In 2013, I was 18 years old when I moved from Georgia to Fayetteville, Arkansas. I lived with my nana and started college at the University of Arkansas on a scholarship. Like most young adults, I wanted independence.
Just a week after arriving, I met Jason, who is now my husband. We met online, went on our first date on March 19, 2013, and something about him immediately felt important. Back then, both of us had very little to our name.I didn’t have my license yet, and he was living with his grandparents. He helped me learn to drive, and soon we were spending nearly every moment together. By May, we moved into our first apartment, and by August we were engaged.
We planned a wedding for October 2014, but two weeks before the big day, we packed up and moved to my hometown in Georgia. We postponed our wedding and ended up eloping that December in Gatlinburg, Tennessee. Our wedding was an intimate affair with only the two of us there. I chose a short black dress, while Jason went with jeans and boots. It was minimal, yet absolutely perfect.
The first years of marriage were full of love but also challenges. Jason missed his family back home, and we were learning how to be adults together. Even then, he was always my best friend, and that closeness helped us through hard times.
We had experienced an unexpected miscarriage shortly after our wedding, but we weren’t ready for children yet. In 2016, we decided to try for a baby. A year went by with no luck, and tests showed nothing wrong. We trusted God’s timing, but it was painful when month after month passed with no pregnancy.
In 2018, we felt drawn to return and settle back in Arkansas.
It broke my heart to leave my family again, but deep down, I knew it was where we were supposed to raise our kids. Around this time, I began talking more seriously about adoption.
Adoption had always been personal to me. When I was a child, my biological dad left, and my stepdad Danny later adopted my sister and me. He loved us as if we’d always been his. That love shaped my view of family, but my dad leaving also left scars. For most of my life, I’ve struggled with feeling “enough.” Jason has always been the one person who makes me feel fully loved, and that connection helped me understand how adoption could be a calling for us too.
In May 2019, we began the adoption process through The Call, a nonprofit that supports foster and adoptive families in Arkansas. Training opened our eyes to how many siblings are separated in foster care. Having experienced separation from my half-siblings growing up, I knew we wanted to adopt a sibling group so kids wouldn’t lose each other too.
In September 2019, I had another miscarriage. It shook me deeply and brought back all my insecurities about not being able to carry a child. But I now see that if I’d stayed pregnant, we likely wouldn’t have continued with adoption and there were already two boys out there who would become ours.
We officially opened our home in February 2020 and were matched with two brothers that spring. COVID made the process slow and complicated, but on July 24, 2020, they moved in. After nearly four years in foster care, we adopted them on January 28, 2021.
Just weeks before their adoption, we were asked to take in my cousin’s infant daughter. The boys agreed we had room in our hearts and home, even though it would be a big adjustment. That baby girl, Rae, brought sleepless nights and pure joy. Her mother eventually decided on adoption, and by March 2022, Rae was legally and officially part of our family.
Today, I’m an adoptive mom and an adoptee, and I’ve learned adoption is always born from loss. There is joy and love, but there’s also grief for the children’s first families and the pain they carry. I advocate for my kids and try to help them heal while holding space for all the complicated emotions adoption brings.
It’s messy and beautiful, hard and life-changing. We can’t fix the whole system, but we can love the children placed in our care. This is our “something,” and it’s the part of life I am most proud of.
