In 2015 I became a foster mom, and I truly never dreamed of adoption being a part of my journey. I was single, living in a tiny apartment close to my favorite lake and working a full time job that I absolutely loved. I had recently helped friends that were fostering in a different state, and knew there had to be a way to get involved in my home state of Minnesota. My only mission was to love kiddos placed in my home and to support their parents to a healthy reunification. In my first year I fostered seven infants, five that had a healthy reunification, and two that stayed with me for the next couple of years and needed a forever home. One of them became my daughter, and I am so grateful.
Continuing the mission, I cheered on my daughter’s mom hoping for reunification for two years. I prepared and said a tearful “goodbye” to my daughter only to find her in my arms at the end of the day. I sat in the courtrooms, shared all the great progress with the right people, and prayed with every ounce of my strength that this family would not be torn apart. I witnessed the attachment my girl has to her mom. I witnessed the hard work of her mom, pressing through endless temptations and demons to “win” the right to parent her kids again. At the end, I witnessed the tragedy of a system that truly didn’t have the structure to help her thrive and the tears and grief of her mama and daddy as they signed away their parental rights.
My daughter’s mama knew we shared a deep love for her girl. She grabbed me and asked me to adopt her, and through tears she said “I don’t know what I’ll do if you say no”. It was in that moment I felt both immense gratitude and fear. I was a Black single mom fostering an adorable white toddler. I wasn’t confident that I was the best choice. I knew she knew me as her mama, and was attached. I knew I could provide her needs, but I also knew of the challenging days ahead.
In our short two years together, we had faced the incredible challenges of being a transracial family with the racial makeup different from the norm of those in the adoption community holding the same title. I thought I knew what to expect but I was so incredibly wrong. In my Black community the response was “You are parenting a WHITE child??!”. In my church community I was met with great excitement and celebration the first few kiddos, but then with burnout once my journey progressed from a perceived fad to a deep calling. My parents embraced each kiddo and spoiled and loved them without question. They were truly my saving grace in the midst of so much challenge and disappointment.
The racism was more real as a parent in Minnesota than as Black woman who grew up in a segregated southern city. We’ve encountered scary interactions with police, “well-meaning” strangers and retail workers in which I’ve had to convince them that I was the legal caretaker of my girl. There have been comments that cut so deep in my heart, some of which I was strong enough to confront and some that still linger as grief today. I was met with rejection in Black adoptive mom groups because my child was not Black. When I posted in an online Foster Parent Support Group looking for a community of any Black moms who are parenting transracially, I was met with hatred and comments of why race even mattered.
When faced with the open door to adopt, all of these moments and more played like a movie in my brainspace for days. Her first mom chose ME. No matter how hard, how lonely, how bittersweet, I truly knew it was right. I fought for the security, healthy attachment, joy and family my daughter deserves since day one and I knew this was an invitation to continue for the long haul. I said “yes” and committed to walking open handed to all that lies ahead.
Weeks before the adoption I found an online community of parents of color adopting transracially. It was a national group with less than 100 members. I adopted my daughter in April of 2019, married my now husband in June of the same year and we are continuing the journey together as Adoptive and Foster parents. The loneliness is still real, and I boldly choose to push past the walls before me because my daughter is more than worth it. I’ve set the same expectations for our family as I would for any other transracial family. I ask the questions to learn about my daughters culture and heritage from her first mom as we continue life together as family..I also teach her about my Black culture as it will now be a part of her diverse upbringing. I watch videos and seek out help to be sure I take great care of her thin blonde gorgeous hair. I buy dolls that represent her and that represent me, and I teach her how to confidently declare the beauty of both of our skin. At the end of the day I stay committed to my daughter, her birth family and the endless fight for their voices to be heard.
WRITTEN BY AVIVAH BROWN: Avivah is a foster and adoptive mama and newlywed from Minneapolis, MN. As a foster mama she is passionate about cheering families on to a healthy reunification. As an adoptive mama she is passionate about amplifying adoptee voices, and remaining in a position to always learn more. She is a nonprofit Director by day and a foodie by night. She and her husband were married last summer in June of 2019 and are enjoying family life and all the adventures that come with it.
