Many of the clients who reach out to us describe the same invisible weight: a to-do list that never shrinks, a mind that races with worry at 2 a.m., and days that pass without feeling like they've accomplished anything meaningful. Then comes the guilt, and the guilt makes it worse.

If this sounds familiar, you're in good company. Anxiety, depression, and a loss of motivation often travel together, feeding into one another in a cycle that can feel impossible to break from the inside.

"The hardest part isn't being sad. It's feeling like I should be fine — and still not being able to move."

That experience is not a character flaw. It's a signal from a nervous system that's been under too much pressure for too long.

You're not broken. You're depleted.

When anxiety is running the show, your brain enters a constant state of threat assessment, scanning for danger, replaying past mistakes, bracing for future ones. That takes enormous energy. Energy that should be fueling your drive, your creativity, and your sense of purpose.

Depression compounds this by disrupting the brain's reward system. The dopamine pathways that make tasks feel satisfying and worth starting become muted. Tasks that once felt manageable start to feel monumental, not because you've become less capable, but because the neurological "reward signal" for completing them has dimmed.

The result is a very real, very physical experience of being stuck. Motivation isn't a mindset you can simply choose, it's a resource, and right now, yours is running low.

Why motivation is the first thing to go

Anxiety keeps your nervous system in high alert. Depression pulls the floor out from under your sense of reward. Together, they create a kind of paralysis that looks like laziness from the outside but feels like exhaustion from the inside.

This is why pushing yourself harder rarely works. Willpower draws from the same depleted well. What helps instead is working with your biology, not against it, which means starting smaller than feels logical, and being far kinder to yourself than feels deserved.

Small things that genuinely move the needle

Recovery isn't linear, and there's no single fix. But research, and the lived experience of thousands of people, points to a few practices that genuinely help rebuild momentum over time.

Pick one absurdly small task. Not the whole project, just open the document, send one message, make one call. Completion itself is the signal your brain needs to start rebuilding its reward response.

Move your body. Even 10 minutes of walking can lift mood and reduce anxiety for hours. This isn't a motivational platitude, it's physiology. Movement is not optional; for many people, it's the single most effective tool available without a prescription.

Name what you're feeling. Labelling emotions, "I feel anxious right now," "I'm overwhelmed", reduces their intensity. Journaling for even five minutes or talking to someone who listens without trying to fix you can shift the weight considerably.

Protect your sleep. Anxiety and depression both wreck sleep, and poor sleep makes both dramatically worse. A consistent wind-down routine, same time, low light, no screens, is unglamorous but genuinely powerful.

Lower the bar. Setting impossible standards is a fast route back to paralysis. Done is better than perfect, and good enough is often exactly good enough.

Tell someone. Isolation amplifies everything. Reaching out, even briefly, even just to say you're struggling, breaks the feedback loop and reminds you that you are not alone in this.

When to seek support

There is no threshold you need to cross before you're allowed help. If these feelings have lasted more than a couple of weeks, are affecting your work or relationships, or are accompanied by thoughts of self-harm, please reach out to a professional.

Therapy, particularly Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (ACT), has strong evidence behind it for both anxiety and depression. In many cases it works best alongside lifestyle changes and, where appropriate, medication guided by a doctor.

Early support makes an enormous difference. You don't have to be at rock bottom to deserve a hand up.

A final note

The fact that you're reading this means some part of you is still looking for a way forward. That part matters. Hold onto it.

If you'd like to explore what support might look like for you, our team is here, no pressure, no judgement, just a conversation about your next step.

Infertility didn’t just challenge our dream of becoming parents, rather it challenged the very foundation of our marriage.

My husband and I have been together for nearly two decades. But there was a season where our home felt less like a sanctuary and more like a waiting room. The grief was heavy, the uncertainty was constant, and the repeated disappointments began to feel like a slow erosion of the life we had built.

In 2011, our journey eventually led us to Russia to adopt our child. But the "happy ending" didn't fix the scars; rather, the work we did during the struggle is what allowed us to be the parents we are today.

If you are currently in the thick of the "two-week wait" or the heartbreak of another negative test, here is how we kept our relationship from becoming a casualty of the process.

