A Letter from an Adoptee to Her Sons

To My Sweet Little Guys,

I am writing this letter not really knowing what to say or whether it will be something you will ever have the opportunity to read. We have had conversations in the past about my having been adopted, but I have a feeling there will come a day when you will have questions and will want to learn more.

I remember the first time Papa and I discussed adoption with you. I remember the silence that followed our telling you that I was born to someone other than Grandma and Grandpa. You asked me about my “real” parents and why I didn’t grow up with them. I remember explaining to you that Grandma and Grandpa are my real parents (as were my birth parents) and that my birth parents weren’t able to take care of me so Grandma and Grandpa became my parents. I remember you asking if my birth parents loved me, and my answering that I wasn’t sure, but I knew they loved me enough to bring me into this world.

While I seldom speak negatively about my birth parents to you—we rarely discuss them at all—the truth is that my feelings towards them change often. There are days when I don’t feel like I will ever be at peace with the way I feel about them. Other days are filled with a deep longing to know who they were and what fueled their decision to no longer parent me. I don’t know that I have ever had the desire to have a relationship with them—nor would it ever be a possibility—but I have always wished I had known something about them. They made life-changing decisions that have affected me and will affect you and your children as well. I will always feel guilty for not knowing my family’s medical history or what I have passed onto you and what you may pass onto your children because of me. I wish with every fiber of my being that I could fill those voids and answer those unanswerable questions, but the reality is that those are things I will never be able to do for you.

I want you both to know that by making that decision to adopt me three decades ago, Grandma and Grandpa truly changed my life. In a matter of a year, I went from being an orphan to becoming someone’s daughter. It is because of them that I have a forever family and a place to call home. They have given me a life filled with unconditional love, support, and amazing opportunities. They were the ones who were at my high school and college graduations and they were the ones who walked me down the aisle the day I married your papa. They will always be your grandparents and, God-willing, they will one day be great-grandparents to your children as well.

As you already know, I will never be a perfect mom. There have and will be things I say and do that I will regret immensely. However, I want you both to know that I will never regret bringing you into this world and being there to watch you grow and one day become the men and fathers I have always dreamed you will become. I will never forget the days you both were born and the overwhelming feelings that washed over me when I held you both for the first time. I will never forget the instant love I had for you both and the promises I made to do my best to be a good mom and work hard to make sure you don’t want for anything. Your lights shine so brightly in this world and becoming your mom has been my life’s greatest achievement. Your existence gives me so much purpose and I love you both with every fiber of my being.

It is an absolute honor and blessing to be your mom. Rocking you to sleep and singing to you and kissing your little fingers and toes when you were babies brought so much joy and love to my life. It may seem strange at times, but things like your birth stats and baby pictures and outfits will always mean so much to me, as I will never have those memories and mementoes from that period of my life to share with you. Papa and I love sharing stories with you of when you were babies and watching as your sweet faces light up with excitement and hearing your laughter as you try to imagine yourself at that age. We have so enjoyed watching you grow and experiencing with you the ups and downs of life. It has been a pleasure to share with you our values, beliefs, and traditions and watch as you take those little life lessons and use them in your interactions with others. Your kind hearts, your sense of humor, your zest for life, and your strength and resiliency are inspiring. We are learning so much from you and we are in awe of the young men you have already become.

I may have been one of the unwanteds, but I assure you that Papa and I wanted you from the minute we knew of your existence. We started forming our hopes and dreams for you the moment we heard your little hearts beating for the first time. Though we sometimes may do and say things we don’t mean, please don’t ever doubt our love for you. Regardless of the paths you travel or the choices you make in life, we will always love you and do our best to support you both through it all.

There may come a point in your lives when you may feel the effects of the missing pieces in my life. I promise to do my best to provide you with the answers I have to share with you and do what I can to help you fill in those empty spaces. I may not have a clear beginning to my life, but it gives me great pride in knowing that you will be the continuations of my life and my journey. Papa and I are so incredibly proud of you both and look forward to watching where your journeys lead as you continue to grow and form your own identities and strive for your own perceived successes in life. We love you for always and we thank you for making our lives and our family so complete.

