Deciding to adopt is one of the most noble deeds you can do for another person. You’re caring for another life while significantly changing yours. And if you do it right, you will get nothing but gratitude in return, much like what these people are showing.
We’ve collected some posts from the I’m Adopted Facebook page. With 75,000 followers and counting, it has become a haven for adopted people to share their stories and show that there is still so much good in this world.
You would want to read their stories. Scroll for the good vibes for today, as well as our short chat with Emma Alvez, a Canada-based senior lawyer who specializes in family law, among other areas.
#1
Hey, I’m James. I was born in Swansea, Wales. When I was two and half months old I was removed from my birth parents and placed into foster care because of neglect and harmful circumstances. I had two brilliant foster families, each for a year, until I was adopted when I was two and a quarter years old, moving an hour away to Cardiff (Capitol of Wales), which is where I’ve lived ever since. Having read my files and recently reconnected with members of my birth family, I know that adoption was the last and best option for my situation.
I’ve had a mixed adoption experience, because on one hand I was adopted into a wonderful family who have loved and cared for me. But on the other hand because there was no post adoption support when I was adopted back in 2004, I was left to drown in my trauma of grief, loss, identity, and attachment, which has had a huge impact on my life. I’ve always had a fear of being abandoned, difficulties making and sustaining relationships/friendships, and because I was exposed to domestic violence between my birth parents, people raising their voice and shouting at me makes me blow up. And so it has been difficult, but I’ve also had so much happiness and joy. I have the greatest mum and dad in the world.
I’ve learned the impact of what’s happened to me in the last few years, and now as a 23 year old, I’m advocating and fighting for adoptees and adoptive families. I’m on the Youth Council of Connected, a service for young adoptees (7-25) in Wales, giving young adoptees a voice and the ability to work with the National Adoption Service of Wales and Adoption UK. I’ve also just graduated with an MA in Screenwriting, and have the goal of bringing authentic representation of adoption from the perspective of adoptees to TV and Film.
– James Evans (Adopted from Swansea, Wales, now living in Cardiff)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#2
I was born Guadalupe Nevarez. From what I’ve been told, my biological parents came from Mexico before I was born and had me in Arizona. I was in and out of emergency rooms before I was even 2 years old. No one knows for sure who was responsible but I ended up with many broken bones, leading to numerous ER visits. The hospital eventually lost my records, and I was returned to the same situation.
I landed in the hospital one last time to have a shunt placed due to the extent of my injuries, and that was when I was finally rescued. I was adopted by my family shortly after I turned three. They were the ones who took me to countless physical therapy appointments and made sure I was safe. I’m so thankful to be part of a loving family.
I know very little about my biological relatives. I was told I had an older brother, and my birth mother was pregnant when I was rescued. I still think about my siblings from time to time and hope they didn’t experience what I went through.
– Joye Bishop (Adopted from Phoenix, Arizona, USA now living in Portland, Oregon)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#3
I was adopted as an 11-month-old baby from China, just before my first birthday in October 1997. My birthday is in November. I was adopted by my American family and became a U.S. citizen at 3 years old. Currently (2025), I’m 28 years old. I do not know my birth parents and have no interest in searching for them at this time. Although it’s not planned yet, I would like to travel back to China one day to see where I’m originally from.
We have very little information about my life before adoption. I grew up with my family in Oregon, USA. I have three siblings, and they are all biologically related to each other. I don’t mind that I’m the only one adopted—I grew up with my family, and that’s all that matters. Family is important to me.
– Leanne Scarlett (Adopted from Wuhan, China, now living in Frankfort, Kentucky, USA)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#4
My name is Alison. I was born Natalia Archvadze in the Republic of Georgia (former Soviet Union). At the age of four, I was adopted with my six-year-old sister Thea (now Victoria) by a Jewish family in Baltimore, Maryland. We have two brothers who are biological siblings to each other. At nineteen years old, I struck out to New York to seek my life’s purpose. While I only have memories of orphanages, my sister spent her six years with our biological mom. She has terrible memories of experiences there, and that has contributed to my lack of desire to seek them out as an adult. I am grateful to have been adopted, I appreciate my adoptive family, and I am hyper-aware of how lucky I am in the scheme of life. There are so many people who never make it out of orphanages or a*****e homes, and so many who will never have the opportunity I have been granted. – Alison Goldberg (Adopted from Tbilisi, Republic of Georgia, now living in Centereach, New York)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#5
Hi, I’m Carla, and I was placed in foster care at the age of six. I was adopted at nine (officially ten, due to paperwork).
There was a lot of alcohol involved with my parents, and my dad wasn’t really around much. There was a lot of neglect and a lack of support for me.
I was in foster care for a period of three years. The first placements were traumatising, and I still feel the effects of them. The last pair were amazing and truly understood what it meant to be parental figures.
Two weeks after my ninth birthday, I was told I was going to be adopted. My sister and I (we were adopted together – part of the deal) came down with our foster carers, saw our rooms, and decided we wanted to stay. The rest is history.
Seventeen years later, we’re happy. We still struggle with mental health issues as a result of everything that happened. Years of therapy, nightmares, and tantrums have brought me to where I am today.
In June 2023, I had the opportunity to speak in front of an audience at the Thames Pavilion, behind the Houses of Parliament, about my adoption. So many people are still surprised to hear the story of an older adoptee – and being able to share that is a powerful gift. It offers hope for the future of other older adoptees.
– Carla Moverley-Ford (Adopted from Barnsley, UK, now living in Weymouth)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#6
Born amidst the turmoil of Freetown, Sierra Leone, during the strife-ridden 1990s, my early years were marked by profound adversity. By the tender age of two, I found myself orphaned, bereft of both parents in the wake of the Civil War’s relentless toll. In the midst of chaos, I was sheltered within the cramped confines of an overcrowded orphanage, where the clamor of conflict resounded all too vividly.
Tragically, my mother succumbed during childbirth, leaving me to the care of my grandmother, who had recently welcomed her own daughter into the world. Sacrificing her own maternal bond, my aunt was entrusted to her care as my grandmother selflessly assumed the role of nurturer and protector.
