I was six months old when I was adopted and I was six months old when I experienced what unconditional love feels like for the very first time. From the moment my mom and dad saw me, they felt nothing but love for me. And from that day on, they have guided me through life, instilling values in me that have made me into the woman that I am today. Words cannot express how grateful I am for the family that I have. And while I may not be biologically related, my family is my family and I have never once questioned that.
Prior to my adoption, my parents had become foster parents in the city of St. Louis. Having had two biological sons, my two oldest brothers, my parents felt called to open their hearts, minds, and home to more children. And they did just that! Mark (23), me (20), and Shelby (16) were all foster babies from different families in St. Louis when my parents’ social worker, Kim, placed us with them. All three of us have closed adoptions and have been content with those decisions to this day. Has curiosity shown itself in our lives? Of course. But, none of us have contact with our birth families and we have made those choices confidently.
Growing up, however, I didn’t know I was adopted. I didn’t know that my mom, dad, and two oldest brothers were white and that my third oldest brother, I, and my younger sister were black. Looking back, I chuckle at the thought of my younger self not noticing the difference in skin colors. But, in my opinion, it just goes to show that, as children, we really do not notice color or any other differentiating traits. However, this all changed in second grade. The school day had let out and our teachers took us to the parking lot where we were to wait for our parents or guardians to come to pick us up so we could go home. I noticed my mom coming towards me. She was smiling and so was I. I was so happy to not only be out of school for the day but to be with my mom. So, to further show my excitement, I screamed, “Mommy!” as I ran to her with my arms open, ready to embrace and be embraced. To no fault of his own, a boy in my class walked up to my mom and I and said, “That’s not your mommy. She’s white and you’re black.” The words hurt bad. I stood there on the verge of tears. My mom took notice and kindly and patiently explained to him that I was her daughter and that she was my mother. Confused, he shrugged and walked away. Though this was the first time I would ever experience being confused about and unsure of my identity, it most certainly would not be the last.
Reflecting back, I oftentimes wish my parents had taken a little more time to explain to me what my adoption meant. I say this only because high school seemed to be the time in which everybody would point out my differences. Being called “oreo,” “county brownie,” and “white girl” were traumatizing, in that I felt like I had nobody to go to that could relate with me. Having had other transracial adoptees in my life who could say, “Hey, it’s ok. I have gone through all of what you’re going through and I can promise you that it will all be ok” would have saved me from so many nights of laying in bed, crying and wishing I could be like everybody else and fit in. I also wish that there would have been children’s books back then centered around transracial adoptees. Having had these “outlets” would have provided me such comfort, resulting in me feeling less alone.
Nearing my twenty-first birthday, I have only recently begun figuring out who I am as an individual, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. I had used “adoptee,” “transracial adoptee,” and “Black” to define me for far too long, delaying my ability to know myself and my worth. High school wasn’t the best for me. Those four years led me to be ashamed of being adopted, having been bullied by my very own race, getting ridiculed for the way I talk, dress, act, and live. 2018, however, was my year. I took a year off from college, launched my blog, and spent over a year getting to know myself. I took the time to figure out who I am, what I want from life, and what I do and do not want to be defined as. Simply put, I was able to find out what makes me, me. And in doing so, I worked through a lot of things I didn’t even know needed working through.
As an adoptee, a proud adoptee, in fact, it is my hope that through clear and thorough communication and connecting with others, that we can work towards creating environments where adoptees are way less prone to experiencing identity issues, self-esteem issues, and issues concerning confidence and self-acceptance. Checking up on your children is a great way to start. I have been fortunate enough to be able to have an open dialogue with my family about all of what my adoption experiences have entailed, so I understand how important it is to maintain open communication at all times. Had I not had been able to talk to my parents openly, I would have struggled even more with my identity. Another thing that has really, really helped me has been my ability to reach out and connect with people of similar backgrounds, stories, and experiences. Being a blogger opened my eyes to the world of constant connecting and from that, I took it upon myself to meet other adoptees. And that alone has tremendously helped me grow as a person, as well as better understand myself. We cannot bring ourselves to forget just how important it is to surround ourselves with people who simply get us and understand us.
Hi, I’m Shirley! I’m a twenty-something St. Louis women’s lifestyle blogger for my blog, Sincerely Shirley, and college student pursuing my bachelors degree in business. I am also a transracial adoptee who has recently decided to use my blog to hopefully bring awareness to adoption, as well as meet others who have similar stories. Thank you for choosing to be a part of this journey with me!