Love,

Mom

The Anatomy of a Journey Shared

When I started working in the adoption world a number of years ago, a good friend and mentor forewarned me of the possibility that my adoption issues might come to the surface as a result of the work. At that point, I had not yet developed an understanding of the issues, and refused to allow myself to view any aspect of my adoption journey in a negative light. Of course, I was more than aware of the struggles I had faced as a child and the hell I had put my family through as a teenager and young adult, but had long since come to terms with the fact that all of those things happened simply because I was “a bad person with lots of issues”.

The idea to start blogging stemmed from an overwhelming need to tell my story—to tell my truth. My adoption issues had, indeed, hit me like a ton of bricks, and I was in dire need of a way to productively deal with those issues. Writing had always been a passion of mine, so it only seemed natural to use writing as my chosen outlet. My hope was, by sharing my story and my experiences, that I might be able to reach adoptive parents and potentially help them gain a better understanding of their children. I had also hoped to connect with other adoptees in the process.

My first post written specifically for my blog was “Loss” (the other two posts had been written months prior). I experienced a number of flashbacks as I allowed myself to remember what it felt like to be a child who had been abandoned and adopted. I allowed myself to feel the loss and the fear of abandonment and the grief. I allowed myself to shed the tears I had held back for so many years. I cried for that child who had been so loved but never felt worthy of that love. I cried for that child who had always felt so much but understood so little. As I began to write, the words seemingly poured out of my fingers so quickly that it felt as though the story had been waiting for years to be shared. I remember the feeling of my heart beating out of my chest as I proceeded to share that first post.

Each time I posted to my blog, I went through a very painful—yet liberating—process of allowing the repressed memories to come to the surface and allowing myself to verbalize the pain, the grief, the heartache, the anger, and every other bottled up emotion I could possibly feel with regard to how I came to be adopted. Many a tear was shed as I poured my heart and soul into sharing my journey. While sharing my story was extremely cathartic for me, the primary goal was always to help adoptive parents gain a better understanding of their children and the issues they may face along their adoption journeys.

Sharing one’s thoughts in a public manner is certainly not without its highs and lows. This blog has provided me the opportunities to connect with some really amazing members of the adoption triad, workers, and others touched by adoption—opportunities this introverted adoptee would not otherwise have had. Opposition has always been expected, and has most definitely been delivered in a variety of ways. Words can absolutely cut like a knife, so I can’t say it hasn’t stung a little and I certainly can’t say it hasn’t left me brokenhearted at times—especially when it involves something I have poured my heart and soul into doing. I didn’t make the choice to share my story because I thought it would be a fun or easy. I made the choice to do so because I felt it was the right thing for me to do. Though they may not always be easy to hear, those collective dissonant voices are an essential part of the adoption conversation. Knowing the complexities of adoption, it would be unreasonable for me to expect that we would all feel the same way about our adoption experiences.

The decision to take a break came at a point when blogging started to feel more like an obligation—rather than something that happened organically. I wanted to spend more quality time with my family and really step back to take care of myself and focus on some very necessary changes I needed to make in my life. While I truly missed blogging, that break was the first time in months where I truly felt like I could breathe, as it felt so incredibly liberating to not think about my adoption journey 24/7.

As I contemplate gradually easing back into the blogging world, I feel the need to share this to encourage an understanding of what truly goes into writing and maintaining such a deeply personal blog. I have shared on this blog my heart, my soul, and my very raw emotions. Not only have I shared my story—I have also shared bits and pieces of my family’s story—as they have always been such an integral part of my life. They didn’t ask to have that very personal information about our family shared with the world, but they have supported my decision to do so. I am sure there have been posts that have surprised, hurt, and angered them, and I know it has not been easy for them to support me through this process. But, they have never waivered in their love and support for me, because they understand how much it means to be able to share my journey with you and speak my truth.