Yet, in a city plagued by destitution, where access to even the most basic necessities remained elusive, my grandmother’s fears for my survival deepened. Medical conditions such as fractured bones, Malaria, and intestinal parasites plagued my fragile existence, a testament to the harsh realities of life in Freetown’s impoverished landscape in the early 90’s.
In 1996, I was embraced by a White American family, pioneers among those who would adopt from West Africa. Though their love was unwavering, a shadow lingered over our l bond, stifling my Black identity. Settling in Santa Clara, California, amidst a community where Black representation was non-existent I found myself confined by the confines of cultural conformity.
I encountered resistance at every turn. Expressions of curiosity or admiration for Black culture were met with suppression, as my family’s anxieties over societal judgment loomed heavily. I was steered away from pursuits that resonated with my true essence.
Enrolled in a predominantly white sport, the confines of baseball became my sanctuary, yet a sense of dissonance lingered. Denied the opportunity to engage with activities that spoke to my cultural roots, I remained within a narrative not of my own making.
Fueled by a desire to manifest change, I sought to transform adversity into opportunity, to cultivate communities where diversity thrived and innovation flourished.
– Kanu (Adopted from Freetown, Sierra Leone to Arizona, USA)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#7
Hi, I’m Hope. I was adopted from China at the age of 7 by my lovely family. Growing up in a small town with not a whole lot of diversity, I often struggled with questions about my identity and a sense of belonging, which is common for adoptees, especially those adopted internationally and transracially.
As an adult, I began exploring my adoption story more deeply, including the complex emotions around my birth mom and the loss intertwined with being adopted. I know nothing about my birth dad, but I’m hopeful to find answers and meet my birth mom one day, God willing.
I hold both gratitude for my family and curiosity about my roots. Sharing my story is important to me, not just for myself, but for others who might relate to the complex emotions of adoption.
– Hope (Adopted from China, now living in California, USA)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#8
I was taken from Lakewood Hospital at three days old and placed in a foster home. My mother had major mental health issues caused by her own mother trying, unsuccessfully, to abort her. My father was an a*****e alcoholic who also acted inappropriately toward my older siblings. The courts found out about some things and took me away at birth. My older siblings were also placed in other foster families. Eventually, they were returned to my parents, but not me. The judge died before I could be released (around age 3 or 4). Later, my father found out he was being investigated again and moved the family to California to be with one of his sisters. I was eventually placed up for adoption. After several more foster homes, I was placed with a couple in Medina County, south of Cleveland. I was placed with them at 4½ years old and formally adopted on June 6, 1960. The problem was, the court didn’t know that the man was an alcoholic and the woman was, to a degree, co-dependent. I survived a great deal of verbal a***e and “punishments” that were actually a***e. As I grew older and started to develop, my “father” started crossing serious boundaries with me. He even tried to get me to “run away” with him. After I graduated high school, he tried again. I told my “mother,” but she didn’t believe me. After college, I turned 21, which was the same year the law changed and legal adulthood became 18. He told me he had kept me three years longer than he had to, and that I should get out. Two months later, I rented a small apartment in a southwest suburb of Cleveland and moved out. One year later, I moved to a slightly larger place. My mother said she figured after a year out, I’d move back home. I told her again what had happened, and she said, “You mean it actually happened?!” I said yes and told her I would never move back there. Everyone I knew was paying $10 to $15 a week to stay at home, but he demanded $25 (for his alcohol). I wasn’t allowed to have any say about meals or anything, even when asked. For $10 more, I got my own place. I lived on my own for almost eight years before I got married. My mother approved of my Egyptian boyfriend, but when I changed churches, I was disowned. She finally spoke to me again about a year later, because at least I “still believed in God.” But when I married a Black man, the disowning became permanent. I never spoke to them again. They told my younger brother (also adopted) that if he stayed in contact with me, there would be consequences. Needless to say, I was alone. BUT GOD didn’t leave me. I lived in a few places that didn’t work out for various reasons until about 18 or 19 years ago, when He brought me to where I am now. One of the dearest sisters there “adopted” me, and I finally had family. A little over nine years ago, I had a dream that the Lord told me my brother was going to introduce me to my sisters. I said, “Yeah, right, Lord.” I knew I was the youngest, but that was all I knew. Two months later, my brother’s daughter (he is deceased) contacted my son on Facebook. And guess what — we all connected later that spring! I drove to California to meet my biological family. My oldest sister and I are now so close. She is “My Bobbie”! I remembered her from visitations when I was in foster care. I’m now pushing 71, with a huge church family and strong relationships with my biological family. It took 57 years, but here we are! I’ve been legally married for almost 43 years, with two grown children — a son and a daughter — and six grandchildren: five boys and a five-month-old granddaughter. God has truly carried me through incredibly rough years. But PRAISE HIM. He saved me! I even met the aunt who was involved in my adoption when I was in college, though she didn’t identify herself at the time. Funny enough, I ended up living just blocks away from family several times. – Barbara LeSure (Adopted from Cleveland, Ohio, USA, now living in Lakewood, Ohio) Photos: Me with my new granddaughter — and me as a little girl, just before being adopted.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#9
I was adopted as a baby through a Christian organization that prioritized faith when placing me. My bio mom was 17, my bio dad was off the radar, and to her and her family, this option was presented as the “right” thing. I grew up in a family that loved me dearly, so dearly that I was under intense pressure from the start to perform as a good child within their religious system of fear-based control.
They eventually got divorced and repartnered. Fast forward to my 18th birthday. My adoption records were given to me, and I made contact with my bio mom. I was stunned to see a face that looked like mine for the first time. To feel so in sync with her values, and nature, and mannerisms, even music! I discovered I have a half-sister who is also so incredibly like me. Fast forward again, to me approaching 30, and feeling ready to meet my bio dad.
I tracked him down on FB with the help of my adopted mom, expert sleuth, and made contact. He is my wild side! Once I met him, I felt like the pieces of me fell together. I find myself now gravitating towards my biological parents more so than my adopted parents, and I see that it’s hard on them… and I also release guilt for desiring and needing what I was deprived of without consent as a child.
I’ve done adoptee coaching, read numerous books about trauma stored in the body from primal wounding, and continue to find new resources that help me better understand some of the ways I operate, and how to heal. This is a lifelong journey, and I feel that it’s my dharma to keep peeling back the layers and bring this healing medicine to the world.
