In light of my book’s success, including recent media appearances in newspapers and magazines, the haters have started to come out of the woodworks – though in my case, they have been fairly harmless keyboard warriors. The most regular comment is:
“Ew – this is too much information for children.”
This has prompted me to respond – not because I feel a need to justify my personal decisions, but because this is new territory in society and perhaps we need to talk about it a little more openly so that people have the opportunity to understand and empathise.
Making the decision to conceive a child using a sperm (or egg) donor is a big decision. To a lesser extent, using assisted reproductive technology to undertake the process has its own considerations. Some people choose to use known donors who have a role in their child’s life, other people (myself included) choose unknown donors where we get a lot of information but no contact. Neither decision is wrong, but both provide different considerations for how disclosure happens. Fortunately, where science has intervened to create families, social research has not been too far behind in offering some insights into these situations.
There is a growing body of research that demonstrates the positive adjustment of children born into a range of different donor situations, but many donor counsellors suggest that parents disclose this to their children. For gay or single women, there is really no choice but to disclose. However, in many heterosexual families where donor sperm or eggs are used to treat infertility, parents choose not to tell their children about their origins. This can profoundly disrupt family relationships if children find out later on. They feel betrayed.
Many parents in these situations cite ‘not knowing how to start the conversation’ or ‘shame around not wanting their child to feel different’ as reasons for choosing not to disclose. These are perfectly valid challenges, but I dare say it’s better if people consider their options carefully and have resources available for starting conversations when the time is right.
The other, equally messy side of choosing not to disclose birth origins and paternity comes about when the child grows up. What if they meet and fall in love with a donor half-sibling? What if they discover later on that they have a health issue and no access to their records to investigate their genetic background? What if they’re just curious as to where they got their long eyelashes and brown eyes when their parents don’t have these traits? Or – what if the child is angry that they’ve been lied to for their whole life and it sets a whole existential crisis about identity into motion that probably didn’t need to happen, if only for truth of the adults in the situation?
For us, the decision to tell our child from day one (and to write a book about it) comes from a place of integrity and concern for long-term outcomes. I want our child to trust us because we tell them the truth. I want them to understand and embrace the beginning of their life for what it is – an amazing, beautiful, and wonderful blessing – not a family secret that nobody cares to talk about.
For all of these reasons, we have a scrapbook with pictures of our donor, a letter from him, a page with facts about his life, and of course, our copy of One in Many Millions sitting on the bookshelf. Too much information? Sure – but I’d rather that than a life of heartache and distrust with my child because I was too scared to talk about it. That ‘aching void’ that the morally-panicked far right talks about happens when there is a lack of truth in the situation; it doesn’t tend to happen when a child is raised in a home full of love and the power of truth. Research has proven this time and again.
To read more about this topic, click here and here for something a little more academic. Some reading about the wellbeing of donor-conceived children can be found here and a more in-depth look at wellbeing in same-sex parented families is here.
Happy academic reading.