To the Hopeful Adoptive Mom Who Has Ever Wondered Who She Is

Hey, Mama-to-Be.

Or is that right?

Have you ever wondered, as you wait to adopt, who you are? I know I mulled over that very question over the course of a decade and four adoption journeys.

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She was my missing piece. I didn’t know how much I needed her until she arrived. Tiny and affectionate, with curious eyes. Her hand fitting in mine so perfectly. I’m so incredibly honored to be the one she calls Mommy, and I’m thankful for our days together. . . . #daughter #momlife #adoption #adoptionjourney #handsfull #heartfull #multiracialfamily #wearefamily #whitesugarbrownsugar #friday

A post shared by Rachel Garlinghouse (@whitesugarbrownsugar) on Feb 15, 2019 at 5:52am PST

Who are you? 

Are you an expectant mom? A Hopeful Adoptive Parent, known as a HAP in adoption circles? Are you a mom-to-be? 

You have all these conflicting feelings. You are excited, nervous, terrified, anxious, joyful, impatient, and elated. One minute you are certain the call (you know, THE call) will come any moment. The next minute, you are desolate, certain you will never become someone's mother.

Then you're picking out baby names. Then you cry. A lot. You obsess over the other hopeful parent adoption profiles online, comparing yourself to them. Then you decide you need to re-do your profile book ASAP. But then you don't. 

You need reassurance. You need to be left alone. 

You have the heart of a mother, but you don't have a child in your arms. You've been preparing a room for the child you have yet to meet. 

Who are you?

You have a what-if, maybe-baby. You have no idea when he or she will arrive. What he or she will look like. You may not know the child's race or level of special needs. 

You're preparing for everything and anything. It's confusing, tumultuous, and uncertain. You're on a journey with no map, no rest stop, and no finish line.

Who are you? 

You have a thousand questions. You wonder about having a baby shower. You might be curious about adoptive breastfeeding. You browse stores for tiny clothing--but when you think about purchasing, you feel guilty and scared.

You are so tired of the inquiries asking if you've "heard anything." Because you are so desperate to be able to say "yes," but you cannot. Because you haven't heard anything except the racing thoughts in your own mind.

Who are you? 

You're tired of getting baby shower and gender reveal party invites. There are adorable babies everywhere. Literally. Around every single corner. You wonder, when is it my turn? Where is my baby?

You question everything that's led you to adoption. Perhaps that's infertility, or disease, or miscarriage, or disability. You wonder, why? Why me? And, why not me?

Who are you?

You experience jealousy. You feel overlooked. You feel thankful that adoption is an option to build your family. You feel angry at yourself for feeling jealous and overlooked. 

You pray for your future child and his or her expectant parents. You pray for yourself: for peace, patience, and wisdom. You pray for grace, for all. 

Who are you?

You are a REM, sister. A Real Expecting Mom. (I cover that, in detail, here.)

You are allowed to have feelings. Conflicting feelings, big feelings, strange feelings. 

You are allowed to need help. Go to counseling, meet with your adoption support group, speak openly with your partner, family, and friends. Seek solace in your online adoption community.

You are allowed to ask questions. Questions yield answers that prepare you for motherhood-by-adoption.

You are allowed to be authentic. To anticipate.

You are allowed to grieve the failed adoptions.

You are allowed to fall in love with a baby who isn't yours.

Waiting to adopt is exhausting, trying, and scary. It's part of the journey. There is no way around it. 

You will feel and experience a lot in these days, weeks, months, and years of waiting. But remember, every single day you wait, as a REM, is a day closer to motherhood.

---

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The 5 Questions Hopeful Adoptive Moms Ask Me the Most

FAQs.  

I'm on year #13 of being part of the adoption community.  When a hopeful adoptive mom learns I've had quite a bit of experience, I'm often asked one (or more) of these five questions.

What I tell these women first is that what I experience will not be what you experience.  Every adoption journey is unique.  But I know what they want:  a sense of security, a source of knowledge, and a voice that says, "I get where you are, sister." 

1:  How long did you wait?

