By 2019, I had been dreaming of having a child for a long time. This desire was deep and long-standing, but I lacked the financial means to raise a child alone. It was essential to me that the future child should know their origins and never be cut off from me. As an LGBTI+ activist who cares deeply about the cause of the oppressed, I also wanted this project to align with my political beliefs. Ethical, altruistic or humanitarian surrogacy, as it is presented and ‘sold’ today, seemed to me to be the perfect solution: it would fulfil my desire for motherhood, allow a male couple to become parents, and right an injustice. At the time, I believed that the ban on surrogacy (and assisted reproductive technology) in France was unjust.

In my search for ‘intended parents’ — in other words, commissioning parents — I was contacted by people from all countries and of all sexual orientations. I systematically refused all offers of remuneration, including those from abroad and from heterosexual couples. I would never have accepted the child having any mother other than me. We envisaged ‘traditional’ and ‘artisanal’ surrogacy without the involvement of clinics, agencies or excessive costs, apart from the initial medical tests. We agreed on homemade artificial insemination, and I insisted on registering the child with the civil authorities. I refused to give birth anonymously, as I did not want my baby to have a start in life marked by abandonment. The agreement was clear: they would raise the child in their home, and I would remain close to them. The child was always to know me and consider me a member of his family. It was an underground surrogacy arrangement which, at the time, I considered to be a ‘solidarity project’ operating on the fringes of the law. There was no written contract, only a verbal agreement, a ‘contract of trust’.

The pregnancy was much more difficult than I had imagined. I went through it all alone, with no support from the couple, my family or my friends. During the last month, they began to put pressure on me by imposing their concerns and medical choices. On the day of the birth, I realised that, in their eyes, I had never had any human dignity or maternal role. I was nothing more than a body responsible for ‘delivering’ the baby. They wanted to watch the birth from the front, despite the fact that I had no intimate relationship with any of them. The biological father preferred a caesarean section to the use of a vacuum extractor. Fortunately, the obstetrician did not listen to him. He insisted that the baby be placed in the nursery for the first night and that my stay in the maternity ward be shortened, despite my repeated objections. In the delivery room, a paediatric nurse, unaware of our surrogacy plans, said, “Don’t try to separate the mother and child.” She understood better than I did what was at stake. My stay was so difficult that the staff thought I was a battered woman. They sent me a psychologist and promised me postnatal care, but ultimately, nothing was done.

I had given my word, and when I left the maternity ward, I entrusted my baby to them. I couldn’t afford to raise him, and I believed that they would keep their promise just as I had kept mine. I never asked for any money; in fact, I gave them the social security benefits I received so that the child would have everything he needed.

Very quickly, however, the initial promises evaporated. They organised a birth party without telling or inviting me. To their relatives, they maintained the pretence that they had conceived the baby alone. The regular visits they had promised me during the first year became rare and sporadic. News and photos were slow in coming. Then, in 2022, I discovered that they were planning to move to the other side of France. Whenever the local social services intervened, they moved again. The stability that I had hoped the child would have – and which had motivated my choice of them – was not forthcoming. They also hid information about the child’s health from me. I learned from a doctor that my son had been diagnosed with autism six months earlier and that they had portrayed me as absent and unstable.

Finally, they settled in the Gard region, where social services stopped investigating. Three months later, the biological father died of aggressive cancer at the age of 37. Legally, I remained the sole holder of parental authority and was entitled to regain custody of my son, as the second commissioning couple had no biological or legal connection to him. I had resisted the pressure they had put on me to give up my rights or agree to adoption.

Naively, and in the interests of the child, I suggested to the stepfather that we arrange shared custody. However, he told me that he wanted to return to the Paris region, so I moved back there and rented a one-bedroom flat for my son. Meanwhile, he was initiating several legal proceedings against me, including temporary and long-term placement, total and exclusive transfer of my parental rights and custody, and even child maintenance. The judges granted all his requests.

The second commissioning person, who is legally nothing to my son, refused to return the family record book to me, with the approval of the magistrates. The public prosecutor in Nîmes described me as nothing more than a ‘procreator’. Social services were extremely accommodating, refusing to treat me as a parent for a year and explaining that they were there to ‘support the gentleman in his parenting’. The Departmental Child Welfare Services (ASE) even asked the Children’s Judge to remove my visiting and accommodation rights, which were already extremely limited, and this was ordered. Whenever this man prevented a meeting, phone call or video call between me and my son, social services covered for him.

To top it all off, the stepfather remarried another man, becoming my son’s ‘second stepfather’. This man obtained parental rights. Now, social services and magistrates are asking me to recognise this second stepfather as my child’s ‘father’. Both my son’s genetic father and my own family have been removed from his life.

Although the judge ordered visitation rights, I was unable to see my child from 31 July 2023 to 11 May 2024 – almost ten months in total. I received no updates and was reprimanded when I dared to ask for any. Social services cited being overloaded or the fact that I no longer had parental rights. Even the juvenile court judge acknowledged off the record that this should not have happened.

A complaint for incitement to child abandonment was filed against them in the Alpes de Haute Provence. All parties recognised the surrogacy, including social services and the surviving stepfather. In court, he openly admitted to this illegal surrogacy, knowing that he would not be punished, but rather that it would allow him to obtain exclusive rights and full custody of the child. The penalty in France is derisory: a €7,500 fine. If the sponsors knew this, none of them would pay for surrogacy abroad. Women’s bodies are being sold in France. Despite the evidence and confessions, the public prosecutor in Digne-les-Bains dismissed the child abandonment complaint. No judge wanted to investigate or simply apply the law. I appealed to the Attorney General in Aix-en-Provence, but he dismissed the case too.

I have now been fighting social services and judges for two years, and I am due to appear in court again on 9 October. I am fighting to be recognised as a mother and for my son to recognise me and be reunited with his maternal family. After eight months with no visiting rights, followed by supervised and semi-supervised visits where we had to ‘meet’ like strangers under the watchful eye of social services, I finally regained my visiting and accommodation rights. However, I still haven’t regained my parental rights or any prospect of custody. Social services keep telling me that their role is to ensure that the child has his father, as if the father were the child in need of protection.

For each visit and hearing, I travel 1,500 km. It requires a huge time, energy and financial commitment. Currently, I have custody of my son for half of the school holidays at my home and one and a half days per month during the school year, but I have to spend these periods in the Gard region. Needless to say, the stepfather has never moved to be closer, which makes shared custody impossible.

I had hoped this story would be one of friendship, solidarity and justice. Instead, it has become a tragedy; the biggest mistake and source of shame in my life. The state has stolen my son, as well as my dignity as a woman and a mother. Even today, I am not recognised as a parent. At school, at the doctor’s, with insurance companies or solicitors, I am nobody. I am fighting so that one day my son will truly be part of his maternal family, and so that he can forgive me — perhaps even love me. I am fighting so that no other woman will be treated as I was, and so that no other child will be torn away from their mother and maternal family. No one should have to go through what I am going through.

This speech was read by Julie* at FiLiA in Brighton on 11th October 2025. Julie* has used a pseudonym due to ongoing legal action.