17/02/2026
Last week I had the chance to attend the conference and meet so many adopters and professionals. One theme kept coming up in conversations: blame and shame. It’s something I’ve been drawn to for a while, especially since my friend and colleague Lisa Etherson shared her Shame Containment Theory with me.
Shame seems to sit quietly underneath so much of the adoption journey. It shows up in different places and at different times, often without words.
For some adopters, there is shame about not being able to have biological children. Birth parents can feel shame for not being able to continue caring for their child. Many adopted children already carry such a heavy load of shame, growing up feeling unlovable or bad, and any further shaming, even when unintentional, can overwhelm them and trigger those protective survival behaviours we so often see.
Then, as time goes on and trauma surfaces, new layers of shame can emerge. Adoptive parents can feel that all the preparation and training should have prepared them for the reality. There is the shame of struggling. The shame of noticing how secondary trauma lives in their own bodies and relationships. The shame of thinking they are failing their child.
When things reach a crisis point, or social workers become involved, the shame can deepen even further. Families can feel exposed, needing to explain and justify difficulties, sometimes having to revisit painful early life stories to help others understand what is happening now. Social workers and professionals can also carry their own shame, wanting to offer more than systems allow, and sometimes becoming defensive when they feel powerless, even when their care is genuine.
Shame thrives in silence. It grows when experiences feel misunderstood, when behaviours are labelled without curiosity, and when people feel blamed rather than held. But when shame is named gently and met with compassion instead of judgement, something begins to soften.