We waited the longest during our first adoption journey:  14 months.  During that time we probably had 15 profile showings.  Interestingly, almost all our showings were for white baby boys.   Then, on a balmy November, while painting our kitchen, we got THE call.  A baby girl already born.  

Our second adoption journey was quite different. We assumed we would wait a long time, perhaps even longer than our first time, because we were no longer a childless couple.  But we were wrong.  On our very FIRST day of waiting, we were chosen for a baby girl already born.

Our third adoption journey, we assumed, again, that we would wait longer because we already had two children.  Within two months, we were matched, and then within another two months, placed with our son.  

We waited four years to adopt again, and we were matched BEFORE we officially started waiting, got a homestudy done, and waited four months for our daughter to be born. 

It might seem, on the surface, that we've had an easy road.  But as I've shared previously, we had four "failed" adoptions. 

2:  How do you choose an agency? 

This is a BIG question, one I cover in my latest book and in several blog posts, including this one on Christian adoption agencies.  I encourage people to read these.  My #1 piece of advice is to choose wisely and not on numbers (stats of the agency placing babies).  We were very fortunate to find small, ethical adoption agencies that were affordable.  I am a big advocate of using an agency vs. trying to find a placement on your own, mostly because going rogue can lead you to be scammed or to engage in an unethical situation.

*I do not recommend agencies.  Because of the turn over in staff, policies, and laws, it's my policy not to make recommendations to families.  Rather, I offer advice on how to CHOOSE an agency. 

3:  What does an open adoption look like?

Open adoption is different for every relationship.  For us, our open adoptions include:  snail mail, texts, FaceTime calls, e-mails, and visits.   Open adoption is NOT easy or simple; it requires a lot of work, commitment, and flexibility.  You also need empathy and grace in order for the open adoption to be successful.  And there are certainly times the adoption should not be open (or wide open).   We believe open adoption, when healthy, can be great for adoptees.  

4:  How could you afford to adopt?  

We used small, ethical, affordable adoption agencies.  We did not choose to fundraise for our adoptions, though I do encourage families who choose to fundraise to do so graciously and appropriately.   Many families apply for grants as well as fundraise.  I cover fundraising in my new book.  Preview:  my #1 tip?  Don't be tacky.  It's not cute.  

5:  Why did we adopted transracially? 

For the first year of our first adoption wait, we were open to a white child.  It was a rather thoughtless decision.  After a year of waiting, we decided to get educated on transracial adoption.  Once we spent many months researching, reading, and talking, we felt that adopting transracially would be a possibility for us.  I write extensively about being a multiracial family (the joys and challenges).  Race absolutely matters!   Adopting transracially is not a decision one should make lightly.   

And despite our family standing out, we are a real, regular family.  

If you're an experienced mama-by-adoption, what are you asked often by those new to adoption?  If you're a new, waiting parent-to-be, what do you want to know more about?  Hit me up on Facebook or Insta and share/ask away! 

Yes, You Should Have an Adoption Baby Shower

Several weeks ago, I asked my Facebook followers this question:

The overwhelming response was consensual:  YES!  Have the shower!

I admit, I REALLY wanted as shower when we prepared to adopt twelve years ago.  As soon as we revealed that we were going to adopt, my sister and friend started planning our shower, which happened just a few weeks after we officially started waiting. 

It was everything I hoped for.  Sugary sheet cake and snacks.  Lots of conversation.  And of course, so many gifts.  The ducky theme was gender-neutral and adorable.  

ALL THE FEELS.  

I think what meant the most was how many people turned out to celebrate with us.  My guess is, many had never been to an "expecting a baby" shower before.  In fact, it was my first adoption baby shower.  

If you're going to go the route of having shower, here's my advice:

1:  Don't have the shower for a baby you are matched with (in a domestic infant adoption).  

The truth is, that baby isn't yours.  The love for the baby may be growing rapidly in your heart, but that baby is "the baby" and not "your baby" if and until TPR and revocation are over.   I am not saying to withhold excitement.  I'm not saying "guard your heart" to the point that all pending-motherhood joy is sucked out of your soul.  What I am saying is that you need to respect and honor the expectant parents and the unborn child by being ethical in all your choices:  big and small.  