I’ve moved to the mountains and opened up an online energy healing practice, and I LOVE working with other adoptees. We really have a special set of circumstances to work with, and I’ve found that these techniques have really helped me reach the somatic depth of such a complex trauma.
— Emily Iris, adopted from Worcester, MA, USA, now living in Asheville, NC
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#10
My story sounds like an old TV episode. It begins innocently enough, with my parents contacting Catholic Charities in Louisville, Kentucky, to adopt a baby because they were unable to have their own children. Soon, they were able to adopt a baby girl (me) in August 1967, but were told it could be many years until they could get another baby/sibling for me. Very quickly after I was adopted, however, they got a letter from Catholic Charities letting them know there was another baby available for them. They were shocked at how quickly that happened but were very happy! They adopted my sister in June 1969. We are 22 months apart.
As we grew, we always resembled each other, but there was never any thought that we were blood-related. I was adopted out of the Cincinnati Catholic Charities, and my sister was adopted out of the Louisville Catholic Charities. When we were teenagers, we would get asked if we were twins, and we would just laugh because we knew we were not even blood-related. My sister had darker skin, like she was possibly Italian, and I had olive skin, so we always knew the resemblance was just a coincidence.
Fast forward to 1992, when I was 25 and pregnant with my first child. I decided I really wanted to meet my birth parents. My own parents were completely on board and supportive. They offered to help me in any way they could. There was no internet to search for people or get information from at that time. I got an attorney and paid $800 to open my file. After six long months, all I was able to get was my birth mother’s name, address, and age on the day I was born. It did show that even though I was adopted out of Cincinnati, my birth mother’s address was in Louisville. I also found out that she was only 17. Nice to know, but that info was not very helpful in the age of no internet. I was sure she was married and would be impossible to find in a phone book (all we had then).
Finally, my friend and I got the bright idea to go down to the courthouse and search marriage records for the few years after my birth. Happily, we were able to find her quickly and found out her married name, along with the names of her bridal party and parents. We could not find her in the Louisville phone book, but we found one of the people in her bridal party in the phone book. My friend called them, explained the situation, and asked if they thought she would want to talk to me or meet me. They told me she lived in Knoxville and that they would call her and ask. She did! So we talked later that night and agreed to meet halfway between our cities in a couple of weeks.
While I waited to meet her, I was able to find an old high school yearbook that she happened to be in. My first thought was that she looked like my sister but just figured it was a coincidence, because my sister and I had always resembled each other but thought no more of it.
We finally met a couple of weeks later for the one and only time. We have never met again. It’s been 32 years now. While we were talking, she mentioned that she had another baby after me — that her parents forced her to give up that baby also. When she told me the birthdate, I was floored; it was the exact birthdate of my sister! She told me her parents had sent her to Cincinnati to an unwed mother’s home for most of her pregnancy because her dad was a prominent local attorney and did not want anyone to know his teenage daughter was pregnant. It was very taboo back then.
Once she returned, she finished high school and went off to college. Her parents banned her from ever seeing my birth father again. He went to a different college than her; however, his best friend went to the same college she did. I guess she hung out with him a lot, slept with him, and became pregnant again. This time she was 19 and didn’t get sent away to have the baby, but was forced to give her up. So, my adoptive sister is my actual biological half-sister, with her father being the best friend of my birth father.
I had always felt “different” knowing I was adopted. My parents had made sure my sister and I always knew that we were adopted, but as a child, it makes you feel different from your friends. Knowing we were biological sisters was such a great feeling.
My dad later asked Catholic Charities why they allowed my parents to adopt bio-siblings and not tell them. They said that they had a policy that they tried to place siblings in the same home but were unable to tell the adoptive parents because of the closed adoption laws. That explained how they got a baby so quickly — only 22 months after adopting me — but my parents were very upset that they weren’t told we were siblings.
The story of my birth father is also pretty cool. In 2003, right after the Catholic priest scandal had cost the Catholic Church millions of dollars, I got a letter from the Archdiocese of Louisville. I put it in the junk mail pile and was just planning to throw it away because I figured it was a letter asking for money. My 9-year-old daughter, for whatever reason, begged me to let her read it. To this day, I have no idea why she was so adamant to read a letter sitting in the junk mail pile (fate maybe?).
She began to read, and the letter said that my birth father was looking for me and they wanted my approval to give him my information. I was floored, and of course, I wanted him to have it. We were able to talk soon after that. We met a few months later. He had moved to California after college, and to my surprise, he told me that he works in the movie business. He does special effects. My husband and I Googled his name and found that he has an Emmy Award for special effects in the original Star Wars. He had his own IMDb page! We couldn’t believe it.
As the years went by, he became like a long-lost brother to me and an uncle to my children. He swooped into town two to three times a year and would shower my children — and now grandchildren — with gifts and amazing stories of Hollywood. My children were in awe of him. He worked on many famous movies over the years and would send my kids things like the director’s chair that Orlando Bloom sat in during the filming of Pirates of the Caribbean, or a beard clipping from Steve Carell’s beard from Evan Almighty. He would send scripts and T-shirts and other souvenirs from many other famous movies. He is friends with James Cameron and even had a small part in the movie The Aviator. He’s also in a SpongeBob episode as a “roadie” for The Bird Brains band.
We are still very close, and see each other a few times a year and keep in touch through text. Unfortunately, my birth mother chooses not to have contact with me. She tells me that it’s just too hard for her. To this day, her sons do not even know that my sister or I exist. She did tell her daughter, and we talk sometimes — but not much. It’s fine, because my adoptive parents are my forever parents, even though they both recently passed away.
– Carol Pautsch (Cincinnati, Ohio, USA, now living in Louisville, Kentucky)
(The pictures included in this story are of my birth father and me, and of my sister and me as children.)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#11
Hello. My name is Antonina and I was born in Kazakhstan. I was adopted at age 6 with my younger brother. I am now 27. My adoption story is a little different.
I was burned as a baby and my whole life I did not know how it happened or what my burn scars were from. I was always so curious and so upset I didn’t know anything. Within the past couple of months I ended up finding my birth mom after searching my whole life. We could not be more happy. She told me how I got burned and so it is now not a mystery. It’s such a big relief to know my story.
