The topic of mental health is not a great conversation starter. In fact, when talking about it at all, it seems to stop people right in their tracks.  I am not sure why.

Perhaps it’s because it is a topic that naturally garners shame and embarrassment.  If I am struggling, I am obviously weak or incapable of handling the basic or “self-imposed” stressors of life.

Maybe just bringing the topic up triggers another person’s feelings of insufficiency, a silent, lonely battle they have found themselves in too many times to count.  Whatever it is that keeps us silent has had too much power in my life, and has led to nowhere good.

When we are silent, we suffer alone.  There is no way anyone else could understand what I am struggling through right now. I put an arm’s distance between myself and whoever dares to come close.  I am trying to spare myself from the awkward and hurtful, although well-meaning things that people say.

Walking on, alone but determined, I create the ideal environment for the destructive thoughts to thrive. In time, this space becomes comfortable, familiar, and grows like a wild garden untamed, until it takes over the entire space, suffocating and debilitating. 

I have suffered, and I know that others are suffering, silent with me. That is no place to be, frozen in fear of what might happen if you take that step towards reconciliation and healing. Will others judge me? Judge my children?  The real question is, should that stop me?

I believe the good will outweigh any bad that could come from this long-overdue conversation.  Adoption is a worthwhile, emotionally exhausting and difficult road, much like any road you find yourself walking in life, but it is unique, truly understood by those who walk it. And I have been there. It is the most beautiful dream and ambition coupled with the inevitable and ugly truth of of a harsh reality.

I began this road as a broken person, saddled with the grief and shame of infertility, the unbearable ache of wanting to be a mother, and the ever-present fear of wondering if I ever would be.

Then someone in a broken place either: 1) chose adoption for their child because they wanted her to have the stability (whatever it may be) they were unable to provide, or 2) legally fought and/or eventually resigned to the placement of their child in another home.

The child, stuck in the middle of this mess, whose position in life was subject to everyone else’s decision for them was left floundering, not sure how to bond and love when both of those ideas seem to be both so unrealistically ideal and temporary at the same time.

And all of this set in the backdrop of a system that touted protection and support, while fueling the fire of uncertainty and brokenness under the guise of “helping” the most vulnerable.

Is it any wonder there are mental health issues throughout the adoption experience? Broken people, in broken situations, orchestrated by broken systems (both public and private adoption, governed by the same law). The environment only serves to compound the hurt and struggle that is already there.  If we are not careful to face this truth, instead of sweeping it under the rug, trying not to acknowledge the ugly of it all, it is only going to get worse.

Adoption is a beautiful concept, and I am so thankful for my children, but there are some real issues that need to be addressed. If not attended to, the garden is going to become a smothering jungle, and our families are going to bear the brunt of it all. Purposeful conversations can foster growth, hope, and healing. I am convinced that in the end, we will emerge stronger from it