When I was going through IVF—and in the thick of not succeeding—I was depressed in a way I didn’t think was possible. People thought they were being comforting when they asked me, “Why don’t you just adopt?” They framed it like it was a solution to my pain, as if adoption was some quick, simple answer I hadn’t already considered. But the truth? That question wasn’t comforting at all. It was painful. Presumptuous. Another form of toxic positivity that dismissed the depth of what I was going through.
Why That Question Hurts
When someone asks, “Why don’t you just adopt?” it feels like being put on trial.
It assumes you haven’t thought of it already.
It frames adoption as a band-aid for grief, rather than its own complicated path.
And it shifts the burden back onto you—to defend your choices, to justify your pain, to prove why your life isn’t following the storybook script.
The reality is, adoption doesn’t erase infertility. It doesn’t erase years of trying, failing, hoping, and grieving. It’s not an obligation or an expectation anyone owes the world.
The Realities of Adoption
Adoption is beautiful. But it’s also complex. And it’s not a “just.”
- Emotional readiness: Adoption requires deep healing. If you leap into it as a way to avoid grief, it’s not fair—to you or to the child.
- Practical barriers: Cost, time, legal hurdles, and ethical considerations are enormous. It’s not a quick fix—it’s often an even longer, harder road.
- Not one-size-fits-all: Adoption is its own calling. It’s not the default “Plan B” for every person who can’t conceive.
To be clear: adoption can be a beautiful choice. But it is exactly that—a choice. Not a mandate.
The Bigger Stigma
The “just adopt” question carries an even heavier weight because of the bigger narrative it feeds. Society tells women that unless we’ve exhausted every possibility—IVF, surrogacy, fostering, adoption—we haven’t tried hard enough. That our womanhood is somehow incomplete unless we prove we’ve done it all.
That pressure fuels shame. It makes women like me invisible. It keeps us explaining ourselves, defending ourselves, when the truth is—we don’t owe anyone an explanation.
Reframing the Question
Adoption is not a consolation prize. It is not an obligation. It is not the “easy alternative” to infertility.
Your journey—my journey—is ours alone. We don’t need to prove we’ve checked every box on some invisible list of womanhood.
So maybe the next time someone wants to offer comfort, they can try this instead:
Don’t ask why we didn’t “just adopt.”
Ask how we are.