The funny thing is, that’s not all! I was adopted through a group called Kidsave. The age limit was 5 and up but my brother was younger than that. So the people at the orphanage snuck him in with me so that we would stay together and I couldn’t be more thankful.
I still to this day feel sad for missing my birth family but know I get to talk to them. Anyway, this is just the start of my story and I am glad to have shared it with you.
– Antonina Fisher (Adopted from Kazakhstan, now living in America)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#12
Hello everyone, my name is Oksana. I was adopted from Ukraine in 2010.
In 2008, my biological father passed away. Shortly after, my older brother (one of three) and I were placed into state custody when it became clear that our mother could no longer care for us. We were sent to Chervonohrad Orphanage, where we stayed for two years after our mother relinquished her parental rights.
In 2009, I was given an incredible opportunity to be hosted by an American family for Christmas. That visit changed my life. During my stay, the family asked if I wanted to be adopted. I said yes — not fully understanding what it meant, but knowing deep down that I wanted a better life.
Six months later, they came to Ukraine to complete the adoption and bring me home. They also offered to adopt my brother, but he chose to stay. So, I made the journey alone to a new country — scared but hopeful. And honestly, that was just the beginning of a life filled with miracles and love.
Fifteen years later, both of my biological parents have passed away, but I still hear from a few family members back in Ukraine from time to time. I often wonder what my life would have looked like had I stayed, but I know with certainty that I’ve been blessed beyond measure. I carry a powerful testimony and deep gratitude for the people who welcomed me with open arms and gave me a loving home and endless opportunities.
There are so many questions I’ll never get to ask my biological parents, and sometimes I think that might be for the best. I’ve grown, healed, and built a life of my own. Today, I’m a wife and a mother to a beautiful little girl — and I love her the way every child deserves to be loved.
– Oksana (Adopted from Ukraine, now living in the USA)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#13
Hello everyone! My name is Mirela. I was born in Buzău, Romania, and adopted to the United States at the age of 3. My biological parents made the difficult decision to place my older sister and I up for adoption, because they were too poor to provide a life for us. I have three biological siblings, an older brother, an older sister, and a younger sister.
I was adopted by a single mother and was incredibly fortunate. I arrived in the U.S. malnourished, but I quickly became a healthy little girl. I adjusted well to learning English and adapting to a new country. I was blessed to grow up competitively swimming and dancing, attend a private high school, and graduate with a college degree. I was given all of life’s necessities and more. My adoptive mom showed me how to be a strong, independent woman and work hard for a beautiful life.
Growing up, I just wanted to fit in, but my name always made people pause and ask questions. I always knew I was adopted, but it wasn’t until I turned 25 that I began the journey to search for my biological family. Being internationally adopted made that search incredibly difficult. I didn’t know much about Romania, the culture, or where to even begin. Eventually, I found someone who helped with my search, and that’s when I received heartbreaking news: both of my biological parents had passed away in their early 40s, just a year apart from each other.
There was nothing I wanted more than to reunite with them and finally get answers to a lifetime of questions. That loss hit hard.
But my journey didn’t end there. I was able to connect with my older brother and younger sister, who had stayed in Romania and later moved to Italy with their families after our parents died. I also discovered my other sister, who had been adopted to Belgium when she was just 10 months old. My older brother had two daughters, and my younger sister has three children, one boy and two girls.
Because of the different paths life gave us, living in different countries, language barriers, and very different upbringings, my relationship with my siblings has remained virtual. We stay connected through video chats and messaging on social media.
Tragically, my older brother passed away on August 2, 2024 at age 35. His loss deeply affected all of us. Our sibling bond was already fragile, and his passing added another layer of grief to something already complex. My brother was the life of the party, and despite the many hardships he faced in life, he was never without his infectious smile. That is how I will always remember him.
As much loss as my story holds, I know firsthand that every adoptee’s journey is different and unique. Not every story ends in a happy reunion and that’s okay. Adoption stays with you for life. It’s layered, emotional, and often hard to explain. I share my story for those adoptees whose journeys didn’t turn out the way they had hoped.
Despite the sadness I carry, I hope my story offers healing, understanding, and connection. If your story holds pain, unanswered questions, or deep loss, please know, you are not alone. You are seen, and your story matters too.
I’m proud to be Romanian. I’m proud to be adopted from Romania. And I’m honored to share my story.