2:  Keep it gender-neutral.

I read it almost weekly.  Hopeful adoptive parents post about a failed adoption after they already had the baby's nursery completely ready, complete with the baby's name on the wall, and lots of baby goods received at their baby shower, including monogrammed bibs.  I'm not a superstitious/knock-on-wood kind of person.  So I'm not saying "don't jinx the match."  What I am saying is this:  if the adoption doesn't happen, you're choosing so much more pain by walking past an empty nursery with a baby's name on the wall, a baby you will not bring home.   By all means, get a nursery ready, but leave some space for personalization after a placement.  

3:  Register.

So going off point #2, be sure to register.  There are so many benefits to this including avoiding duplicate gifts, getting discounts on future purchases, and more.  Target, for example, offers it's registrants a discount on anything not purchased off their registry.  Registering for gifts also allows you to ask for what you want and need.  Having a registry makes returns and exchanges easier as well.  Registering helps you "nest" for your baby, again, helping you feel that you are a REAL mama-to-be.  

4:  Celebrate the opportunity to educate others.

Expect lots of questions about adoption.  This is a fantastic opportunity to educate others.  We even put an adoption Q and A on the tables for our guests, which our older attendees especially appreciated.  You can use adoption children's picture books to help decorate, as well.  And don't forget to toast your guests for supporting you and loving on your future baby!  

5:  Enjoy.

Many hopeful adoptive moms struggle to feel like Real Expecting Moms (which I talk about extensively in my latest book).  There is so much guilt, confusion, uncertainty, and anxiety that come with waiting to adopt.  This often stems from a good place (ethics and empathy-which you can learn all about in the free e-book I send out).  But bad feelings feel, well, bad.  You have to make up your mind to enjoy your baby shower.  After all, you've attended your fair share of showers, supporting other mothers-to-be.  You need to decide that you ARE a REAL hopeful mom who IS expecting a baby via adoption.  Because of that, it is perfectly OK to enjoy preparing for the baby who will become yours and the motherhood that awaits you.  

When Adopting Feels Like a Sick, Practical Joke

I walked through the store, quickly and purposefully, certain that at any moment, I would be discovered as a fraud.  

I headed straight to the back of the store where the baby clothing was.   And I looked.  I told myself, I'm looking as a mom, not as a hopeful mom.  This is is.  This is MY turn.  This is MY day.   

I looked through every single rack of pink and white clothing.  I wanted to choose the exact right outfit:  the perfect one to say "welcome to the world" to my little girl.  

Then, there it was.  I held it up and examined the detail.  The zig-zag stitching, the tiny snaps, the delicate pink and warm white.   This was it.  

I made my way to the front of the store, my confidence and excitement quickly melting away.  Once again, I felt like someone who didn't deserve such hope and happiness.  After all, I wasn't really a mom...yet.  

I was certain the cashier would call me out.   Would reject my purchase.   But he didn't.  He just smiled, swiped my credit card, placed the outfit in a plastic bag, and said, "Please take our online survey. Have a nice day."  

I walked out of the store with it's artificial lights and into the natural sunlight in the parking lot.  I slid into my car (with no carseat in the back) and drove home.   

What had I done?  What was I thinking?  

Every time we had our adoption profile shown, it was either a "not you" or a "they're parenting."  We were almost matched, twice, once with a mom in Hawaii and once with a mom in Michigan.  But the communication with both moms faded.  Almost every time, as I shared in my newest book, we were shown for Caucasian boys.  This profile showing, the one we were waiting to hear back on, was for an African American baby girl in Tennessee.   

The day I learned about this possibility, I decided I was sick and tired of waiting.  Because though we'd only been officially been waiting a year, I had been waiting far longer to be a mommy.   

Two days later we got an e-mail from the social worker. 

Not chosen.  

So I returned the outfit.  Because it was for a specific HER, and that her wasn't to be OURS.  

It was a vicious cycle:  a dance of hope and rejection. Yet this was the first time I dared to dream enough, to hope enough, that I bought a specific baby a gift that I dreamed to give from "mom and dad."  As I returned the gift, I felt embarrassed, tired, and depressed.   

