“They are so lucky you adopted them.”

“You did such a wonderful thing adopting and rescuing them.”

People said those things to me about the two cats I adopted.

Well-meaning people have also said those things to me about adopting my son.

I loved my cats (Shelley and Lexi!) and treated them like queens for two decades. That said, the cat distribution system isn’t in the same universe as adopting a human. That should go without saying, but apparently, it needs to be said.

Adopted children are not rescued. They don’t owe anyone gratitude for adopting them. (Cats don’t either–as any cat parent can tell you, cats don’t do gratitude. They know we are grateful for *them*.)

The idea that adopted children are being saved is one of the most pervasive and damaging myths in adoptive parenting. This myth perpetuates the notion that adoptive parents are extraordinary people, akin to saints or heroes, and that adopted children owe them an extraordinary level of gratitude. This is dangerously untrue.

Of course, children should be grateful for a loving family, whether biological or adopted. However, adopted children do not owe their parents any more gratitude than children owe their biological parents. This misconception not only places an undue burden on adoptive children but also overshadows the complex realities of adoption.

As an adoptive parent, I was required to participate in a seminar about adoption, and what I learned completely upended how I viewed the process. And thank goodness for that. This preparation was crucial for understanding the comments and attitudes I would encounter, such as being told I had done a wonderful thing by adopting.

I admit that I once held similar beliefs. How many movies and television shows have framed adoption in this way? Films like “Annie” and “The Blind Side” present adoption as an act of rescue. We now know how far off “The Blind Side” was from the actual story it was based on, yet its influence persists.

The savior complex, with its implications of a favor done, can be particularly damaging to children who are already navigating complex emotions. They might feel love for their adoptive parents while simultaneously experiencing loss for their birth families, among many other feelings. This added weight is a burden no child should bear. Adoptive parents with a savior complex need validation, something a child doesn’t owe any adult, regardless of their relationship.

Even a well-known children’s author, celebrated for beautifully capturing the essence of family, missed the mark when discussing adoption. Without singling him out, his repeated framing of “you needed and we had” is like a punch in the gut to an adopted child. This wording suggests adoption is a transaction where the child is the needy party, and the parents are benevolent providers, which can be damaging to a child’s self-worth and understanding of family dynamics.

Adoption should be understood as the creation of a family, not as an act of charity. It is about forming bonds, providing love and support, and building a future together. Adoptive parents are not heroes; they are parents with all the joys and challenges of the role. Adopted children are not recipients of charity; they are beloved family members.

The language we use and the stories we tell about adoption matter. They influence how adopted children see themselves and their place in the world, as well as shape perceptions of how the broader society engages with adoptive parents and children.

Moving away from the rescue and heroism narrative can create a more accurate and compassionate understanding. This shift will allow adopted children to grow up without the added burden of feeling like they must be eternally grateful for something that should be their right: a loving, supportive family.

So, the next time you meet an adoptive family, remember they are simply a family, like any other. Adoptive parents are not heroes; they are just parents filled with the same love and dedication as any other. Adopted children are not lucky; they are loved. By changing the way we talk about adoption, we can help ensure that all children grow up feeling valued and understood.

Scrolling through social media, it’s easy to drown in a sea of other people’s successes. You’d think by the big age of 52, I’d be immune to comparing myself to those shiny, filtered posts, but sometimes, they still make me feel like I’m falling behind. Apparently, the comparison trap doesn’t come with an age limit, especially when you’re watching from the sidelines.

Happy, mostly.

Last year, I was candid in my xoNecole essay when I wrote, “I’m a 51-year-old single mom who lives at home with my parents — and I’m the happiest I’ve been.” That was the truth. Now, a year older, the landscape of my life has evolved — it’s a little more complex. My son and I have moved out of my parent’s guest apartment, and we’ve now settled within walking distance away, still in my beloved hometown of Houston. I remain happy, but it’s complicated.

Anchors Away.

To provide context, I left a lucrative six figure career as an international news anchor in Qatar in 2020. My life then was filled with frequent travel and presenting the news to millions worldwide. “Six figures” might not carry the same weight it once did due to inflation, but the point is I was financially comfortable. I spent years climbing the ranks — from a minimum wage production assistant in a local newsroom to working at CNN Headline News and Al Jazeera. I achieved professional success, city by city, only to make a pivotal decision: I prioritized starting a family over my career. I adopted my son in March 2021 and decided not to return to the world of news anchoring.