– Mirela (Adopted from Buzău, Romania, now living in the USA)
Photos show me now, me on the right in Romania, and at the bottom right, a video call with my older brother.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#14
I was adopted at birth. From what I knew as a child, my parents told me I was adopted before I was even old enough to understand. My birth mother, sadly, was an addict who gave birth to me six weeks early. I weighed 5 lbs, but somehow wasn’t addicted to the d***s. Although I was sent to NIH for testing, they told my adopted parents that I seemed fine, though I could have issues as I got older due to the d**g use during pregnancy. They also said they didn’t have to take me if they didn’t want to, but they took me anyway. I knew I had two sisters, 10 and 12 years older than I was, who my birth mother didn’t put up for adoption. My parents were told that the man who was my birth father wanted nothing to do with the situation and wouldn’t even sign anything acknowledging that he was my father or giving permission for me to be adopted. This meant my adopted parents had to advertise in the newspaper for a father. If no one came forward after 30 days, the adoption could go through. Three years before me, my parents had adopted my older sister, with whom I sadly never got along. Even to this day, I only see her at family events. My aunt and uncle also adopted two children, both boys, who were younger than my sister and me, but it was nice to have cousins who we could relate to! Overall, I had a great life. My parents were well-off, and they loved and spoiled my sister and me. They took us on many trips and gave us a wonderful life. But something was always missing. My older sister had no desire to know her birth parents, but I always longed for mine. To me, the fact that my mother made the selfless decision to give me a better life was so special. And because I didn’t resemble my bio family at all, I felt very different. My parents told me that when I turned 16, I could contact the agency I was adopted through to search for my birth family. However, I ended up becoming a teen mom at 16, so life got a bit busy. I was elated to be a mother, and although my parents wanted me to give the baby up for adoption, I just couldn’t do it. I understood even more how hard that decision must have been for my birth mother. I was always very open about my adoption. People would ask me all the time if I was Spanish or where I was from, and my answer was always, “I don’t know, I’m adopted.” So, when I was filling out my questionnaire on MySpace, it asked for my ethnicity, and again, my answer was “Don’t know, I’m adopted.” What I didn’t know was that my parents had sent a few photos to the agency for them to pass along to my birth mom when I was a baby. One photo actually said “Lisa” on the back—the name my parents gave me, which my sisters always remembered. Unbeknownst to me, my sisters had longed to meet me and had been updating their info at the agency in case I ever contacted them. Fast forward to my 18th birthday. A few days later, I received a message on MySpace from a girl who said her sister had been put up for adoption, and she saw on my page that I was adopted. She was just curious if I would ever be interested in meeting my birth family. At first, I brushed it off as a crazy person messaging me, but then my best friend said, “Lisa, that girl looks a lot like you! What if she’s someone in your family? You need to answer.” So, I did. I explained that I had always loved my birth mother for putting me up for adoption, and I had always wanted to find her, though my search had been delayed because I got pregnant at a young age. She immediately responded, “I think you’re my little sister!” Writing this now brings tears to my eyes! I was very cautious at first. I went and got the binder with all the information my parents had kept for me. I asked lots of questions: “What adoption agency was your sister adopted through?” “What’s her birthday?” “How many siblings does she have, and how old are they?” “Where was she born?” Answer after answer came back, and I just couldn’t believe it… this was real. Wow, this is my big sister! The best day of my life! My sisters and I spoke over the phone for hours, day after day. We had so many similarities it was crazy! It was as if we never missed a beat, like we already knew each other! They came to meet me, and we went to lunch. I typed a four-page letter for them to give to our mom, as they didn’t want to tell her they had found me until I was ready to meet her. I wrote about how much I loved and respected her, and I told her anything and everything I could think of that she’d want to know about me. That night, my sisters went to my mom’s and gave her the letter. She was in disbelief and asked, “Where did you get this from?” My sisters explained how they had sat on MySpace for two hours, typing “Lisa” into the search engine within a 50-mile radius of them. As soon as they came across my photo, they knew it was me! Me, my son, and my best friend (who was also adopted) went to my sister’s for the big day. I would finally meet my mom! After lots of hugs and tears, my mom and I sat at the back of the room and talked for six hours. She had brought my hospital bracelet to give to me (that she had kept all these years), as well as some letters the adoption agency had sent her as updates on me, and a letter she had written to me many years ago. They all still sit in my keepsake box, along with the “Happy First Birthday” cards they gave me when we celebrated my first birthday together and some other things I chose to keep. After that day, we all spent a lot of time together. I learned that my birth mom had gotten clean the April after I was born, as she saw me not being addicted to the d**gs as a sign. She had been clean ever since! I learned that my older sisters had a very rough life and sadly spent time in d**g houses and other bad situations due to our mother’s addiction. They ended up with their father, who treats me as his own to this day. He was a working single dad, so the girls had to take care of each other for the most part. I learned that the father who wouldn’t sign the papers was actually my sisters’ father. He was still legally married to my mother, but he didn’t want to sign something that would lead me to think he was my father when he wasn’t. I learned that my father was one of two men who both told my birth mother they wanted nothing to do with me or a baby. I learned that as soon as my mother saw me, she knew which man was my father—who I now know was Italian, which is probably why people always thought I might be Spanish! I learned that my birth father had been in jail many times since my birth, and although we found an address for him, I decided not to reach out. To this day, I have no desire to know him. My world was complete. We spend all the holidays together, celebrate our children’s milestones together, and although I’m still very close with my parents, my life finally felt complete having my birth family. Sadly, my birth mother passed away nine years ago now, but I feel so blessed that both my sisters and I were by her side when she left this world. I feel so blessed for the years I had with her. I’m also very proud to say that I had the chance to speak at her funeral about the amazing woman she was, even with all her faults. I now have two adopted boys myself, and I go above and beyond to ensure they have a relationship with their birth family, so they never have to long for something or someone and can always have a clear sense of who they are and where they came from. I’m so grateful for the life both my birth mother and my parents gave me. Together, they gave me life, and I will always be grateful to both of them. Thank you for letting me share my story. It’s something I love telling people and try to share as much as possible! – Lisa Darling (Adopted from Baltimore,Maryland, USA, now living in Hyattsville) Photos: Me today, me when I was little, and me with my birth mother, birth sisters, and her partner at my sister’s wedding — a few years after we met.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#15
I was adopted in December of 2009. I had met my parents two months prior and really liked them. However, there was a struggle with transitioning into this new life. I was leaving everything and everyone I knew behind, but I knew that if I stayed, I may never get the chance at a forever family again. Everyone knew that preteens and teens didn’t get adopted; everyone wanted babies and toddlers.
My dad was an active pastor, and I didn’t know anything about being a “Preacher’s Kid.” I was a poor girl from South Central, and yet, I was expected to uphold a standard that I didn’t know anything about. My mother and I had a tumultuous relationship. I was phasing into teenage years as she was entering menopause. I had been homeschooled with other girls with similar stories, and now I was in public school where I had to find where I belonged.
By the time freshman year of college was over, things got worse. I constantly kept getting hurt emotionally, my parents constantly sheltered me, and I honestly just needed to break free. But actions caught up with me, and I knew I couldn’t stay home any longer.
In October of 2018, I enlisted in the U.S. Army. I have traveled the world, seen beautiful and terrible things, and made life-long friendships. This year will be seven years since my enlistment, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve built a better relationship with my parents and, more importantly, myself.
Sometimes, what you think is the road to twilight is actually the road to dawn.
– Kandice Pritchard-Harmon (Adopted from Macon, Georgia, USA, now living in Augusta, Georgia)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#16
For many adoptees from Eastern Europe and Central Asia, including Russia, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, Romania, Moldova, and more, these early years hold powerful memories, even if some are only captured in old photos. These memories can also be complex.
