Written by Ian Timbrell
Ian has worked in education for 18 years, including as a teacher and deputy head teacher and now supports schools develop their provision for LGBTQ+ and adopted pupils. He is the author of 'It's More Than Flags and Rainbows', a guide to supporting schools become more LGBTQ+ inclusive.
When we adopted, I think I expected a sense of arrival. A feeling that we had reached the end of a long and intense process and could finally breathe. In reality, adoption was not an ending at all. It was the beginning of a very different journey, one that far fewer people truly understand.
There is a widespread belief that trauma ends at adoption. That once a child is safe and loved, the hardest part is behind you. Our experience, and the experience of many families I have spoken to, tells a very different story. Trauma does not disappear because circumstances change. It stays with children as they grow, shaping how they see themselves, their families, and the world around them.
What shocked me most was how quickly support fell away once adoption was finalised. During the assessment process, you are surrounded by professionals, advice, and scrutiny. Afterwards, it can feel as though the scaffolding is suddenly removed. Families are expected to cope, to manage complex behaviours and emotions, and to do so quietly, often while being told how “lucky” everyone is.
Adoption touches every part of family life. As children grow older, particularly during the teenage years, questions about identity and belonging resurface with force. Life stories are revisited. Feelings of loss, anger, and confusion come to the surface. These are not abstract emotions. They show up in daily life, in school, at home, and in relationships.
One of the least understood aspects of adoption is contact with birth families. For those outside the adoption world, this is often difficult to grasp. Contact is not simple or tidy. It carries hope and heartbreak in equal measure. For children, it can reopen wounds they do not yet have the words to describe. For parents, it can be painful to watch your child carry feelings you cannot fix or protect them from.
Schools and wider family networks often struggle to understand this reality. Behaviours are framed as poor choices rather than expressions of distress. Parenting is judged without recognising the context. There is an unspoken expectation that adopted children should be settled, grateful, or resilient. When they are not, families can feel blamed and deeply isolated.
As an LGBTQ+ adoptive parent, there are additional layers. Our families are often more visible, and that visibility can bring both connection and silence. Sometimes it feels as though acknowledging the challenges of adoption is seen as too complicated, or as though we are already asking enough of people simply by existing as a queer family.
Things are slowly changing, but more education, connection and understanding are still needed around the realities many adopted families experience. Adoption can be an incredible thing, but it does not exist in a Disney daydream.
I am writing this as an individual, shaped by my own experience as an adoptive parent. I am also the founder of More Than Flags and Rainbows, and these two parts of my life are inseparable. This reflection comes from moments of joy and pride, and from moments of exhaustion, fear, and uncertainty. It comes from recognising how many families are quietly navigating similar paths without enough understanding or long-term support.
That is why, through More Than Flags and Rainbows, we are working to build networks for adoptive families and LGBTQ+ parents that centre lived experience and community support. Our aim is to create spaces where families can connect, share experiences and feel less alone in the challenges they face.
If this resonates with you, you are not alone. And struggling does not mean you are failing.