What was wrong with us?  Why weren't we parents yet?  Why did I see profile after profile on our agency's page stamped "placed" in bold print while ours still sat there, desperately?   

It was exhausting to be rejected over and over and over.  And at every turn, our nearest and dearest, be it family members, church members, friends, and co-workers would ask, "Heard anything yet?"  At first it was endearing.  They were excited for us.  But at a certain point, I just wanted to scream in frustration.  

With every "no" my heart broke a little more.  I felt jealousy (of other couples), bitterness, and shame creep in and create a home in my soul.   I didn't understand why I had so clearly knew we'd adopt, yet we hadn't adopted.   

I rationalized:  we were educated, financially stable, had great families, loved to travel, went to church every Sunday, and were happy.   So why not us?   Weren't we an expectant mom's dream couple?  

It's well over a decade later, and when I drive down the road in my minivan FULL of kids, remembering the fact that now I'm blessed beyond measure, I realize a few things:

1:  I wasn't really ready to adopt at the time I thought I was.  I still had lessons to learn, people to meet (as I outline extensively in my new book). 

2:  All of those babies who didn't become mine weren't meant to be mine.  They belonged to other mommies and daddies:  either their biological ones or the ones that adopted them.  

3:  After waiting twelve months, due to a few experiences we had, a shift happened.  I began asking God to bless the woman who was carrying our future baby, to bless her with peace and wisdom and strength, rather than crying to God that I needed a baby RIGHT THEN, RIGHT NOW, to fulfill MY needs.   The adoption journey became about the baby and expectant mother and not about me.

Because these lessons were learned, this wisdom bestowed, I was able to readily receive the surprise of a lifetime:  a "cold call" asking if we wanted our profile shown for an African American baby girl born that morning.  We said, of course, and two hours later, the call that said, "Come get your daughter."  

And two years later, another "cold call" for another girl, on THE DAY we started waiting to adopt a second time.  

And two years later, a two month match and then the birth of our son.  

And three-and-a-half years later, the four-and-half-month match and then the birth of our daughter.

Every wait.  Every "no."  Every tear.  It was ALL worth it.  Because every time of in between was a lesson in what we needed to be the best parents we could to the babies who would become ours.

So if you're in a place now where you're feeling broken, rejected, discouraged, uncertain, confused, may I tell you this?  That your miracle may be just one day away. And I know that you've perhaps told yourself this for many days, weeks, and years on end.  But the truth is, any moment could be your last day of not being a mom.  Your future can change in a split second:  that phone call or e-mail.  The one that says, "Congratulations."

Hold on, dear.  Just a little longer.  Have faith, and lean on the only ONE who knows what the future holds.  Pray for the expectant mothers who are making decisions for their babies.  Pray that your heart doesn't harden, so you are ready and able to learn the lessons God has for you and for your hands to be open to the little one that is coming your way.  

Take it from someone who has been there:  your "yes" is pending.  Are you ready?  

When An Adoption Fails, Love is Always the Right Answer

The first time it happened, we got a phone call from our adoption agency.  Would we care for a toddler whose mother was choosing between parenting and placing?  At the time, we had a child of the exact same age:  so we agreed.  We were told it would be just a few days.  But a few days turned into three weeks.  And during that time, I fell in love with the little boy who wasn't mine.  

He was our first son (but not "ours").  He arrived reeking of cigarette smoke, his shoes two sizes too small, and his sippy cup half-full with some sort of bright red liquid.  He was smart.  So smart.  And he was hungry.  Always hungry.  He would eat whatever we fed him.  Within a few days, he went from severely constipated and nervous to a little boy with a glow.  He and our daughter quickly became friends and siblings-of-sorts:  bickering over toys (some biting may have happened...).  Every night, when we put him into a pack-n-play, he would quickly fall asleep, but find himself, in the dead of night, creep into our room, his arms outstretched waiting to be scooped up and cuddled.  

We included him in everything we did.  We took him to the park, out for ice cream, to church.   I took out cornrows for the first time, the little guy being so patient with me.   When my husband would arrive home from work each day, our daughter would squeal "Daddy!" and reach for him.  Within a few days, the little boy would do the same.   

