Inside the Facebook group where donor-conceived people find each other

For decades, donor-conceived people had no way of knowing whether anyone else had been through what they had. Access to the internet changed that.

From international Yahoo groups in the early 2000s to Facebook groups from the 2010s onward, online spaces have allowed donor-conceived people to find one another, share their experiences and work out what being donor-conceived means to them. For many, raised in an era of anonymity and family secrecy, it was the first time they had encountered anyone else 'like them'.

Together with my colleagues Professor Emma Kirby and Dr Kerryn Drysdale, I recently published research investigating what actually happens inside these groups. Drawing on interviews with 28 Australian donor-conceived adults, this is the first study to examine how being part of a Facebook group shapes donor-conceived people's experiences, relationships and views on law reform.

Participants in our research ranged in age from 18 to 40. They reflected on several kinds of Facebook groups for donor conception, such as international or 'triad' groups (which bring together donors, recipient parents and donor-conceived people), but almost all participants focused on one space – the Australian (national) Facebook group for donor-conceived people, which is now more than 12 years old and has more than 600 members.

Our research found that this Facebook group offered much more than information exchange. It is a space where closeness is actively built through disclosure, reciprocity and shared knowledge; and where that closeness generates expectations about how members should act, both towards each other and out in the world beyond the group.

Finding people like you

Participants described the group in contrast to the isolation that came before it. Being donor-conceived made Fay feel 'like a minority. Like a pea in the sea,' until she found 'this massive network of donor-conceived people' which normalised her experiences. Kelly described the group as 'like a warm hug'. Lindy, who rarely posted, said: 'Even though I don't go on it, I feel like it's somewhere I can go if I need to'.

New members are asked to introduce themselves after joining. Within minutes or hours, others respond with support and stories of their own.

Helping and being helped

Joining involved what one participant called 'the initiation' – a screening conversation with a group administrator covering which clinic a person was conceived at, their age, and whether they might be siblings with existing members. This work is demanding, and moderators described stepping back at times, so that no one person carried it alone.

Over the years, members who were helped became the ones helping, particularly with the painstaking DNA detective work of tracing donors and half-siblings. As Ruth put it, after she found her biological father: 'I decided I wanted to help other people as well so I'm passing on the favour.'

Pressure to speak up

Participants were almost universally critical of the fertility industry, and for some the group was where their advocacy began. Shane noted that without these online spaces, donor-conceived people 'never would have probably gone to the United Nations' to present on donor conception and surrogacy.

However, the expectation that one should become involved in advocacy was challenging or controversial for some participants. Mabel weighed her wish to push for better outcomes against the risk to her safety after being doxxed. Other participants distanced themselves from more strident advocacy, and several participants thought that newer members – still absorbing their own discovery – should not be pushed into advocacy before they were ready.

Why this matters

Our research demonstrates how much of the practical knowledge donor-conceived people rely on comes from peers rather than from clinics, registries or government – including how to interpret a DNA match, request records, approach a first contact with a genetic relative or how the law differs from state to state. The gap is being filled by peers who volunteer their time and emotional labour and are often still processing their own discoveries, in their own time and at real emotional cost.

The research also shows that support and advocacy are closely linked. Being helped creates a sense of obligation to help others and to push for change. That can be sustaining, but it can also weigh heavily on someone who has only just found out.

Going forward

Every day more donor-conceived people find the group, prompted by the growing uptake of direct-to-consumer DNA testing, by documentaries about prolific sperm donors, and by changes to donor conception law. As members join from very different family structures, eras and treatment pathways, will a shared sense of identity hold? How long will Facebook itself last, given its declining popularity and limited use among younger people? What happens to more than a decade of stories and hard-won knowledge if the group disappears?

As valuable as these groups are, a private Facebook group is not a substitute for properly resourced support. A single commercial platform is a precarious foundation for the support donor-conceived people rely on, and peer volunteers should not be expected to provide this level of emotional labour. Donor-conceived people deserve free counselling, clear pathways to accurate and accessible records, and identifying information about their genetic family from birth.

The Australian Government's 2025 Rapid Review of Assisted Reproductive Technology mapped a range of domains for urgent change. As reform continues, it must account for the people created through fertility treatment, and for the psychosocial support they need across their lives.