Many people shy away from adopting older children, often gravitating straight toward babies and toddlers. But not us. Hi, we’re the Zimmermans, and we tend to go against the grain in most things we do. We aren’t ordinary in the traditional sense—no cookie-cutter path of college, career, marriage, two kids, and growing old together.
We dated long-distance in college, got married before physical therapy school, endured a long-distance marriage, graduated, bought a house, and then adopted a teenager. Yes, you read that right. We adopted a 14-and-a-half-year-old boy from Ukraine when I was 27 and my husband was 31. Some thought we were crazy, but to us, it felt completely right.
Adoption hadn’t been on our radar initially. That changed when we started working with an organization that brought over groups of Ukrainian orphans three times a year, around ten kids per group. We fell in love with these children—their resilience, their culture, their spirit. And every time we were around them, their eyes told a story of longing and a quiet despair that broke our hearts. But the statistics were even more devastating: two-thirds of girls who age out of the Eastern European orphan system are sex trafficked, 70% of boys turn to crime, and 10% die by suicide before age 21. We knew the cycle needed breaking, one child at a time. Looking back, we thought we were saving a child—but in truth, he saved us.
We made three trips between Ukraine and the U.S. before finally bringing our son home. Each trip left us heartbroken to leave him behind at the boarding school, unable to change his situation yet so desperate to. The first meeting in Ukraine began a three-month rollercoaster of emotions—from paperwork to approvals to final farewells.
I still vividly remember the day we could finally take him out of the boarding school. Joy and heartbreak mingled in equal measure. He had to say goodbye to his older brother before meeting us at the notary for paperwork. His grief was palpable—the weight of leaving the only life he knew pressing down on his young shoulders. He was the seventh child in his family, with six siblings he could no longer adopt due to age restrictions. Watching him hug his sister and nephews, tears streaming down his face, I whispered to my husband, “Did we do the right thing?” And yet, deep down, we knew we had given him a chance at hope that Ukraine could not promise.
He was leaving behind everything familiar—culture, language, friends, family—for a life with two strangers pledging to be his parents. Oh, how brave he was. I tell him often how much courage it took to make such a life-altering choice at just 14-and-a-half. He amazes me every single day.
We spent three magical weeks in Kyiv over Christmas and New Year’s while waiting for his passport and exit approval. Those weeks were filled with simple joys: playing in the snow, falling on ice, watching movies, bowling, eating out, and marveling at the city’s history and culture. It was a time for him to embrace his heritage while beginning to experience the wider world—and for us, it was precious bonding time, soaking in the wonder of seeing the world through his eyes.
January 10th, 2017, finally brought us home to the U.S. Our hopes of having a son were now reality. At first, life was joyous and full of the “honeymoon” phase—school, routines, learning English, discovering one another. But then reality set in. I began noticing the stages of grief: he was mourning his culture, his language, his familiar surroundings, and the expectations he had versus the reality we offered. It would take about a year and a half for him to fully embrace his decision.
Boundaries were a challenge. He had grown up in a world with few rules and had been responsible like an adult from a young age. Suddenly, he had to listen to two strangers setting limits and expectations. Trust had to be rebuilt slowly. The first three months were a mix of glorious and challenging days. Everything I cooked for dinner was apparently “disgusting,” and his diet consisted of American hotdogs. Mexican food? Off the table. Today, he’s a fan of shrimp fajitas and chips with salsa—progress! Clothes shopping was another hurdle; European sizes didn’t always translate easily, but we figured it out together.
The novelty wore off quickly, and life’s realities hit. I returned to work after three months, leaving him to navigate daily life with my husband and occasional visits with my parents. The instability was stressful, so we made intentional sacrifices: I cut my hours drastically and started a flexible side business to be present and intentional in his life, knowing we only had a few years before college.
And thrive he did. People often say older children come with baggage, that you miss out on all the “firsts.” I disagree completely. I watched him experience simple pleasures for the first time: visiting Target and Sam’s Club, going to museums, seeing the beach, hitting a drive-thru, going through a car wash. Each experience was a marvel, each laugh and wide-eyed look a gift.
Six months after arriving, we signed him up for football to push him out of his comfort zone. It was hard—he hated us for it at first. He argued, resisted, and doubted us relentlessly. But we had an agreement: one year of commitment, then he could choose. His first game? Confusion all around. He ended up as a kicker, translating his soccer skills, and by the end of the season, he was excelling.
The first year and a half were the hardest—for him adjusting, and for us as parents learning to navigate a teenager who had experienced trauma and loss. Family therapy and psychologists guided us through, helping us bond, heal, and build a strong foundation. Family, we learned, is more than blood—it’s love, presence, and patience.
Fast forward to today, and our son is a thriving 17-year-old Ukrainian-American fluent in English, Russian, and Ukrainian. He has his driver’s license, a vibrant social life, a love for R/C cars and fishing, and he’s our high school kicker. His heart is golden, and his kindness leaves a lasting impression on everyone he meets. His story is one of grace, resilience, and redemption—a life transformed from little hope to abundant dreams. Every child deserves stability, love, and a home, no matter their age. As Josh Shipp says, “Every kid is one caring adult away from being a success story.”
This is our story. This is us.