Reclaiming the "Us" from the "Problem"

Infertility has a way of assigning blame, even if it’s unspoken. It’s easy for one partner to feel like "the broken one" and the other to feel like "the helpless observer." We had to consciously decide that infertility was a third party trying to move into our house.

The Shift: We stopped saying "your results" or "my body" and started saying "our journey." We chose to be a united front against the diagnosis, rather than letting the diagnosis sit between us at the dinner table. We looked to our church to support us through this tumultuous journey of infertility which eventually led to adoption. 

When your life is dictated by ovulation kits, doctor’s schedules, and financial stress, your marriage can start to feel like a medical project. We realized we were losing the "us" that fell in love twenty years ago.

We had to fight to keep our world big. We made a rule: Date nights were a "No-Infertility Zone." We had to remember how to laugh, how to talk about books or travel, and how to enjoy each other without a "goal" in mind.

Learning a different way to look at this grief was perhaps our steepest learning curve. I grieved loudly; he grieved quietly. I wanted to talk; he wanted to fix it. For a long time, I mistook his silence for apathy, and he mistook my tears for a lack of hope. We had to learn that different isn't wrong. Once we stopped judging how the other person was hurting, we could finally start holding each other through the pain.

Recognizing the Chapter, Not the Book

In the middle of the hormone shots and the waiting, it felt like this was our forever. It felt like our entire legacy would be defined by what we couldn't do. We had to remind each other that while this season was intense, it was just a season. We clung to the biblical verse which hung in my grandparents’ home my whole life: Isaiah 40:31: "But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint."  Holding onto the perspective that our life was still happening now, even in the waiting, helped us keep moving forward when the path felt blocked.

Staying Open to the "Pivot"

Adoption wasn't our "Plan A," but it became our most beautiful "Plan Yes." However, we quickly learned that choosing adoption didn't mean the "waiting" was over; it just changed shape. Instead of doctor's offices and medical charts, our lives became a whirlwind of trials and tribulations that tested our resolve in entirely new ways. We moved from the physical exhaustion of infertility treatments to the bureaucratic exhaustion of international adoption.

The Mountain of Paperwork: There were months where it felt like we were drowning in documents: notarizations, background checks, home visits, international apostilles and endless forms. Each piece of paper felt like a tiny, fragile bridge we were building toward our child.

The waiting was no longer marked by a two-week cycle, but by the quiet of a phone that wouldn't ring and the uncertainty of Russia’s legal system, which was very fragile during those years. There were moments when the red tape felt like a wall designed to keep us away from our child.

But in 2012, when we finally brought our child home from Russia, the perspective shifted. Those years of "paperwork and patience" didn't erase the pain of infertility, but they gave that pain a landing place. We realized that the endurance we built during infertility was exactly the strength we needed to navigate the adoption process.

Staying open didn’t mean giving up; it meant realizing that our "family" might look different than we imagined, and that was okay. Resilience isn't about getting exactly what you planned—it’s about growing through the obstacles you never saw coming to reach the child who was meant to be yours all along.

A Note to the Couple in the Waiting Room

Infertility can create a vast distance between two people, or it can forge a bond that is absolutely unbreakable. Often, it does both in the same week.

Our marriage didn’t survive because we avoided the struggle. It survived because, even when we were tired and heartbroken, we kept choosing each other. If you feel like the weight of this journey is pulling you apart, please know that you don't have to carry it alone. Whether through community or therapy, there is a way back to each other.

You are more than your struggle, and your relationship can be the strongest thing you own.

Finding a therapist for your child can feel overwhelming. As a parent, you want the best possible support for your child — but navigating the world of mental health care often raises more questions than answers. What type of therapist does my child need? How do I know if they're a good fit? What if my child refuses to go? This guide is designed to make that journey a little clearer and a lot less daunting.

Why Early Mental Health Support Matters

Children's mental health is just as important as their physical health — yet it's often overlooked until a crisis emerges. According to the CDC, approximately 1 in 5 children in the U.S. experiences a mental health disorder in a given year. Many go without support simply because parents don't know where to start.

The good news: early intervention works. When children receive appropriate mental health support, they are better equipped to manage emotions, build healthy relationships, succeed in school, and develop resilience that carries into adulthood.

