Since I was a tiny child, I knew I wanted to be a parent. Through my days of discovering my queerness, exploring polyamory, and generally rejecting society's expectations of how relationships "should" go, the plan of becoming a parent never faded. I was initially drawn to the work of midwifery because it combined many of the things I was passionate about: humans getting in touch with our animal-ness, the power inherent in bodies assigned female at birth, and the sacred transition into parenthood.
When I met someone who already had a child and was planning to have another one as a solo parent by choice, I jumped in headfirst. We fell in love and decided to do the queer family experience together. Over time, the kids she birthed became mine; some years later, I gave birth to another. We fully blended our families.
Then, when our youngest child was two, we separated. I found myself floored with grief. I hadn't expected my journey in family and parenthood to be so complex and full of the unexpected.
Grief manifests in various ways in queer and non-traditional family building. Many mourn that we can't procreate with the person we love and want to parent. I work with clients who find their "perfect" identified (known) donor. Then, they discover that they have poor sperm quality, meaning they need to start the donor search process from scratch. People experience fertility challenges, miscarriage, and pregnancy loss. There is also grief that the family of the non-gestational parent won't accept their child since they are not biologically related.
Many of us feel grief that we cannot shield our children, or future children, from the suffering of the world.
So many people, myself included, experience immense hope at the beginning of our family-building journeys. It's beautiful, hopeful, and exciting to make the choice, especially in today's political environment, as a queer person, to grow and nurture the next generation. Parenting is a revolutionary act that brings healing potential to our lives, lineages, and communities. And it's some of the most challenging work in the world, especially in a society that doesn't support parents in general, let alone parents who belong to the LGBTQ+ community.
When we acknowledge that grief is often a part of this queer family-building journey, we become stronger and more resilient in handling the curveballs that this process throws our way. It also helps people normalize grief and not feel that it is some sort of personal failure if and when some aspect of growing their family becomes harder than originally anticipated.
In their book Tending Grief: Embodied Rituals for Holding Our Sorrow and Growing Cultures of Care in Community, Camille Barton talks about how inherent grief is to the human experience. Those of us raised in Western societies are conditioned to turn away from our grief, which is a necessary and essential part of our humanity. Turning away from grief, they explain, causes us to feel numb and disconnected from ourselves and our bodies. We need to learn to allow ourselves to grieve to feel joy, connection, and even pleasure.
When I support people through the beginning of their family-building process, I encourage them to anticipate that it will likely be a challenging journey. I tell my clients: you may need to let go of many things you become attached to, even before your first attempt, again and again. This process may test you and, if applicable, your relationship, in many unexpected ways. And the more you can see these trials as part of your own maturation and skill-building journey towards
parenthood, the more able you will be to meet the moment with courage and an openness to
Grow.
When we normalize the reality that grief is often a part of this family-building process, it helps us build resilience in ourselves, our relationships, and the broader communities that will harbor our families as they evolve and change. And what a gift this is to our future children.
 
 Marea GoodmanSand and Stone Media for Marea Goodman
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