As you read about my adoption journey, I ask that you attempt to do so with an open mind and an open heart. I hope you will continue to feel compelled to share your experiences, your opinions, and your thoughts (the good, the bad, and the indifferent) on the various stories and topics shared here. I want to thank you all for your time and incredible support. Though my posts will continue to be sporadic for a while, my hope is that you will continue to join me on this journey with a greater understanding of what it truly means to share my story with you.

An Adoptee’s Perspective: 15 Things Transracially Adoptive Parents Need to Know

1. Race and culture matter. My race and culture of origin are integral to my identity and will always be a part of me. Regardless of how much society claims to be colorblind, I will always be characterized and labeled by the color of my skin. Because I do not look like you, it is important for you to show me—through your words and actions—that being different is okay.

2. As a transracial family, our lives will change in ways we could never imagine. Be prepared that the perception of our family will completely change…as will our views of the world.

3. Honoring my race and culture of origin should not just be something that our family does on special occasions. It should be an integral part of our everyday lives as well. A few ways in which you can honor my race and culture on a daily basis are displaying photos or pieces of artwork that reflect my culture and ethnicity in our home, cooking ethnic meals, incorporating words from my native language into our everyday conversations, and reading cultural bedtime stories. Normalizing our efforts to honor my race and culture will make me feel a little less different and will help foster pride in who I am.

4. Prepare yourself for the possibility that your relationships with friends, family members, and others may drastically change due to prejudices you (and they!) never knew they had. You may need to examine who the people are in our lives and whether or not having them around will be more beneficial or detrimental to our family.

5. I should not be used as the bridge into my racial or cultural communities of origin—it is your responsibility to be that bridge for me. As a transracially adoptive parent, it is imperative that you provide opportunities for me to learn about and grow my connections with my racial and cultural communities of origin.

6. Nobody is expecting you to be the perfect transracially adoptive parent, and you absolutely cannot do it alone. It truly takes a village to raise a child who has been adopted transracially. It is important to accept the things you do not know about my race and culture of origin. Rather than seeing that lack of knowledge as a shortcoming or failure, try to view it as an opportunity to learn with me. Use every opportunity possible to involve our entire family when learning about my race and culture of origin. In doing so, you will be forming a stronger bond with me and helping me feel like an important part of our family.

7. Know that there will be times when you will need to step out of your comfort zone to provide me with the opportunities I need to learn about my race and culture. Spending time in places where YOU are the minority should be an integral part of being a transracially adoptive parent. Interacting with and forming relationships with people who look like ME, but don’t look or act the way YOU do, is an absolute must. Remember that my journey takes me outside of my comfort zone on a daily basis. I need for you to be willing to take a walk in my shoes and weather those storms with me.

8. If we do not live in a diverse area, and are financially able to do so, you may want to consider moving to an area that is more ethnically and culturally diverse, or an area that reflects my racial and cultural identity. If we are unable to relocate, or if we have significant ties (work, family, etc.) to the community in which we currently live—it may be necessary to drive an hour or two (or more!) to provide me with the opportunities to interact with and learn from people who look like me. It is imperative that you make every effort possible to provide me with these experiences.

9. Though on vastly differing levels, privilege exists within every racial and cultural community. Transracial adoption can be unique in the sense that it can provide people with differing levels of privilege within their racial and cultural communities the opportunity to occasionally see the world through the eyes of someone with racial and cultural experiences very different than their own. As a result of this privilege, a certain level of racism and prejudice exists in all communities. One important thing to keep in mind is that your level of privilege changes within your racial and cultural community when you are not with me. I, however, do not have that luxury, as your community will always view me as different, and my level of privilege within that community will always be different than yours.

10. Even though it is the PC thing to say, we do not live in a colorblind world—we live in a color aware world. While most people are accepting of different races, there are people who view the world differently and have very ignorant and close-minded beliefs when it comes to race. It is inevitable that I will experience racism at some point in my life, and it is important that I know how to handle those situations. By externalizing racism, you are teaching me that racism isn’t about me—it is about the ignorance of others who do not understand.

