recognize their own potential to make a difference.