Career transition is humbling.

Switching careers hasn’t been as straightforward as I thought it would be. I was pretty confident I’d smoothly transition from being a news anchor to hosting and moderating events worldwide, covering everything from international politics to adoption and single motherhood, with a few TV appearances thrown in. Oh, and I’d produce a docuseries, become a popular podcast host and give a TED Talk. Some of those opportunities have come my way, but my dance card isn’t as full as anticipated. I’ve run into more closed doors than I expected, which has made me take a second look at other possibilities and venture down new paths. There has been a silver lining because I’ve picked up new skills and met amazing people from various fields. However, leaving the only industry I’ve worked in since I was 23 has been challenging, especially at this stage in my life. It sometimes makes me wonder if I made a big mistake. I know I didn’t, but there are times when those doubts sneak in, along with comparing myself to others.

The ‘What if” whisper.

Looking at my professional peers, some close friends, others just people I knew, it’s clear they’re doing incredibly well in the media world where I spent over two decades. They’ve snagged top jobs, gained national acclaim, and made deals I’d once hoped for myself. They’ve earned it, no question — I’ve seen the hard work they’ve put in and the barriers they’ve overcome. Many have also been incredibly generous with their contacts anytime I reach out. I’m genuinely thrilled for them and grateful for them. Yet, there are moments when a quiet “What if?” crosses my mind. What if I had stayed in the industry? But here’s the truth: there’s no certainty I would have matched their success.

Inspiration, not envy.

Comparison is a dangerous game because life isn’t a competition. There’s a crucial distinction between finding inspiration in others’ achievements and allowing those successes to fuel unhealthy jealousy or insecurities. It’s important, even essential, to recognize and be happy about others’ successes. But this should never come at the cost of undervaluing one’s own path. Admiring others, especially those we love, should inspire us, not lead to self-doubt.

Redefine your success.

The truth is, everyone’s journey is unique. As I’ve matured, my definition of “success” has evolved. It’s no longer solely defined by professional triumphs. Yes, I have goals in this new phase of my life, but success now encompasses a greater sense of life balance and feeling fulfilled as a parent and a professional. Who knows, maybe the next chapter holds unexpected success in a different form, one that aligns perfectly with the life I’m building.

What’s meant for me will come my way.

I sometimes joke that I hate dating, but as an introvert, homebody, and only child, it’s actually not a joke. Canceled plans bring me pure joy. I’m not shy; I just like to be home enjoying my own company. Can I get an amen from my people on ‘Introvert TikTok’? We joke that our reply to a simple “have a good night, sleep well” text from a new partner after having been single for a long time might be, “don’t tell me what to do.”

Plot Twist

I actually want to be married. I know. The dating math ain’t mathin’. I’m aware it’s hard to find a partner without putting yourself out there, even if that “putting yourself out there” feels incredibly unnatural for an introvert like me. But I just always assumed marriage was in my future. While I know marriage isn’t for everyone, I’ve seen firsthand in my parents’ marriage what the right person can bring to your life.

Motherhood Shifts Priorities

I’m also a mom to an energetic 3-year-old, which changes everything, especially for an introvert. Before my son, my personal bubble was my haven. I am a veteran when it comes to binge-watching streaming TV alone on my sofa with my two cats. Calling me a cat lady is not the insult some people think it is. However, single parenthood has a way of forcing you out of your comfort zone. Suddenly, my need for solitude takes a backseat to Avery’s need for fresh air and new experiences. He may be an introvert as an adult, but as a child, his world will be more than the walls of our apartment. This weekend, Disney on Ice was on the agenda. (And no, we don’t talk about Bruno.) Avery also spends plenty of time with his extended family that includes grandparents, cousins, aunties and uncles who all dote on him.

Dating: An Imposing Chore (But Maybe Worth It?)

I’ve tried dating apps, but my profile needs a warning label: “Introvert, may disappear. It’s me, not you. Okay, it might be you if you’re boring and come on too strong, but most likely it’s me.” I’ve gone on dates with only a handful of people from the apps. Actually, no. That implies five people when it’s more like three. Frankly, few people compete with spending time with my hilarious son. He’s far more interesting than any profile on Bumble.

It’s Not About Me

But do I owe it to my son — and perhaps myself — to at least try? The possibility of finding a partner who would positively influence his life has a certain appeal. I adopted my son as a single woman and we are complete as we are, but what if there’s someone wonderful who could bring even more joy to our family?

