I am an artist. I am a playwright, I am a storyteller, and I am a solo performer. I believe in the power of story and I have made a career out of coaxing untold tales from people who believe their voices don’t deserve to be heard. For the past 20 years this statement “I am an artist” has defined who I am – until now.
On January 13, 2015 my husband and I stood in a darkened hallway of a small government building in Taiyuan, Shanxi Province, China. On the opposite side of the door my 22 month old son, Jack, sat waiting. We took a deep breath, stepped through the doorway, and in that moment everything changed.
As an artist I have traveled the world recording women’s stories and crafting their voices into theatrical shows. It has been a gift to share these shows off-Broadway, in universities, at spiritual retreats, for local high-schools, and for Fortune 500 companies. But now I have a different story to share.
I have never walked on the moon but being told you have exactly 9 days to report to China and become an adoptive mother has to be a close second to Armstrong’s famous first steps. Our time in China was filled with laughter, tears, adjustment and attachment issues, mind boggling bureaucracy, and enough stories to fill a lifetime. Then we returned home and I realized our true journey had just begun.
Some days I feel like any other new mother. Other days I question every look, every word, every gesture. Some days we are just another family playing in the park. Other days our differences seem to invite stares, comments, laughter, blessings, and even judgement.
Adoption is a life long process. It is complicated and messy. It is heartwarming and it is pain. It is sadness and it is immeasurable joy. This is our story.