There is a road I’m walking on that I never thought I would. The road is simultaneously full of potholes and patches of silky, green grass. At times, just when I feel as though I’ve reached the end of this road, the wind whispers, and I realize I’ve been fooled. The illusion fades, melting the road into a thousand miles again. 

This road is the process of adoption. It is long and arduous, yet filled with small, unexpected patches of joy. About a year and a half ago, while going through my second divorce, I made the decision to adopt. I came to the conclusion that I wanted to be a single mother – by choice – even though I knew it was not going to be a simple or easy one. Since I’ve purposed my mind, life has been a whirlwind of emotions. For example, on any given day, I remember the baby I lost seven years ago to abortion, I am reminded of what I could have had with him or her, and I wonder if I will be a good mom when I finally welcome the newborn into my life.

Even though I think virtually every parent wonders if they will be a suitable parent, my thoughts often circle around the fact that I was sexually abused as a child. Honestly, it lingers in my mind a bit. Will I be an outsider in society, now that many people know my story? Will I be a “normal mom,” able to hang out with other moms? What will my daughter think when she grows up and hears about my past; what will she think when she learns that she doesn’t have a grandmother, and the reason for that?

On one side, I long to have a happy, healthy family: a loving husband, two children, and the “perfect life.” However, I have come to accept that that is not what God has for me, and so I am content with carving out my own happiness. I suppose that focusing too much on mental illness when it comes to my child is not healthy. What will be healthy is continuing to see my doctor, taking care of myself, and thinking about her needs. Life will be SO much different once I have her in my arms, and all I want is for her to be happy.