11. Remember that I am learning how to tell my story from you. I am learning how to deal with racism and prejudice from you. While you absolutely need to do what you can to protect me from potentially racist situations, it is also important to occasionally answer the questions about my race—if you feel it is safe to do so. These situations can sometimes become opportunities for others to help instill in me a great sense of racial and cultural pride.

12. Know that my racial and/or cultural identity may change at some point in my life. There may be times in which I will reject the racial identity you are working so hard to develop. It is important for you to lay the groundwork for me, but also allow me to explore and develop my racial identity in my own way. There are so many things that are out of my control when it comes to adoption. One thing I can—and should be allowed to claim ownership of—is my racial identity.

13. The greatest amount of scrutiny I will experience will most likely be from members of my own racial and cultural communities. Being rejected by members of my racial and cultural communities is one of the most painful forms of rejection one could ever experience. There is a great likelihood that I will be told that I am not “Black enough” or “Asian enough” at some point in my life. I should not have to prove that I belong or feel that I am less than by members of my racial and cultural communities. There are many losses in adoption, but the loss of my racial and cultural identity is one that can and should be avoided at all costs.

14. It is important to take great care in not losing yourself in the process when honoring my race and culture. While you won’t necessarily be able to teach me about my culture, you can and should teach me about yours. As a multicultural child, I will have so much more to offer the world.

15. Transracial parenting is not easy. There will be struggles and there will be triumphs. Do the best you can with the resources you have available to you, and never lose sight of your goal of raising me with racial and cultural pride. Every effort you make to honor my racial and cultural identity will make a difference in my life, and you will be surprised with how much you will learn about yourself and others along the way!

A Non-Soccer Fanatic’s Guide to Surviving the World Cup with a Soccer-Crazed Partner

It has been 12 years since my introduction to the World Cup, and with 11.5 years of marriage, two kids, and three World Cups under my belt, I’d like to think I’ve learned a thing or two along the way! Thought I’d share these little survival tidbits with y’all!

10. A World Cup game will take precedence over “Spongebob” or “Sofia the First” on your DVR. This is a good time to teach your kids that “life is not fair”.

9. Know when the games are—especially the big games—’cuz the only place your partner’s butt will be during those games is on the couch. I mean, your cousin will get married again someday, right?

8. Cross your fingers for good weather, ‘cuz if your DirecTV/Dish/Comcast goes out during the game, you may witness your partner regress into a two-year-old before your eyes. Yes, that may involve tantrums and thumb-sucking and an occasional diaper change.

7. Make sure your electric and DirecTV/Dish/Comcast bills are paid for the month (make it two months), ‘cuz #8 ain’t pretty. You’ve been warned.

6. Regardless of how good or hands-on of a parent your partner is, the rule of thumb during a game is “Children should not be seen nor heard”. Seriously. If you don’t want them picking up some very colorful language or tearing off their shirts while running around and yelling “Gooooooooooooooooooooool!!!!!!!” in the middle of the Target aisle, keep them far, far away.

5. The World Cup doesn’t care if you were about to find out who won Wheel of Fortune or who got blown up on “24″. Your partner doesn’t care either, as that channel is a-changin’ at game time!

4. If you need to ask your partner a question during game time, make sure you wait until a commercial. Even then, you may want to ask while hiding yourself behind the couch. Cookie sheets and your kid’s Captain America shield will come in extremely handy during this time, too.

3. I don’t care what the ref says—your partner’s call is always right. Never side with the ref unless your partner agrees with the call. If you mistakenly side with the ref, make sure you have a cookie sheet or Captain America shield nearby, ‘cuz looks can kill during World Cup time. For reals.

2. Your partner’s vocabulary during the World Cup may consist only of grunts, groans, “Woo-hoo!!!!!”, “Yessssssss!!!!”, “Gooooolllllllllllllll!!!!!!”, and other noises known only to cave people. Learn the language and learn it well. Oh, and your partner’s silence during a game is no bueno. You’ll quickly learn when to retreat or duck and cover.