If you've noticed changes in your child's mood, behavior, sleep, appetite, or school performance — or if they've experienced a significant life stressor like divorce, loss, trauma, or a major transition — reaching out to a professional is a wise and loving step.

Step 1: Understand What Your Child Needs

Before searching for a therapist, it helps to have a general sense of what's going on. You don't need a diagnosis — that's the professional's job — but reflecting on your child's experience will help you communicate effectively when you make contact.

Ask yourself:

• What behaviors or changes have I noticed? (e.g., withdrawal, irritability, anxiety, sadness, school refusal, sleep issues)

• When did these changes begin? Was there a triggering event?

• How long has this been going on?

• Has anyone else — a teacher, pediatrician, or school counselor — raised concerns?

If your child's pediatrician has already flagged mental health concerns, ask for their input. Pediatricians in Maryland often work alongside OMHCs like Lartey Wellness Group to provide coordinated, whole-child care.

Step 2: Know the Types of Therapists

Not all mental health professionals are the same. Here's a quick breakdown to help you navigate:

Licensed Clinical Social Worker (LCSW) LCSWs are trained to address a wide range of emotional and behavioral challenges. They use evidence-based therapies and are common in outpatient mental health settings. Many child therapists in Maryland hold this credential.

Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) LPCs specialize in talk therapy and are trained to support children, adolescents, and families dealing with anxiety, depression, trauma, grief, and life transitions.

Psychologist (PhD or PsyD) Psychologists are doctoral-level clinicians who can provide therapy and conduct psychological evaluations and testing — useful if you're seeking a formal diagnosis or learning disability assessment.

Psychiatrist (MD) Psychiatrists are medical doctors who can prescribe medication. If your child's treatment may involve medication management, a psychiatrist — ideally one working in coordination with a therapist — is appropriate.

At Lartey Wellness Group, our clinicians include licensed therapists and counselors who specialize in child and adolescent mental health, and we coordinate with other providers when additional support (like psychiatric care) is needed.

Step 3: Look for Specialization in Child and Adolescent Therapy

Not every therapist who works with adults is equally equipped to work with children. Children process emotions differently, communicate in different ways, and benefit from age-appropriate therapeutic approaches.

When searching for a child therapist in Baltimore, Laurel, or elsewhere in Maryland, look for:

• Specific experience with children and adolescents — ask about the age ranges they typically see

• Familiarity with your child's presenting concern — anxiety, ADHD, trauma, depression, autism spectrum, grief, etc.

• Training in child-specific modalities, such as:

  • Play Therapy — especially effective for younger children who communicate through play

  • Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) — evidence-based for anxiety and depression in children and teens

  • Trauma-Focused CBT (TF-CBT) — for children who have experienced trauma or adverse childhood experiences (ACEs)

  • Family Therapy — involves the family system, which is often critical for lasting change

  • Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) — helpful for adolescents dealing with intense emotions or self-harm

Step 4: Consider Practical Factors

Even the most skilled therapist won't be a good fit if the logistics don't work for your family. Consider:

Location and Accessibility Are you looking for a therapist near Baltimore or in the Laurel area of Maryland? Proximity matters — consistent attendance is one of the strongest predictors of therapeutic success. At Lartey Wellness Group, we serve clients across Maryland and offer flexible scheduling to support working families.

Telehealth vs. In-Person Many families in Maryland have embraced telehealth since the pandemic, and for good reason — it removes transportation barriers and can feel less intimidating for some children. Ask whether the practice offers both options.

Insurance and Cost Mental health care should be accessible. Before scheduling, confirm that the provider accepts your insurance plan. Maryland's Mental Health Parity law requires insurers to cover mental health services comparably to physical health services. If cost is a barrier, ask about sliding scale fees or Medicaid acceptance. Lartey Wellness Group accepts a range of insurance plans — contact us to verify your coverage.

Availability and Wait Times Demand for child therapists in Maryland has grown significantly in recent years. Don't be discouraged by wait lists — they often signal a quality practice. In the meantime, ask if the practice has a therapist who can provide an initial consultation or if they can recommend interim resources.

Step 5: Evaluate the Fit — for Your Child and for You

The therapeutic relationship is one of the most powerful predictors of positive outcomes. A technically skilled therapist who doesn't connect with your child won't be nearly as effective as one who does.