I fell and fell hard for him.   A child among many.  Hungry (for food and love and attention).  I called the social worker and said, "If he's available for adoption, we want him.  We want him to be our son."  But she said no.  There was an interested family, homestudy ready.  

He didn't end up being adopted.  He was instead handed over to his biological father for the first time in his life.  

The day the social worker picked him up, I packed up all the clothes and shoes we purchased for him.  Extra diapers and wipes.   Toys.   I was desperate to give him things, since I couldn't be his mommy.

The social worker said, "Thank you," as we installed the car seat and buckled him in.  Then they drove away.  Forever.   

For a few years, I searched the waiting child websites, hoping (and yet not hoping) to see his face.  I wanted to know he was OK.  Or that my heart didn't lie to me:  that he was to be our son.   

****

The second time it happened, I had just left a dental appointment.  My girls were with a babysitter.  I turned the volume back up on my phone and saw I had a voicemail from an 816 number.  Kansas City.  The same area my girls had been born.  

My heart started racing.  I immediately called the number back.

It was our lawyer.  A toddler boy was available for adoption, immediately.  He needed to know now:  did we want to be considered to be the little boy's parents?   I called my husband, who is the type who needs time (usually a lot of time...too much time, in my humble opinion) to make decisions.  But this time he said, "OK."  It would be cool, he felt, to have a son.  And the little boy was younger than our youngest daughter, so no messing around with birth order.  

But then it was no.   It would take a good month to get a homestudy (which we needed to do an interstate adoption), complete with state and federal background checks.  I called lawyers.  I called social workers.  But all arrived at the same answer:  that we needed a month to get it done.  And we didn't have a month.  The toddler's mom wanted to place him into a forever family immediately. 

So our yes turned to no.  The son we so desperately wanted was not to be ours.   Again.   And though we had two beautiful daughters, our hearts still ached for the what-could-have-been.

****

The third and fourth time it happened were potentially the hardest.  

Now you'd think that after having three children, all of whom came to us by adoption, we would be fulfilled.  We wouldn't yearn or imagine or hope.  But we did.  

Twice, biological siblings were placed with another family.  Again, both boys.  

Why were these so difficult?  I think because we know, we know, how strong biological ties are between siblings.  We know how meaningful they can be.  We know that for an adoptee, "losing" a biological sibling to another family can be heartbreaking and confusing.   

And not once.  But twice.  

I know those boys were never mine.  But there were times that the grief I felt, not just for myself, but for my child, was all-consuming.   

****

Every time there was a no, there was a yes.  When boy 1 didn't become ours, six months later we adopted our second daughter.   Losing Baby D was the prompting we needed to say "yes" to doing another homestudy and adopting again.  

When boy 2 went to another family, we knew we desired to have a son to call ours forever.  Though we never specified sex when adopting, we were matched with a baby who, we learned two months before the due date, was a little boy.   Our son.   

And when two more boys (3 and 4) were not placed with us, I felt the growing urge to adopt "just one more time."  We were matched very quickly, but not with a boy.  Another girl.  Our third daughter (our fourth child).  She is our sunshine.  

****

So what I want you to know is that the losses, the times you hear no (yet again), the almosts, the rejections, the broken hearts, the hopelessness, the crumbled dreams...they are so real and so raw.  But that's not all, dear one.  They existed and moved you closer to your "yes."  

I am thankful for the heartbreaking moments, the baby boys who left forever imprints on my heart.  I still ache for them, even though I have a beautiful family of four children with miraculous stories.  I am sad, still, that I wasn't to be their mommy.   But I do pray that each of them have exactly who and what they need to become successful, happy, kind, strong young men.   

When you are in the midst of heartbreak, in whatever form it comes to you on this wild adoption journey, you are allowed to feel all the feelings.  You aren't silly or ridiculous for falling in love with children who aren't yours.   You may never "get over" the children who never called you "mommy."  You may not ever stop thinking of them, praying for them, or yearning for them.   