1. Keep your partner well-hydrated and well-fed during game time. Finger food is a must. Be sure to have Domino’s/Jimmy Johns/Grubhub/BiteSquad bookmarked on your computer and their numbers programmed into your phone. They will become your best friends. Family meals at the table aren’t happenin’, so don’t bother with that fancy schmancy meal you had planned. Oh, and be prepared to part with your couch every four years, ‘cuz between the food and perma-buttcheek imprints, your couch probably will have seen better days.

Consider yourself warned. May the soccer gods be ever in your favor.

Words She Never Said

There must have been something in the water on Facebook this weekend, because when I logged into my account, I was greeted with a newsfeed full of photos of adoptees who were searching for their birth parents. The faces were young and old, black and white, and they all bore similar expressions of hope—hope that someone somewhere would see their photos and read the information on the posters they held that might lead them to their birth families.

As I looked at the photos, I realized that I found myself unable to relate to any of the adoptees who were searching for answers. All of the adoptees had clues and tidbits of information they could use to help locate their birth parents. If I were to create a poster, it would be empty. The only clues I have to the mystery of who my birth parents were are my face and the blood running through my veins.

So many birth parents out there are well-intentioned and selflessly relinquish their rights to their children because they aren’t ready to be parents or they can’t provide their children with the necessities and opportunities they need and deserve. Some have the opportunity to choose their children’s adoptive families and some enter into open adoptions. Other birth parents have their rights involuntary terminated as a result of abuse, neglect, and/or poverty. Sadly, there are also birth parents who never had any intention of relinquishing their rights and had their children taken from them as a result of corruption, kidnapping, and other horrible injustices. Lastly, there are birth parents like mine, who chose to abandon their children for reasons unknown.

As an adoptee who was abandoned and left without any identifying information, the questions that will never be answered cause me the most pain and heartache. The words left unsaid are the things I long to know most about who I was and where I came from.

I have no memories of my birth mother’s face. I don’t know if she ever held me or told me that she loved me. Did she sing me lullabies and rock me to sleep? Did she comfort me when I cried? When she looked into my eyes, was she reminded of my birth father or, perhaps, her own mother? She didn’t leave me with information about my name or the date and time I was born. She didn’t tell me if I was born at home or in a hospital. She didn’t tell me if I was a good baby or if I was colicky. She didn’t give me a photo of me as a baby—a milestone captured on paper that so many people are so blessed to have. She didn’t tell me why it took her a whole year to decide that she couldn’t keep me.

The words my birth mother never said—never left me with—have formed a void in my life that has left me feeling empty and incomplete. I would give anything to know the health and lifespans of my ancestors. While I was searching for medical answers of my own a few years ago, I would have given anything to have known if anyone in my birth family had lupus. I would give anything to be able to pass tidbits of family history onto my sons, rather than staring at the blank pages of their maternal family medical histories.

My birth mother never told me if my laugh sounded like hers. She never told me if I inherited my stubbornness from my birth father or my love of music from my birth grandmother. She never told me if I have siblings. I will never know who in my birth family shares my love for writing and photography. I will never know if my birth mother thinks about me or wonders about the person I have become. I will never know if she wanted me to find her. I will never know if I was wanted or loved. I will never know why she felt she couldn’t keep me or why she chose to abandon me.

The things she never said—the things she took with her when she left me behind—are keys to a mystery that will never be solved. The action of leaving me—of abandoning me—will forever be a source of pain and loss in my life. But, the words that I imagine were in her heart and on her lips when she left me are the words that give me hope. I hold onto the things she never said with the belief that those words were filled with love and sadness, pain and promise, and hope for the dreams she had for me.

The words that I hold closest to my heart are the words she never said.

Guest Blogger Series: Dawn Hayden ~ Fertility, Infertility, and Adoption

When Dawn contacted me earlier this year in response to my call for guest bloggers, I was excited about the opportunity to work with her on her story. I have to say that I am a huge fan of her humor and sarcasm! Dawn is an amazing person who is so full of life and love for her husband and children, and it is an absolute pleasure to share her story with you!