What to look for in an initial session:

• Does the therapist explain their approach in a way that makes sense to you?

• Does your child seem at ease, or at least not resistant after an initial adjustment period?

• Does the therapist invite your input and keep you appropriately informed?

• Do you feel heard and respected as the parent?

It's normal for children — especially younger ones or those who are anxious — to be reluctant at first. But if after 3–4 sessions your child is still completely shut down or the therapist seems dismissive of your concerns, it's okay to look for another provider.

Questions to ask a potential therapist:

1. What experience do you have working with children my child's age?

2. What therapeutic approaches do you use, and why?

3. How do you involve parents in the process?

4. How will I know if my child is making progress?

5. What happens if my child refuses to engage?

Step 6: Involve Your Child (Age-Appropriately)

Children are more likely to engage in therapy when they feel some sense of agency in the process. Depending on your child's age and maturity:

• Younger children (ages 3–7): Keep explanations simple. "We're going to meet someone whose job is to help kids with big feelings" is enough.

• School-age children (ages 8–12): Be honest but reassuring. Normalize it — "Lots of kids see therapists, just like we see doctors for our bodies."

• Teenagers: Adolescents often respond better when they feel respected. Let them know therapy is a space that's largely theirs. Discuss — rather than dictate — the decision to seek help.

Avoid framing therapy as a punishment or as something that happens because they're "bad" or "broken." Frame it as a tool for feeling better and understanding themselves more.

What to Expect from the Process

Therapy is not a quick fix. Most children begin to show meaningful progress after 8–12 sessions, though this varies widely depending on the nature and severity of the concern. Some children benefit from short-term, focused work; others need longer-term support.

Progress may not always look linear. There can be weeks that feel like a step backward — especially as children process difficult emotions in a safe space for the first time. Stay in communication with the therapist, and trust the process.

As a parent, you may also be invited into some sessions or given guidance on how to support your child at home. This family involvement often accelerates progress significantly.

Why Families in Maryland Choose Lartey Wellness Group

At Lartey Wellness Group, we understand that reaching out for help takes courage — and we honor that. Our licensed clinicians bring warmth, cultural competence, and clinical expertise to every family we serve.

We provide outpatient mental health services to children, adolescents, and families in Baltimore, Laurel, and across Maryland, with a commitment to care that is:

• Individualized — no two children are the same, and neither are our treatment plans

• Family-centered — we involve parents as partners in the therapeutic process

• Culturally responsive — we are committed to serving diverse communities across Maryland with sensitivity and respect

• Accessible — we accept multiple insurance plans and offer both in-person and telehealth options

Whether your child is struggling with anxiety, depression, trauma, behavioral challenges, grief, or the pressures of growing up, we're here to help.

Take the First Step Today

You don't have to figure this out alone. If you're a parent in Maryland — in Baltimore, Laurel, or anywhere in between — and you're wondering whether therapy might help your child, we invite you to reach out.

Contact Lartey Wellness Group to schedule a consultation or learn more about our services. Our team is ready to answer your questions, walk you through the process, and help you find the right fit for your child and your family.

Because every child deserves to feel supported — and every parent deserves a trusted partner in that journey.

Lartey Wellness Group is a licensed Outpatient Mental Health Center (OMHC) serving children, adolescents, adults, and families across Maryland, including Baltimore and Laurel. Our clinicians are trained in a range of evidence-based therapeutic approaches to support mental health and wellness at every stage of life.

In our hyper-connected world, our brains are essentially high-performance engines that have been running at redline for years. Between the relentless "ping" of notifications and the heavy weight of doom-scrolling, our mental bandwidth is stretched thin. We are living through an epidemic of brain fatigue.

But as April 22nd approaches, we have a built-in opportunity for a hard reset. This Earth Day, the most sustainable thing you can do isn't just recycling your plastics—it’s reclaiming your peace of mind through a Digital Detox. By leaning into the power of Biophilia, we can trade our "blue light" for "green light" and heal the stress that modern life has woven into our nervous systems.

Why Your Brain is Burned Out: The Science of Directed Attention

Have you ever finished a day of staring at a screen and felt physically exhausted, even though you barely moved? That is Directed Attention Fatigue. According to Attention Restoration Theory (ART), urban environments and digital interfaces demand "top-down" focus. This is a finite resource. Every email you scan and every notification you dismiss chips away at your ability to regulate emotions and solve problems. When this resource is depleted, anxiety and irritability move in.

