What "Pro-adoption" Really Means

You are right where you belong.

As an adoptee,

I’ve learned that saying, “I’m pro-adoption” can land like a thud in the middle of a conversation.

The room shifts.
Eyebrows raise.
Questions—sometimes gentle, sometimes loaded—come flying:

But what about the trauma? Do you not support family preservation? Why not support birth mothers so they can keep their babies? What about the other side of adoption? What about … what about … what about …

It’s as if believing in the good of adoption automatically means I’ve ignored the pain or dismissed the nuance. But here’s the thing: I’m pro-adoption because I understand the complexity, not in spite of it.

Let’s talk about what being pro-adoption actually means.

Because I think it’s misunderstood.
A lot.

Being pro-adoption doesn’t mean we’re waving pom-poms over the pain. Nor does it mean we’re pretending adoption is the easiest, happiest, shiniest thing to ever happen.

But we need to be clear about something: Adoption exists because something was already broken—family, trust, biology, safety.

Being pro-adoption means we see the beauty in restoration, in building something new out of the ashes. It means we believe every child deserves a family—not as a backup plan, but as a first priority.

Being pro-adoption also doesn’t mean we’re anti-family-preservation. This isn’t some weird pick-a-side situation. Being pro-adoption means we can hold both truths: We want families to stay together whenever possible, AND we believe in the redemptive gift of adoption when it’s not.

But what about when adoption causes harm?

It’s a fair question and one that deserves an honest, unflinching answer.

Adoption, like anything involving human lives and relationships, isn’t immune to pain, mistakes, or even outright harm.

There are times when the system fails, when decisions are rushed or poorly handled, when trauma is ignored or minimized.

There are times when adoptive parents make horrible decisions, and we have to be willing to sit with that truth, no matter how uncomfortable it is.

But in those situations, adoption wasn’t the problem—people were the problem.

Like marriages that go wrong, teachers who abuse their students, or pastors who mishandle their pulpits, we can’t blame the institution for the mistakes humans make within it.

Adoption, at its core, is meant to be an act of restoration, a way to provide safety and belonging to a child who needs it. But like anything else, when people get involved, things can go sideways. Systems fail, egos take over, and good intentions get tangled up in selfish motivations.

It’s not adoption itself that causes harm—it’s the ways people mishandle it.

We have to own this truth if we want to move forward. We can’t blame the concept of adoption for the mistakes humans make within it. Instead, we need to hold those systems accountable, demand better, and do the hard work of making adoption what it was always intended to be—a way to bring wholeness to broken stories.

I’ve definitely had my fair share of moments where I’ve found myself yelling at the TV or shaking my head over some human interest story about an adoption story gone wrong.

As an adoptee, these stories hit differently. I feel it in my bones. It’s personal. I want to defend adoption, to fight for the good, to stand up and say, "Adoption is about fixing a problem—not creating a problem!"

But then I remember—hard stories matter too. They're real. And I can’t ignore the messy parts if I want to make the whole thing better.

So yes, it would be ideal if adoption weren’t necessary.

It would be great—

if every child could grow up in a safe, loving home with family intact
if no child had to know the pain of separation or loss
if the brokenness of our world didn’t create the need for adoption

But we don’t live in an ideal world. We live in a world where families break apart, where systems fail, where positive pregnancy tests don’t necessarily indicate a readiness or desire to parent.

(And to be honest, I will always support a birth mom who courageously carries her child to term and chooses adoption over ending that child’s life.)

We live in a world where love doesn’t always look like it’s supposed to, where circumstances are messy, and where children end up in situations no one could have predicted or hoped for.

It may not feel fair, but it’s the reality.

So as much as I wish adoption weren’t needed,

I also know that for some of us, adoption is a lifeline. It’s the chance to know love, to belong, to have a future not predicated by circumstances of birth.

Some of my fellow adoptee friends were left in dumpsters, abandoned in fields, abused in unimaginable ways, or born addicted to drugs.

For them, the dumpster or the field or the abuse or the drugs didn’t get the final say in their story. But the love, the healing, the future they were given via adoption?

It changed everything.

Adoption doesn’t fix every wound or right every wrong, but it gives children in need the chance to rewrite their—our—lives. And I am deeply grateful.

I can appreciate people who dream of a world where adoption isn’t necessary, but I can also hold deep gratitude for the way adoption steps in when necessary.

Sometimes adoption is the best plan we’ve got. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Celebrating adoption isn’t dishonoring loss—it’s embracing belonging. Like rejoicing at a widow’s second marriage or the birth of a rainbow baby, we can absolutely delight in new beginnings without disrespecting painful endings.

I’m pro-adoption and unapologetic about it.

Let there be joy.

XO, Trisha