I am so grateful for the love I have in my life despite the traumas I have gone through, beginning with the loss of my original family. I’ve only recently began using this word and I will tell you a bit more about that in this post.

A few years ago, my adoptive mom and I met for coffee while she was visiting. She nonchalantly showed me pictures of my toddler aged self with bio family members of whom I’d never seen before. She insisted that I had seen these photos and I argued, “No. I had no idea they existed. I would have remembered! I would have asked to keep them. This is what I needed.” She said they’d been in a box “forever” as if my parents knew exactly where they were the entire time I lived in their home, under their care. Proof of love and connection, pieces of resemblance collecting dust while I pushed to survive in a community that was not made for me. I had to fight the confirmed fear that my original family didn’t want me, that I was disposable- while simultaneously forcing myself to have faith in the idea that I was lovable and worth life despite the constant contradiction and interrogation of my existence.

These photos showed joy.

I looked healthy.

I was loved.

They looked like me!

I was connected.

These pictures made me feel like I must have been taken from these people. They loved me. How could they have given me up knowingly and willingly- the way my adoptive parents told me.

While all of these emotions were flooding my heart and my head, I fumbled for words hoping something that made sense would come out, “How could you keep this from me? Why?” She quickly defended herself and blurted out that I was a happy kid, that I never really asked about my family, and that I seemed okay. She said I didn’t care about that stuff. I remember looking at her confused and angry, my body was burning up with emotion. Seeing my reaction and my loss for words she began firing off words strung together, ranging from excuses to justification to, “How about some gratitude!?” Y’all, that was it. I was D O N E. FINISHED. That was the trigger. In that moment I hated her and I let myself hate her.

For the first time ever, I realized that I was no longer stuck. I didn’t have to stay. I was able to leave whenever I wanted to. Her comfort and her goodness was no longer my obligation. So after a pause that felt like a lifetime, I said, “I don’t have to be here anymore. I’m leaving” and I left. It took more of me than I’d like to admit to get up and take the physical steps out the door. It was like I had shackles, weighing on my ankles. But I did it. I left; shaking, overheated, and with her following and yelling after me. My entire life I’ve been making everyone else comfortable, trying so hard to not take up too much or be too much. But I’m done. For far too long, I’ve lived for other people as if I’m indebted to a world I never chose to be a part of.

For me, gratitude, has always been a word weaponized by predators in sheep’s clothing. “You must be so grateful to be adopted, so grateful to have such a giving family, so grateful to have been saved, rescued, etc. .”

But I never made those choices. They were taken from me and made without my consent. I wasn’t allowed the information. I don’t even know if my family had all of the information! I wasn’t part of the decision. I was taken and sold, bought and put on display for the sake of someone else’s goodness, someone else’s comfort.

Most days I still cringe when I hear the word, but I’m taking it back because it’s not about anyone who uses this word to excuse trauma and make themselves more comfortable with something they don’t even care to understand. ✌🏾

Here Goes Something!

I have probably started and quit about ten different blogs. Some I’ve started and quit after a couple of years, and others I’ve started and then deleted in the same week. My goal for this blog is to keep it going as long as I can.

To be honest with myself, I have quit those blogs for a number of reasons and fears. Some of those fears have included:

  • I’m not a professional, who would care to read my stuff?
  • Crap, I’m not even that great of a writer!
  • Damn, what if I offend someone?
  • What if I offend someone I love?!
  • I should probably spend more time working through my stuff rather than writing about it, right?
  • I’m sure someone else is already doing this better than I am.
  • This is just a lot of pressure. (Mostly self imposed, but still!)
  • What if someone actually likes what I have to say, will I have to write this forever?
  • What if I run out of topics?
  • But mostly, what if people just don’t like me?

Like many people, I have struggled for most of my life with insecurities and negative thoughts, and only in the last five years I have been on a mostly intentional journey of  working through my shit, excuse my language (Warning: there will be a little more of that). In those years, well, actually more like in the last three years I’ve realized that most of the baggage and pain that I carry comes from my childhood and my adoption experience. I’ve tried looking at myself and my life through the lens of my adopted family, my faith, my relationships, my education, etc. but it really all started when my biological family, for whatever reason, decided or was told that they could no longer take care of me. And only in the last year I have started to unpack what that really means to me and how that reality affects and has affected my entire life.

If you’re still reading, maybe you’re interested in following along. If so, you can totally subscribe to this blog and keep up or you can just check in once in a while to see what new things have been added, as you’re able or interested. If you’re not interested, thats okay too.

This blog is different for me because even with all of the fears I mentioned above, I care about myself and my own healing more. I want to do this for me but also for other adoptees. Because, this shit is tough! BUT, it is a little tiny bit easier knowing that someone else “gets it”.


“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” – Brene Brown