The Earth Day Solution: Nature doesn't ask anything of you. It offers what psychologists call "bottom-up" stimulation. This Earth Day, by stepping away from the screen, you allow your prefrontal cortex to finally go "offline" and recharge.

Biophilia vs. The Screen: Choosing "Soft Fascination"

The term Biophilia suggests that humans possess an innate tendency to seek connections with nature. Evolution didn't design us for cubicles or glass-and-metal smartphones; it designed us for forests and coastlines.

While digital content is designed to be "hyper-stimulating" (grabbing your attention aggressively), nature provides Soft Fascination. Think of the rhythmic movement of clouds, the way sunlight filters through leaves, or the sound of rain. These patterns—often called Fractals—are visually soothing. They capture our interest without requiring the effort of "focus."

In the world of Environmental Psychology, this shift from forced focus to soft fascination is the primary mechanism that lowers cortisol and lifts the fog of depression.

Mindful Earthing: A Step-by-Step Earth Day Grounding Guide

To celebrate Earth Day, don’t just look at nature through a window. Practice Earthing—the act of physically connecting with the Earth’s surface to stabilize your body's internal rhythms.

Try this 5-4-3-2-1 Biophilic Grounding Method to quiet an anxious mind:

• 5 things you see: Look for the specifics. The jagged edge of a leaf, the way shadows fall on the grass, or the specific shade of the sky.

• 4 things you feel: Take off your shoes. Feel the cool dampness of the soil, the texture of tree bark, or the wind on your skin.

• 3 things you hear: Close your eyes. Identify the distance of a bird’s call, the rustle of leaves, or the ambient hum of the wind.

• 2 things you smell: Breathe deep. Can you smell the damp earth? The scent of pine or fresh-cut grass?

• 1 thing you taste: Notice the crispness of the air.

3 Ways to Practice Sustainability and Wellness This Week

If you want to marry sustainability and wellness, start with these three eco-friendly self-care habits:

1. The "Power Down" Hour: On Earth Day, commit to one full hour of no-tech time outdoors. No podcasts, no fitness trackers—just you and the environment.

2. Micro-Restoration: If you can’t get to a forest, bring the forest to you. Studies show that even looking at a houseplant at your desk can trigger the biophilia effect and lower heart rates.

3. Collective Action for Anxiety: "Eco-anxiety" is real. One of the best ways to fight the feeling of helplessness is to join a local Earth Day cleanup. Turning anxiety into action provides a sense of community and purpose.

Conclusion: Planting Seeds of Peace

Earth Day is more than a global reminder to protect our environment; it is a gift to ourselves. Our mental health is not separate from the health of our planet. When we disconnect from the digital noise and reconnect with the soil, the trees, and the open air, we aren't just "taking a break"—we are returning home.

This Earth Day, swap your blue light for green light. Your brain will thank you.

There is a loud, constant hum in our ears right now telling us to just care harder for ourselves.

Meditate longer. Journal deeper. Buy the candle. Protect the peace. But if I’m being honest, both as a therapist and as a human being, I am still tired. And I know you are, too.

The View from My Chair

Every day, I step into my office and wear a dozen different hats. I am a therapist, a case manager, an advocate, and a witness. I hold the heavy, jagged pieces of trauma, grief, and systemic failure that my clients bring in. I love this work. But I also carry the quiet weight of it home with me. I feel that familiar pressure to just "keep going," to be the unflappable pillar of strength. So, I do exactly what I tell my clients to do: I practice self-care. I do the breathing exercises. I take walks.

And yet, some days, it simply isn't enough.

The Lie We’ve Been Sold

We’ve turned self-care into a metric of success. The unspoken narrative is: If you’re burnt out, you must be failing at your wellness routine.

But here is the truth I’ve had to face in my own life: Sometimes the problem isn’t my mindset; it’s my environment.

No amount of morning yoga is going to fix:

• A caseload that is physically impossible to manage.

• Systems that offer breadcrumbs when people need a feast.

• The raw, emotional toll of absorbing other people’s pain for forty plus hours a week.