Choosing to build your family by adoption means you are signing up for a lifetime of heartbreak.  It is in that brokenness that the walls come down.  That you are able to realize that the confinements of love are ridiculous and that true love has no walls, no boundaries, and no rules.  

So love, dear one.  Love big.  Love hard.  Love ridiculously well.  Love when it hurts.  Love when it's magical and beautiful and perfect.  Love when the easier response is anger, fear, or sadness.  Just love and love and love. 

Yes, I regret not mothering those precious boys.  Though it was never my choice to not mother them.  But what I do not regret?  Loving them in the big and small ways I could, for the times I could.  

Love IS always the right answer.  

Dear Sugar: PTSD in Adoption, Round #2

Dear Sugar,

This week, we're journeying through PTSD, in relation to adoption, as a parent-by-adoption.  Today, I'd like you to meet B.  

B is in her mid-thirties and is parenting multiple children, all adopted.  She's married and is a SAHM.   

Rachel:  What is your adoption of Adoption PTSD?

B:  Adoption PTSD is when a single or series of traumatic events during an adoption process creates crippling issues such as depression and anxiety.

Rachel:  What was your adoption experience?  

B:  We adopted all of our children, but one of our adoptions was particularly difficult.   It was a really long match, and we were already parenting.  Because of this, not only were we experiencing tremendous stress, but so were our children.  As much as we tried to shield them from the ups and downs, they were always around when we were making phone calls, having pop-up conversations, and cautiously-optimistically preparing for a possible placement.   The stress of trying to control what our kids saw and heard added to the overall stress of the adoption. 

We had an overwhelming and increasing amount of communication with the expectant parents (prior to placement).  They were demanding, made off-the-charts requests of us, and I’m positive that one of them was/is bi-polar.  It was a roller coaster from the day we were matched until months after the placement.   There were a handful of times I was very tempted to walk away.  

I ended up going on anxiety medication because of the daily panic attacks I was having.   The situation was so unpredictable and upsetting.  

I know you're probably thinking, why didn't we just abandon the match?  More than one person advised us to walk away, even one of our adoption professionals, because he felt bad for us and in his experience, he knew this probably wouldn't result in a placement.  

We didn’t hold on out of desperation for a baby (we already have children and were OK with the outcome of any match), but because we felt that God told us to “hang on” and “wait and see.”  It was only by our faith that we stayed. 

Rachel:  What makes you think you experienced Adoption PTSD?  What were your symptoms? 

B:  After the placement happened, I assumed my anxiety would vanish.  It didn’t.   The communication with the birth parents continued to be incredibly difficult for many months after placement.  Bio dad wanted one thing, while bio mom wanted another.  We felt like we (and our child) were in a game of tug-of-war.   I continued to experience breathlessness, fatigue, fear, confusion, anger, and moments of wanting to just give up.  I felt like I was being pecked at ALL THE TIME.  That's the best way to describe it.  Like a chicken was just using its beak to peck, peck, peck, peck, on my soul.  Constantly.  

The worst part?  I wasn’t free to be my baby’s mother.  Instead, I was caught between a “rock and a hard place”:  wanting to enjoy my new baby while trying to appease those who couldn’t be appeased.  

Rachel:  How did you heal/get treated?  What helped you? 

B:  Anti anxiety-medications helped.  But what was most difficult and most necessary, putting up very firm boundaries with the birth parents, was what helped the most.  The truth was, I was being too permissive.   Unfortunately, it was harming myself and my family.  I couldn’t take away all the stress of the situation, but I could prevent SOME of it.   I only wish I would have been firmer earlier on.    

Rachel:  How has Adoption PTSD changed you?  Do you feel your traumatic experience did any “permanent damage”? 

B:  I have more empathy than ever for those who have experienced trauma.  I know that trauma comes in different forms.  Something that’s traumatic for one person may not look traumatic to another.  But there is power in naming your problem.   That’s half the battle.  The second half is treatment. 

 

Rachel:  Did the experience do “permanent damage”?  

B:  I don’t know.  We’re only a year out from the placement.  I finally feel like myself again.  But the thing with trauma (just like grief) is that it comes back.  It’s a cycle.   We just learn tools to deal with it.