Getting to Know You

That said, finding someone who understands my introverted nature and is ready to navigate the dynamics of a single-parent family carefully is another layer entirely. I take introducing someone to my son incredibly seriously. I’d need to get to know someone exceptionally well to become confident in their character and ability to add value to our family before that would even be a consideration.

Not Too Busy To Date

Yes, life as a single working mom is busy, but a therapist would probably say I would make time for dating if it were a priority. While spontaneity is a thing of the past, my supportive parents, who live nearby, will happily spend time with their grandson if a date is planned. Babysitting problems are not a legitimate excuse for my non-existent dating life.

Focus on My Son

For now, my focus remains on my son. I’m not a “mommy and me” group kind of person, but I am setting up playdates for him, which might even pave the way for “grown-up playdates” I joke about. Learning to open up to someone new could be the next step in my journey.

Cautious but Open

So, while I keep hearing, “get out there,” I maintain a cautious approach to dating. It might be in my future, but it might not. Either option is okay. I’m currently scouring the Mommy Poppins newsletter and planning summer activities. A balanced life, respecting my introversion and my responsibilities to child, is what matters most. Whether that includes romance, time will tell. But every decision I make will be with my son at the forefront. He is after all, the most interesting toddler in the world.

I am pro-choice. I am an adoptive mom. I am a journalist. I’ve wrestled with stories that cut deep, that challenge our sensibilities, that push us to look beyond the surface. A recent Washington Post article — about a young woman named Evelyn choosing adoption after two failed abortion attempts is that type of story. It resonated with me, not only because I know the wonderful woman who adopted Evelyn’s daughter, but as an adoptive mother who’s knee-deep in learning about the complex feelings some adoptees have. It also resonated with me as a human being who feels compassion for a scared, overwhelmed 23-year-old hiding her pregnancy from her parents, while also racing against a clock imposed by the new law in Texas that bans abortion after six weeks.

The piece, in my opinion, was well-crafted and deeply researched, the kind of journalism that fosters dialogue. With dialogue can come fiery feedback, as reflected in hundreds of comments on the Washington Post social media accounts. Some readers felt the story framed adoption as a band-aid we slap on the gaping wound of lost reproductive rights. With the possibility of a national abortion ban looming over our heads, the stakes are higher than ever. The fear and anger tangible. Women across the nation are grappling with the possibility of losing autonomy over their bodies, and the suggestion that adoption is the answer is not just overly simplistic — it’s dangerous for women and the adoptee community. For the record, I don’t think the journalist’s reporting suggested that in any way. I do, however, understand how it could be seen that way.

I adopted my son as a single 49-year-woman and I can tell you, my decision to adopt wasn’t about filling a void or offering a solution to a problem. It was about creating a family, something millions of people do every day. I understand the immense responsibility that comes with adoption, particularly because it’s a process that starts with someone else’s difficult choice.

I have sat across from birth mothers and listened to them describe just how painful those choices can be. My adoption agency required I attend an in-person seminar. Two days. Real stories. Birth mothers and adoptees laying their lives bare. For decades, adoption narratives have been spun into a harmful web of fairy tales that fail to acknowledge the loss, the identity struggles, and the ripple effects that can last a lifetime. They don’t do justice to the adoptees, and they sure don’t help the cause of women fighting for their reproductive rights.

The adoption conversation is not a consolation prize or a political bargaining chip. It’s a choice that exists on its own complex, emotional plane. It’s a decision as intimate and personal as the decision to become a mother — by birth, by adoption, or not at all.

So, to the journalist who brought Evelyn’s story to light, I see you. Your reporting contributed to a conversation we need to have, with all its uncomfortable, raw edges. As an adoptive mom doing her best to raise a child with an awareness of his own story, I understand the gravity of what we’re discussing. It’s about people’s lives, their choices, and the respect we owe to those choices.

To those who see adoption as a solution to abortion bans, you are part of the problem. As we stand at this crossroads, with the threat of an abortion ban casting long shadows, let’s not oversimplify. Let’s not point to adoption as the fix-all. Instead, let’s strive for a world where women have the autonomy to make the best decisions for themselves, and where each child, each birth mother, each adoptive family, can write their own story — one that’s respected for its depth, its pain, and its beauty.