• The expectation to perform miracles with zero resources.

When we treat self-care as the only solution to systemic burnout, we are just gaslighting ourselves. We end up asking, "What is wrong with me? Why am I still drowning when I’m doing all the 'right' things?"

Burnout Isn’t a Character Flaw

I’ve realized that my burnout isn't a sign that I’m a "bad" therapist or that I’m not "resilient" enough. It is a physiological response to chronic, unrelieved demand. For those of us in the "helping" professions, we are doing high-intensity emotional labor in a world that rarely offers a chance to process it. Traditional self-care feels like putting a decorative Band-Aid on a wound that needs stitches.

What I’m Learning About "Real" Care

Real self-care has started to look a lot less aesthetic for me lately. It’s actually quite messy. It looks like:

• The "Hard" No: Setting boundaries that make me feel guilty, but keep me sane.

• Radical Honesty: Admitting to my supervisor or my peers that a situation is unsustainable and I need to stop accepting new clients. What might mean for you is saying no to more responsibilities.

• Lowering the Bar: Allowing myself to be "just okay" instead of "transformative" when my battery is at 5%.

• The Ugly Truth: Recognizing that my empathy is a finite resource, not an endless well.

Being honest about my own exhaustion hasn’t made me worse at my job. If anything, it’s made me more human. It allows me to look at my clients and say, "I see why you’re tired. This isn't your fault."

A Better Question

I’ve stopped asking myself, "How can I take better care of myself?" Instead, I’m starting to ask: "What is happening in my environment that self-care was never meant to fix?" Healing isn’t always about adding another habit to your to-do list. Sometimes, it’s about acknowledging that you are a human being responding exactly how a person should to an impossible situation.

Final Thoughts

Please, keep the meditation and the walks. They matter. They help us regulate. But remember: self-care was never meant to carry the full weight of a broken system.

If you’re doing everything "right" and you’re still depleted, you haven't failed. You’re just human. And you deserve more than a bubble bath; you deserve a life that doesn't require you to constantly escape it.

Infertility and miscarriage are grief experiences that many women endure quietly.

When I went through it, I didn’t even recognize it as grief.

Today, as a therapist, I understand exactly what it was.

But at the time, I only knew that my heart was breaking.

My husband and I had a plan for our life together. It was simple and beautiful. Marriage, military life, two kids, and two cats.

At the time, my husband was a busy U.S. Air Force Captain and I was substitute teaching. I also served as a Key Spouse, supporting military families whose spouses were deployed. I filled my days organizing care packages and answering calls from families in distress as they navigated the stress of military life.

Helping others gave my days purpose.

But in the quiet moments, I was grieving.

After losing three pregnancies, I began to wonder if children would ever be possible for us. I cried out to God often.

“Why, Lord? Why can’t I do what a woman is supposed to do?”

Looking back now as a therapist, I can clearly see that I was experiencing profound grief.

But at the time, I didn’t have the language for it.

Baby showers were brutal. Sometimes I simply could not go. I would send a gift instead. For a time, I even distanced myself from friends who had babies because every pregnancy announcement on social media felt like a painful reminder of what we had lost.

People tried to comfort me by saying, “It will happen in God’s timing.”

But when you are struggling with infertility, time can feel like your enemy.

I felt like I was getting older by the minute.

Because we were living on an Air Force base, we were able to have fertility testing done at no cost. We hoped the testing would provide answers.

Instead, it brought more uncertainty.

The doctors explained that fertility drugs were not recommended for me because of the possible risks of blood clots, stroke, or even heart attack. And even if I chose to take those risks, there was no guarantee that I would become pregnant or carry a baby to term.

Hearing that was devastating.

When you long for a child, you want solutions. You want hope.

Instead, it felt like another door quietly closing.

So I prayed.

Often.

I thought about the story of Sarah and Abraham in the Bible, and I prayed that if it was God’s will for us to have children, He would make a way.

And then we waited.

About six months later, I had some free time and began researching adoption. Domestic adoption frightened me. I had read stories about families becoming attached to an infant only to have the child returned to the biological parents.

So we began exploring international adoption.

The more I read about orphanages overseas, the more my heart broke. Some reports described babies lying in cribs all day with no one responding to their cries. I knew we had to do something.