Rachel:  What advice do you have for someone who thinks they’re experiencing Adoption PTSD?   

B:  Get help  See a therapist.   Join an adoption support group.   Openly speak of your struggles, because there’s nothing to be ashamed of.   Keep doing the things you love to do, things that bring you peace and joy.   And even though you don’t think it’s possible in the moment, Adoption PTSD is a teacher.   Because of your experience, you will be stronger and be able to help others.  

Also, it's OK to admit you are having a hard time.  Just because I was chosen to parent my child, just because I am very thankful to be a mom, just because I'm strong, it doesn't mean my PTSD isn't real.  It doesn't mean the gratefulness of being chosen can magically trump PTSD.   They can exist, the PTSD and the joy, simultaneously.   

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***My disclaimer:  I'm not a mental health professional.  I'm using my platform to amplify the voices of women who believe that their adoption experiences have resulted in mental health issues.  

Dear Sugar: 5 Tips for the Woman on the Brink of Adoption Burnout

Dear Sugar:

This is for you, the woman on the brink of adoption burnout, from moi, a person who has been there many times over the course of the past ten years.  Yeah, that's a decade.  

If you haven't felt the burnout yet, you will.  I don't mean to be pessimistic.  Rather, I'm dishing you some truth.

Adoption burnout can result in a lot of colliding emotions (fear, anger, confusion, disappointment, apathy, frustration, hopelessness, discouragement) resulting from one's journey to adopt.  Usually one begins full of elation and bright-eyed anticipation, but as the weeks, months, even years go by, paper after paper is filled out, and all one does is wait (perhaps with major highs and lows as a result of a failed placement or referral), adoption burnout hits fast and hard.   And it's not fun.

If you are at the point where you have reached burnout, here are five practical tips:

1:  Read something encouraging.

Nothing is worse than the Internet or Lifetime/Hallmark adoption/surrogacy/nanny-seduces-husband flicks.  You need to shut off the screens and dive in to a good book.   My friend (who is an adoptee) Madeleine Melcher and I co-authored a book specifically for the hard times.  Encouragement for the Adoption and Parenting Journey:  52 Devotions and a Journal offers short, inspirational, honest chapters based in Scripture and personal experience to give you the hope you need to keep going. There's journaling space and discussion/reflection questions at the end of each chapter.  

2:  Get outdoors.

I cannot stress enough how too much indoor time is bad for you. For one, it can be so isolating to sit behind closed doors.  You need sunlight (vitamin D is a wonderful thing, friend), fresh air, and sky/birds tweeting/flowers blooming.  Go for a walk, lay on a lounge chair, or just step outside for a few minutes every day.   I promise it'll do wonders.  Better yet, take your book outside with you (two birds, one stone!).  

3:  Make a date.

I don't care who you date, whether it be your partner, a child you're already parenting, or a friend, but please make a date.  It doesn't take anything extravagant or expensive to make you feel like a new woman.  Coffee and conversation does the heart a whole lot of good.   Regularly scheduled dates (set aside one evening or morning a week) gives you something to look forward to.   

4:  Support.

Waiting to adopt can be really lonely.  I implore you to find an adoption support group and commit to attending.   A great group will have all triad members represented (adoptees, parents who have adopted, birth parents).  And before you think that adoption Facebook group will do, I want to remember point #3 (make a date), because there is NOTHING like eye contact, hugs and handshakes, and in-person conversation.    If you cannot muster up the courage (or energy) to attend an adoption support group in the moment, a good alternative is to find a counselor who understands adoption.  

5:  Treat yo'self.  

What makes you feel good?  Make a happy list and refer to it daily, because you know yourself best. Don't wait for someone else to bring you flowers or chocolate.   And yes, please make a physical list and then set reminders in your phone to do something from that list every.   single.   day.   Too many women insist on putting themselves last, which is, if you think about it, selfish not selfless.   You cannot give what you do not have, Sugar.   And it's important to create habits of self-care TODAY so that you will continue you to carry those out after you become a mom by adoption.  

Sugar, what would you add to the list?   What makes you feel good?  What helps you get out of your rut?