I was adopted from an orphanage in Arkhangelsk, Russia, in 1994 with my brother. We grew up in New Zealand, and although I was just two years old at the time, I have spent years reconnecting with my bloodline. Along that journey, I discovered my birth family in Russia, as well as relatives in both Ukraine and Kazakhstan. These connections have become an important part of who I am. I also wouldn’t be the person I am today without my parents who adopted me.
During the 1990s and early 2000s, tens of thousands of children were adopted from Eastern Europe and Central Asia. More than 60,000 children from Russia were adopted into the United States, and over 700 into New Zealand. Thousands more came from countries like Romania, Ukraine, Bulgaria, and Belarus during this time.
Every story is different. But many of us share common threads of identity, culture, and reconnection that stretch across borders and generations.
– Alex Gilbert (Born in Russia, adopted to New Zealand)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#17
I was born and adopted in Mexico in 1956. I adored my French-Mexican parents and had a wonderful life, but there was always something missing… I always wondered about my origins—what could have happened, why I looked European, and why I was born and left in one of the best hospitals in Mexico City (ABC). I had no clue, as in those days, babies were registered under “X.”
Only three years ago, my daughters had their DNA tests done and discovered that they both had a high percentage of Celtic ancestry, which made me want to have mine done too. I learned that I am 98.1% Irish/Scottish, found out who my birth parents were, and was able to build my biological family tree with the help of a kind DNA detective.
Mixed feelings, of course—but I finally had some answers. My birth family is from New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut. I was able to contact a few half cousins on my birth mother’s side, but they kept their distance. On my birth father’s side, I have four half-brothers that I haven’t been able to reach.
My birth mother passed away in 2004, and my birth father in 2020. Nobody seems to have a picture of my birth mother. Her life was complicated. After she had me, she got married and had three more children—my half-siblings—who sadly passed away too young and in a tragic way. I’m in touch with two half-nieces (my half-brother’s daughters), and they are adorable. I have another half-niece and a nephew that I haven’t been able to reach. Their mother (my half-sister) passed away tragically when she was only 23 years old, so I can understand why they might not want to know anything about their mother’s relatives.
Life is complicated. But at least now I know part of my story, and I’m at peace and happy to know about my ancestors. I inherited my birth mother’s voice and her love for acting and singing. I just wish I could know more.
– Marie (Adopted within Mexico City, Mexico)
(The pictures included in this story are of me, along with a photo of my birth father below)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#18
Adopted at 3 months by an Italian mother and English father, I had a wonderful childhood. My dad worked two jobs so myself and my adopted sister could attend Catholic school.
Fast forward to when I was 29, I found my biological mother by investigating in Paterson, New Jersey, but after meeting her, she kept calling me asking me to take her shopping to the mall. She wanted me to buy her clothes. I finally didn’t respond, but years later I was given a gift of Ancestry and discovered that I was one of six children and three of us were adopted.
I found my sister in California in 2019 who is seven years older, but haven’t found my brother who was born one year ahead of me. I found that my biological name is Jo Ann Tuzzio and my biological father was from Sicily and my biological mother was Dutch/German. They were not married, but after I was given up, my biological mother married and had three more children.
I have met my biological half-sister and there were two half-brothers, one is deceased. I was contacted by my biological nephew who has been trying to find a contact for my brother Joseph, born in 1949. At this time, I have no idea what his new name is, but that he was adopted from Paterson Catholic Charities by a couple in Alabama.
I have a wonderful husband, no children, but I do have nephews and nieces who contact me on a regular basis. I thank God for the parents who raised me and I have had a wonderful life.
– Gail (Adopted from Paterson, New Jersey, USA)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#19
My name is Amy and I’m adopted. I was born in Northern California here in the USA and grew up knowing I was adopted. Had an amazing life and still have amazing support and love from my adoptive parents. My whole life I thought my biological parents had to be from California. I knew about my biological mother since turning 18, and she had passed away when I was 10. I was able to connect with my younger brother from her, and we are still in contact. I had no idea who my biological father was.
In 2005, my husband and two very young kids moved to Minnesota, where my husband grew up. I had no idea I was moving “home”. In 2018 I took a DNA test, and all of my close matches were based in Minnesota. Not just in MN, but within an hour or so drive from where we moved. I had help sorting my matches and was very lucky to find my paternal family, who welcomed me with open arms. My biological dad, though, passed away in California in 2018.
The story behind it all is so much longer than this, but finding my biological dad’s side helped me fill in so many gaps and questions I’ve had about myself and who I really am. The love I have been given growing up and the love I received as an adult really makes me realize how lucky I am to have been adopted and also accepted!
– Amy (Adopted from Monterey, California, USA, now living in Minnesota)
Photo shows me and my biological dad! The resemblance is perfection! Along with a photo of me when I was a baby.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#20
I was adopted at 9 days old. My mother told me I was adopted when I was 5. I had a good life, but it was dysfunctional. I had the best mother ever! While she was living, I couldn’t search for my birth mother because it would have hurt her too badly. I had been told things about my biological mother. She was 19, tall, and strawberry blonde. When I lost my mother to dementia, I started by petitioning the court in Kentucky here in the USA. The response I got was that she had been contacted and notified of my desire to know her. She wrote a letter back saying she wanted no contact. I was crushed! Fast forward three years — I tried petitioning again. This time I got a letter back saying she was deceased, and they released her name to me. I started by looking up her obituary. I learned I had a brother. I looked him up on Facebook and found him. He was skeptical because she never told a soul about me — not her son, not her sister or brothers, not her husband. They knew nothing of my existence! My brother, aunts, and uncles all talked to me on the phone for about two weeks, and then they stopped responding to me altogether. At that time, I was like, What the hell is going on here? But I left them alone. Fast forward again — two years later. The news shows that tornadoes ripped through their town and lots of people lost their lives. So I called to make sure they were okay, only to be told by my aunt’s husband that they didn’t believe me. They thought I was just some crazy lady who drew that name out of a hat! I found out that she was a junkie — she was a d**g addict her whole life. She died at 58 from congestive heart failure. No father was listed on my birth certificate. Now I wish I’d listened to everyone who told me maybe not knowing was better. I wish I’d never looked for her! I’m left with more questions than answers. Why did she never tell anyone about me? Never mentioned me to a soul. – Elenore (Adopted from Kentucky, USA, now living in Virginia)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#21
I was adopted at 3 days old from St. Thomas Hospital. My mother was a sweet little Southern gal who was incredibly nurturing and loving. My dad was a first-generation Yugoslavian that, like his father and brother, liked drinking more than anything.