~ Christina

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“Fertility, Infertility, and Adoption”

I never wanted children growing up—mainly due to all of the babysitting jobs I had. I sometimes think I cursed myself into making my body unable to reproduce. The doctors told me I would never be able to have children of my own, but I’m sure he never had a patient like me!

By the time I turned 30, I was overwhelmed with the urge to become a mother. Miraculously, I became pregnant! The baby’s father and I were so excited and quickly started planning for our baby. We picked out names, colors for our baby’s room, etc. The excitement diminished as quickly as it started when, at my second appointment, the doctor couldn’t find a heartbeat and I was told that I would inevitably miscarry. A part of me died inside that day. Unless you’ve been through it, one can never imagine the pain and heartache that consumes a mother when she loses a baby she was never able to meet.

My relationship was not able to survive the loss, but I would soon discover that it was a blessing in disguise. When I met the man I call my best friend, I learned to live again, and life was really good. We married in 2001 and began the process of trying to conceive. We endured eight IUI treatments and two years of longing for a child that slipped further from our reality with each failed IUI treatment. One day, our fertility specialist recommended that we try IVF. It sounded wonderful, but the fact that it costs $12,000 for one cycle (with no guarantees), we knew that it wasn’t for us.

At this point, we decided to look into adoption. Determined to become a mother, I knew immediately that we were meant to grow our family this way. My husband, on the other hand, took some convincing! After countless discussions and a lot of tears, we started on the road to adopting a child from China.

We found a small agency in our state and completed seemingly endless amounts of paperwork. The day we had to go to our local police station to be fingerprinted was a really difficult day for me. Up to this point, we had people writing letters about our character, we had every cupboard in our house inspected, and had to endure strangers making decisions and judgments about whether or not we should be allowed to be parents to a child who needed a family. We had been through so much, but the experience of having to walk into the police station, amidst pictures of criminals and missing persons posters really upset me. Having to get police clearance to become a parent when women all over the world were giving birth to children every day without ever seeing the inside of a police station was humiliating and heartbreaking. It made me feel like I wasn’t a whole person—like I was a failure as a woman because I couldn’t bring a baby into this world.

We went through the process and created a dossier that was sent to China. My husband and I are both Caucasian, but we were really drawn to China as the country from which we wanted to adopt. We knew our limitations of what we felt we could handle as parents, and felt we had made the right decision. When we received our referral in June of 2004, we were given two weeks to get ready and make arrangements to welcome our child into our home. I was going to be a mommy for the first time in my life!

We traveled to China with a wonderful group of people—5 other families in all. We quickly bonded with the other soon-to-be parents, as we were all embarking on the journey to meet our children. The 24-hour flight was arduous at best, but knowing that we were hours from meeting our daughter kept me going. Our daughter was almost ours!

After four hours of rest following our flight, we boarded a small, incredibly hot bus and drove ten miles to the Nanchang Civil Affairs offices. It was now July and unbearably hot in China.

Knowing our daughter was in the building, my feet couldn’t move fast enough! I could hear babies crying, and felt the tears running down my face. We were told to listen for our child’s Chinese name—a name I had memorized a million times over and imprinted on my heart. The moment we heard our daughter’s name—Xing Quanying—time stood still. Her nanny placed her in my arms. She was crying due to the heat, the long bus ride to the Civil Affairs Office, and from fear of not knowing who we were.

The moment my little Chloe was placed in my arms, the part of me that died all those years ago awakened and I felt more alive than ever before. I thanked God for finally giving us our daughter. She was everything I imagined and so much more. I thanked God for my infertility, as those struggles led us to our daughter—a daughter who was always meant to be ours.

I pray for my daughter’s birth mother often—this woman living halfway around the world who gave me back my soul with her incredible sacrifice. I will always have empathy for her, and will think of her often. I pray that she is at peace with the decision she made that has forever changed our lives. My daughter will always be a part of her, and she will always be a part of our lives and in our hearts.