Our first application was to adopt from China.

But we were denied.

Not because of anything major.

Because my BMI was one point above their requirement.

If you have ever struggled with chronic health issues, you know that losing weight is not always as simple as exercising more.

It was another crushing disappointment.

Then our adoption agency told us about Russia.

We had always imagined having a child who looked Chinese because my husband is half Chinese. In fact, I used to joke that I always wanted a Chinese child with freckles.

But we followed the path that opened.

The first step was the home study, which I often call a “paper pregnancy.” The process required mountains of paperwork—medical exams, psychological evaluations, financial records, background checks, and documents that had to be apostilled.

At the time, that meant a four-hour drive in person every time.

Eventually I even stopped working because the process was so time consuming.

In April 2010 we submitted Dossier #1, hoping to be matched with a child under the age of two since attachment theorists emphasize that the first two years of life are crucial for secure attachment development.

Then we waited.

Just as things were moving forward, the adoption world was shaken by international news. A woman from Tennessee named Tori Hansen had returned a child she adopted from Russia—alone, on a plane—with a backpack and a note.

The ripple effects were enormous.

Russia threatened to close adoptions to U.S. citizens.

Once again, we waited.

And prayed.

Then in September 2010, we received the call.

The adoption coordinator said they had a match.

But we had to decide that very day if we wanted to proceed.

They sent us her photo.

I remember staring at it and crying. She looked so small and pitiful, almost as if she had not known much love. But there was a sparkle in her eyes.

And in that moment, I felt a quiet whisper in my heart.

“Here is your little girl.”

Soon we were securing visas and passports for the long journey. We traveled first to Moscow for additional Russian medical exams—even though we had already completed them in the United States. I still remember that the doctor who examined me smelled strongly of vodka.

Then we boarded a ten-hour flight to Vladivostok.

When the orphanage director opened the door and our daughter toddled into the playroom, I cannot fully describe that moment. We were allowed to feed her, hold her, and begin the first fragile steps of bonding.

But after only a week, we had to return home to complete Dossier #2.

Leaving her behind was heartbreaking.

We submitted the final paperwork and waited again, hoping she would be home by Christmas.

But Russia celebrates Christmas in January, so everything paused.

Finally, on a cold February day, we received the call.

We had a court date on February 7th.

We packed again and flew back to Vladivostok.

During the court hearing, the judge asked us many questions.

Then she said one word.

“Da.”

Yes.

We were finally a family.

Because of passport and citizenship requirements, we had to remain in Vladivostok for ten more days before leaving the country. My husband had to return home for military duty, so there I was in a foreign country, knowing only a few Russian phrases, suddenly a brand new mom.

Those early days were overwhelming and beautiful all at once.

Then came a moment I will never forget.

On Valentine’s Day, February 14, 2011, our daughter was officially placed into my arms.

What a phenomenal day that was.

After years of heartbreak, waiting, praying, and paperwork, I was finally holding my child.

Eventually we flew back to Moscow to complete the final steps at the American Embassy so that when we entered the United States, she would automatically become a U.S. citizen.

While waiting, she and I explored the city together. We danced in our hotel room. We visited Red Square and the famous St. Basil’s Cathedral.

Then it was time to come home.

She didn’t sleep a single wink on the flight.

When we landed in Washington, D.C., my mom and my husband were waiting with balloons and a Welcome Home sign.

Our daughter was finally home.

The early months had challenges. She struggled sleeping alone because she had always slept near other children in the orphanage. She was diagnosed with Fetal Alcohol Effects, not full Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and she desperately needed to gain weight because she was considered failure to thrive.

But within a year she had doubled her weight and spoke perfect English.

Today she is a beautiful young woman—almost eighteen years old.

Did the grief of losing our first babies disappear?

No.

That grief still lives quietly in my heart.

But I also believe that God had a greater plan.

Across the world, in a city called Vladivostok, there was a little girl waiting for us.

And she was always meant to be ours.

If you are struggling to conceive, navigating infertility, considering adoption, or carrying the quiet grief of miscarriage, please know this:

Your grief is real.
Your longing is valid.
And you do not have to walk through it alone.

As someone who has lived this journey personally—and now supports others professionally as a therapist—it would be an honor to walk alongside you.