A few years ago, I found myself in a place of despair that I never thought I would experience. After a series of personal struggles, I sought help from a counselor. My then 5-year-old daughter, Maya, had just been diagnosed with PCDH19, a rare and severe form of epilepsy that carries no cure and can even be fatal. I was overwhelmed, trying to understand the implications of this diagnosis for her and our family.
During my third session, the counselor suggested I consider “rehoming” Maya. His rationale was that most of my stress stemmed from her condition, and by placing her with another family, my mental health would improve. That was the last time I ever sat on that man’s couch.
This troubling suggestion referred to a controversial practice known as rehoming, where some adoptive parents relinquish their children due to unforeseen psychological challenges, often linked to previous trauma. Unfortunately, rehoming is typically done without any government or agency oversight, leading to devastating outcomes for the children involved.
While I believe he had good intentions, this recommendation felt deeply insulting to me as a mother. It suggests that I could abandon one of my children to alleviate my own struggles. Such a viewpoint reflects a failure to grasp the true meaning of family, which, in my heart, extends beyond biological ties. I feel no distinction between Maya and my biological children; they are all mine forever.
Long before Maya entered my life, I would sneak into the empty nursery, praying for the daughter I knew would someday join our family. I envisioned reading books about strong women to her, dreaming of the remarkable person she would grow up to be. When she finally arrived, however, she was wounded. She screamed incessantly, and her behavior was often aggressive. The first time I took her to therapy, she shocked me by flipping off her counselor. Despite her challenges, she was still my daughter.
The fear that enveloped me when Maya began having seizures was unlike anything I had ever known. I sat beside her hospital bed for nights, praying for her recovery. I wasn’t there out of obligation; I believe that a child in the hospital needs their mother, and I was determined to be there for her. As her condition worsened, our caseworker suggested we might want to reconsider our commitment. We had the chance to walk away, but by that point, I had been Maya’s only mother for a year and a half. My husband and I officially adopted her and her younger brother months later, uncertain of what lay ahead.
What my former therapist failed to grasp is that for our family, adoption is a permanent commitment. Yes, adopted children can be incredibly challenging, and sometimes they test our limits in ways we never anticipated. However, these challenges are precisely why our families need support, not dissolution. When adoption is viewed as a temporary arrangement, it allows the system to overlook the critical services that children from trauma-filled backgrounds require.
When rehoming is considered a viable option, it can lead to placements that are ill-fated from the start. If adopted families are treated as flexible arrangements, therapists and educators might suggest returning children to the system as if they were misbehaving pets. But my children are irreplaceable. I would never consider sending away my biological son just because parenting him is difficult, and my adopted children deserve the same commitment. They are mine forever, and it is an affront to suggest otherwise.
Months after finalizing our adoption, we received Maya’s genetic testing results, confirming her diagnosis. Even amidst the chaos, when someone asked if I regretted adopting her, I stood firm in my answer: no. Regardless of the hurdles we face, she is my daughter.
Every morning when I wake Maya, I pause at her door and pray she’s still breathing, that seizures haven’t taken her while I slept. That fear is a constant companion, and it likely always will be. But I refuse to consider giving up on my child just because it’s challenging to live with the fear of losing her. While I can’t predict where this journey will take us, I know I’m committed to it until the very end.
For additional insights on similar topics, check out one of our other blog posts here. If you’re looking to explore at-home insemination kits, you can find reputable options at Make a Mom. For further information on pregnancy and home insemination, the CDC offers valuable resources.
In summary, the notion of rehoming an adopted child is not just a misguided suggestion; it undermines the very essence of what family means. Our commitment to our children, regardless of their challenges, should be unwavering. They deserve our love and support, and we must advocate for the resources necessary to care for them, ensuring that they remain a part of our forever family.
Leave a Reply