Hayden Pictures

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Dawn and her husband, Michael, adopted their two beautiful daughters, Chloe (9) and Mahri (6) from China in 2003 and 2006. Chloe and Mahri attend Chinese Immersion School and are both at the top of their class! Dawn is thankful for the infertility struggles that brought Chloe and Mahri into her life!

The Best Mom I Ever Had

The other day, I was eating lunch with my sons when my youngest (a.k.a. The Bottomless Pit) asked if he could have some of my food. I, of course, was more than happy to share with him. He then proceeded to exclaim, “Mom, you’re the best! You’re the best mom I ever had!” I quickly responded, “Well, of course! You only have one mom, silly!”

As I do with many of the cute and funny conversations with my kids, I replayed the conversation in my mind, and it floored me a bit. Believe it or not, I don’t think about being an adoptee every moment of every day. Nevertheless, it surprised me a little that I completely forgot about the fact that, as an adoptee, I have two mothers—my birth mother and my mom.

My adoptive mom didn’t carry me in her womb for 9 months and it wasn’t her arms that held me when I first came into this world. She wasn’t there to see my first steps, nor was she there when I spoke my first words. I don’t even know if my birth mother was there to experience some of those milestones in my life. My birth mother loved me enough to bring me into this world, and it was her decision to abandon me almost 3 decades ago that led me to my adoptive mom.

My adoptive mom didn’t hold me the moment I was born, but it was her arms that were waiting for me when I arrived in that airport so many years ago. The little orphan girl who was placed in her arms suddenly had a family who loved her and wanted her. Her future that was once very bleak was now full of new and exciting possibilities. My adoptive parents’ embrace is where my life truly began.

During a conversation with my sister less than a year ago, I learned that when I first arrived, my mom literally slept on the floor in the hallway with me because I was too afraid to sleep in my room. When I was sick or hurt, it was my mom who wiped away my tears and nursed me back to health. It was my mom who tucked me into bed every night and woke me up every morning. It was my mom who hung my artwork from school on the fridge and filled my scrapbook with mementos from important events in my life. My parents were there for every basketball game, concert, school musical, and award ceremony—and those were just my activities! They somehow managed to always be there for my sister, my brother, and me. As a parent with only two children, I often wonder how they managed to seemingly do it all and be everything we needed them to be—and so much more.

When I went through the dark period in my life, my parents were always there for me. I know I hurt them a great deal with many of the choices I made, but they continued to love and support me. When I pushed them away, they pushed harder to show me that they weren’t going anywhere. There were many nights when my mom stayed up way past my curfew to make sure I made it home safe and sound. As nervous as it would sometimes make me (especially when I missed my curfew), knowing that she cared enough to make sure I made it home every night was a source of great comfort for me.

Growing up, whenever I scanned the crowd during games, concerts, plays, and ceremonies, I wasn’t looking for another Asian face in the crowd. I was looking for the faces of my parents—my mom’s blue eyes and blonde hair, and my dad’s blue eyes and dark hair. It never mattered to me that we didn’t look alike. All that mattered was seeing those familiar faces in the crowd and knowing that they were there for me, even during the years when I thought I didn’t need them.

My parents and I have spent decades laughing together, crying with each other, fighting with each other, and creating countless wonderful memories together. My mom and I rarely go a day without talking with each other. There are certainly days when we don’t have much to talk about, but I always find great comfort in hearing her voice on the other end of the phone. When I am having a rough day and need to vent, I know that my mom will be there to listen and make things better. Even at 30, I still find myself excited to share news with my parents, and I still work hard to make them proud.

When I think about the best mom I’ve ever had, I think of the only mom I’ve ever known. My birth mother sacrificed her relationship with me, while my mom (and dad!) made sacrifices to give my sister, my brother, and me the best lives possible. My birth mother is the one who brought me into this world, and we will always be connected, but she will never be the one I call “Mom”. Though my birth mother will always be a mother to me, my adoptive mom is the only one I will ever call “Mom”. My mom is the one who has shared my heart for 28 years. I truly believe that she was the mom I was always meant to have, and I feel blessed beyond measure to be her daughter. She is truly the best mom I’ve ever had.

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