My earliest memories are all of my mom. She would take me for walks up our country road when the weather was nice. And when we were home, if her favorite song came on the radio, she would scoop me up and twirl me around in her arms. She loved to dance! She loved me and she loved life — but by the time I was 4, she was dying of cancer. I didn’t see her much during her last year of life; she died when I was 5 and a half.
My entire life changed after she was gone. My dad had no clue what to do with me, so he farmed me out with relatives — a few months here, a few weeks there. It was awful. I, at this point, had zero idea that I was adopted. My focus was on surviving. I was the quietest child you’d ever want to meet!
When I was 7, he remarried. A widow with a younger-than-me son who was her sole reason for living. It wasn’t long before my dad was being a nasty drunk and they were fighting. No matter how much they fought, she didn’t divorce him, even though she filed several times. When those times happened, she would take her son and run back to her mother. I spent more than one holiday weekend all alone, with my drunk father being in a stupor. It wasn’t a happy time in my young life. I was basically on my own; he passed out!
When I was 13, my stepmother took me shopping for an Easter dress. We found a dress, and at the register, she offered her “charge plate” from that store. Back then, it was metal and had your name and address embossed on it. When the cashier saw the name, she said, “Oh, I knew someone by that name from that area, but she was very ill.” My stepmother responded with, “Yes, that was my husband’s first wife, but she passed away.” Then the cashier said, “Whatever happened to that little girl they adopted?” I was standing right there and I was shocked!! They adopted a little girl? Where was she? What had they done with her? As we walked away, my stepmother asked me if I knew who she was talking about. I said, “No, who is she?” BOOM!! “It’s you,” she responded!!
WOW!! I remember running through the store crying. I felt very betrayed. And I might add — through all of this sadness in my young life, no one EVER told me they loved me or tried to soothe my wounds after my original mother died.
I’m sure “she” had tried to get my father to tell me I was adopted and he had refused. But once he knew that I knew, information came forth like a flood. He told me who my mother was, that I had a brother 15 months older than me that she had kept — but she didn’t want me — and reminded me often that I would grow up to be a “whore” like my birth mother. What a guy!!
Life was brutal for me from a mental standpoint, but all of it made me very strong and determined. After graduation, I went to college, where I met my first husband. I was so determined to not go back to my father’s home that I married young before finishing school. And, of course, I got pregnant quickly. I must say that when my son was born, my heart overflowed with joy — I could finally hug and love another human that was a part of me!! Three years later, I had a baby girl and I thought my heart would burst!! So much love.
But sadly, my husband turned out to be an alcoholic and we had serious problems. I was working in a very lucrative position, and the company offered me a transfer to another state. I thought if I got him away from his drinking buddies, perhaps we could have a fresh start. Around the same time, my dad died. I never shed a tear… I really hated all that he had said and done to me. So, moving was a fresh start for me too.
I’ll flash forward quickly… we divorced after 3 years in our new state. He left and went back from whence he came, I stayed in the new state.
I had reached out to my deceased mom’s sister, as I suspected that someone knew somebody that knew my birth mother — and I was right!!
After a year, I met a nice man and after 2 years, we married. In the meantime, I was in contact with my aunt. In the spring of 1980, she called me at 7:30am on a Sunday morning to tell me she had met my birth mother the night before and that said mother wanted me to call her. Of course, I had to get my wits about me, but I did call her an hour later. And we had a most pleasant chat. Three weeks later, we met in person. That was quite interesting… I felt very calm, but she was a nervous wreck.
Our relationship was pleasant. I met my brother, his wife, and children. But I must say — she, my birth mother, was a conniving liar. She had told me who my father (allegedly) was, and that my brother and I were 100% siblings. She told me my father had been a merchant marine, was 6’3″ tall with clear blue eyes and strawberry blond hair, and had died 6 years after my birth in a car accident. Several of those statements were bold-faced lies — which I will never understand. During our years of seeing each other (she lived in another state), I caught her in multiple fibs. I always called her on them… that my (alleged) father actually died 7 years after I met her — and not in a car accident; he died of cancer.
My birth mother passed in 2012. I remain fairly close to my two nieces (my brother passed in 2005), but the reason I keep adding “alleged” when I reference my father is that it turns out her insistence that my brother and I had the same father was her best lie of all!
In November of 2024, some settings on my Ancestry page changed, which alerted me to some previous dead-end leads. I know now who my bio father was — and that I have 2 half-sisters who are not responding to me. But it’s okay, as my life is quite full of love, finally, even without them!
It’s been a crazy journey. And as quiet and invisible as I was as a kid, I am completely the opposite of that today. I’m still married and deeply in love with my 2nd husband (even after 40+ years). Life is good. I have to say, as an add-on, that when I make reference to my REAL mother, it’s that very sweet Southern gal that danced with me in her arms and was sooo incredibly loving and nurturing. I love and miss her every single day. I always wish we had had a lifetime together.
– Mary (Adopted from Akron, Ohio, USA, now living in Mount Bethel, PA)
(Photos: Me with my sweet husband last year, and me in my senior year in high school)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#22
I was adopted when I was 3 days old in Albuquerque, New Mexico. When I was born, it wasn’t accepted to be pregnant and underage. My mom was 16 at the time and lived in Oklahoma. When she was pregnant, my grandfather sent her to Albuquerque to have me. The only person who knew about it was my aunt. Unfortunately, when I was born, they told my mom that I was stillborn, and she lived 40 years not knowing whether I was alive or dead.
One day, I got a call from the court system in Albuquerque asking me for information about myself and where I grew up. She told me that I had a sister who was looking for me, and by the end of the evening, I had a sister, a mom, and a brother. We all became instant friends that night. My sister was instrumental in getting us all together. We all met in Oklahoma for the first time. What a grand time that was. Just before my aunt died, she told my mom that I might be alive, and that’s how it all started with my sister looking for me.
We have become a close-knit family, and sadly my brother passed away. It will be two years this August. It’s funny that when they sent me the first picture of my family, there was no denying that they were my family.
