The word "adoption" is one of those words that stirs a range of emotions: tenderness, curiosity, nervousness, doubt, joy, expectation, and even fear. And the more it stirs us on the inside, the more it shows on the outside. How we feel about a subject can be sensed when we express ourselves. The reality is that how we express ourselves ultimately reveals much more than the words themselves.
Before beginning my own adoption journey, I was always curious about why, in the past and even recently, this topic was hidden from children. I always knew my children would know their story. But, at first, I believed there was “that day,” or that special moment where you sit down, take a deep breath, and explain, something solemn, almost marked as a separate chapter.
However, once we started the home study process. and I began to read, learn, and have real conversations with professionals in the world of adoption, I understood that adoption is not something you tell... it's something you converse about. It's not an event. It's part of the vocabulary. Part of life. Part of the everyday. And for that to be natural for a child, it first has to be natural for the parents.
From the very beginning of the process, we started practicing. We practiced saying the word "adopción" naturally, without lowering our voice, without our throats tightening, without that feeling of, “How do I say this?” The last thing we wanted was for our children to feel discomfort around the word. Our goal has always been simple: for our children to grow up with a true story, without mysteries, without evasions, and without that energy that makes important things seem like taboos or great family secrets.
That's why, when our daughter arrived—when she was just a newborn baby, the word "adoption" was already part of our vocabulary. We got used to speaking openly in her presence. Not to explain to her (she was too little to understand), but to teach ourselves to say it naturally. Also, so that our family, friends, and everyone around us understood that in our house, adoption is a safe word.
As she grew up, the questions began to arrive on their own, just like genuine children’s questions do: direct, unexpected, and unfiltered. That’s when I put into practice a piece of advice we had been given: answer what you are asked. No more, no less. If she kept asking, I kept answering. If not, the topic was dropped.
When my friends started getting pregnant with their second babies, she looked at me one day and asked: “Mommy, do you remember when I was in your tummy?” And I, with the same peace with which we had always decided to speak about it, told her: “My love, you were in your biological mother’s tummy. I carried you in my heart.” She smiled and said, “Oh, yes, that’s right.”
Books also played an important role. When her little brother was about to arrive, she was three and a half, so we gave her a storybook about how we became a family, with our photos, adapted to her age. That book became one of her favorites, not because of the word “adoption,” but because it told her story, from a place of love and with naturalness.
And the conversations in the car never fail. I don't know what it is about the car, but it seems to be a space that lends itself to deep questions. Everything comes out there.
I remember one morning while taking them to school. We were talking about the importance of Spanish classes, and suddenly, my six-year-old son asked me: “Mommy, do my biological parents speak Spanish?” I told him no, and he replied: “Ahhh, of course. That's why I don’t speak Spanish, then.” He said it like someone who had solved a scientific mystery.
Or the day I was waiting for them in the school pick-up line: my daughter came running with a little friend and asked me, full of excitement: “Mommy, isn't it true that I was adopted?” “Yes, my love.” She looked at her friend, triumphantly: “See, I told you it was true!” And they ran off as if nothing had happened, as if she had just said she likes chocolate ice cream.
Another afternoon, my son came home from school and told me: “Mommy, did you know that I’m the only kid in my class who was adopted? Isn't it cool?”For him, it was a fun fact, like saying he’s the only one who can do a somersault.
The word "adoption" can awaken many emotions, it’s true… but when it’s accompanied by communication, clarity, and love, it stops feeling heavy and starts feeling like what it truly is—a beautiful and natural part of our family history.
And in the end, that's what this is all about: helping them build a secure identity, a complete story, without missing chapters. Letting them know where they come from, who they are, and that their story, in its entirety, is a source of pride.
I firmly believe in always telling them the truth, so they grow up secure, confident in their history, and thus live confidently in themselves and their future.
Grateful to have you here, heart to heart.
Melli