My grandfather passed away not too long after that, but for a very short time, my kids had a great-grandfather. My aunt, who tragically died in a traffic accident, gave me information about my dad, who has also since passed away. My birth mom passed away too, but I got to spend some quality time with her. I have no issues with my mom or what happened, because I know she didn’t know the truth for 40 years.
I was happy to learn about that side of my family, because it helped me understand some of the health issues I had or might have in the future.
My mom and dad were the only family I ever had. I always wondered about my family, but I didn’t want to hurt my mom and dad by looking for them. I grew up on a ranch, roping and riding with my dad. I definitely had a wonderful life.
The first time I met everybody, it was very clear that some qualities we think are learned are actually inherited. I inherited the bright green eyes and the same crazy sense of humor. The rest of my family has that same sense of humor too.
I wouldn’t trade my life for anything. I had a wonderful husband for over 23 years, who sadly passed away in 2009. My daughter lives a mile down the road from me, my son is 540 miles away, and I have three beautiful grandchildren.
– Cathy (adopted from Albuquerque, New Mexico, USA, now living in Texas)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#23
I’m 62 years old. I was adopted when I was 3 hours old. My adoption was a closed adoption. The couple who adopted me were older, so I was teased a lot by my schoolmates. They would say my grandparents were coming to school events to watch me. I would reply, “That’s my mom and dad. Don’t call them my grandparents.”
As I got older, I think I was around 15 when my parents told me I was adopted. I kind of already knew, since I didn’t look like any of my cousins or my mother and father. I remember my mom gave me a court paper, and she had written a last name on it. She said she thought it might be my birth mother’s or birth father’s name. She wasn’t sure.
I didn’t start my search right away because I didn’t want to upset my parents. They were the only parents I had ever known, and I didn’t want to hurt them. My adopted mom passed away in 1999. After that, my adopted father told me I could go ahead and search if I wanted to. He said he would understand. He passed away in 2007.
I found my birth mother first, just from the last name my adopted mom had written down. I contacted her and asked if we could meet. She worked in the town where I grew up. When I saw her, we were both very happy. We hugged and cried. She told me I had one half-sister and three half-brothers, and that they were from her then-husband. She also told me that her current husband was not my father. Instead, the man she was married to before him was, and I had a brother. She gave me his last name but said she hadn’t spoken to him since I was born.
I called this man. He told me he wasn’t my father, but that he had signed the paperwork saying he was. My mom had needed someone to sign, because she had cheated on this man and gotten pregnant with me. My grandfather, my mom’s dad, told her she had to put me up for adoption because I was a “bastard baby.” So she signed the papers, and the man signed them too.
After he told me this, I was very upset with my mother for lying to me about who my father was. Things didn’t go well between me, my mother, and my siblings. I was angry because every time I asked someone if they knew who my father was, they all gave me the same story my mother had told me. The details were always exactly the same.
My birth mother passed away about 8 to 10 years later. I didn’t really see her much during those years. Maybe just a few times. Every time I asked again about who my birth father was, she would lie. When she was on life support, I flew out to be there. I told everyone I hated her for the lies, but I also said, “She was there for my first breath, so I will be there for her last breath.”
To this day, everyone still sticks to the story she told. I ended up doing a DNA family history test, hoping to finally get closure and learn who my birth father was. I found him. It said he lived in a town about 10 miles from where I grew up. I called and spoke to him on the phone. We met in person about two weeks later.
My daughter went with me. As soon as I started up the steps to his house, my heart felt whole. The missing piece of my life had finally been found. We held each other for about 10 minutes, crying.
I met my half-sister, and she’s more of a true sister to me than my mother’s daughter ever was. She has two sons, and my dad married a younger woman. I’m actually older than my stepmom, which is kind of funny.
My father said he had asked my mother several times, after getting out of the service, whether they had a daughter. She always told him no. That’s what hurts me the most. It also hurt my father deeply.
When I found my father, he was 81 years old and dying of prostate cancer. He had been fighting it for about 8 years. He told me he always had a feeling he had another daughter out there and that he had wanted to find me before he died. He got his wish, and I got mine. We only had about 2 or 3 months together before he passed away, but he got to meet my daughter — his granddaughter — and her two kids, my grandkids. They were his great-grandkids.
The day he met them, he said, “My story finally has an end, and my puzzle is complete. I’m glad I got to see the ending.” He passed away 3 years ago, and now my family and I, along with my new family, are building our memories. My sister and I have become very, very close.
I’m still angry with my birth mother for lying to both me and my birth father for so many years. She looked us in the eye and lied, and I can’t forgive that. Because of her, my father and I lost at least 8 years we could have had together. Instead, we only got 2 or 3 months. But those were the happiest months of my life.
I was adopted by the most loving, caring couple in the world. I always called them my mom and dad — because they were. They raised me and helped shape me into the woman I am today.
I want to say thank you to my birth mother for having me and giving me a chance at life. And a very, very big thank you to my birth father for never giving up on the belief that he had a daughter out there. That daughter was me.
– Brenda (Stewart) McQueen — Adopted from California, USA
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#24
I was born and live in New Zealand. I was born in Auckland in 1955 and adopted by a couple in Christchurch (South Island) at two or three weeks of age. A sister arrived 2½ years later (also adopted), and we grew up in a caring and loving family. I never went looking for my biological family, although as I grew up, I realised I was most likely the result of a teenage pregnancy.
In mid-2021, I was contacted by Oranga Tamariki (the adoption agency in New Zealand) and told that my birth mother was still alive. She and her four daughters (who Oranga Tamariki referred to as my half-sisters) wanted to make contact with me. I willingly accepted, and 24 hours later, I was talking to one of them—only to discover they were not my half-sisters but my full sisters!
Twenty-six months after my birth, my biological parents married and went on to have four daughters. They all live in the North Island. I was also told that my birth father had passed away over 30 years ago. And yes, my birth mother was just 16½ when I was born.
By 2019, both of my adoptive parents had passed away, so there were no “issues” with me being found.
Our initial meeting was delayed a couple of times due to Covid-19 lockdowns, but we finally met in early February 2022—on my 67th birthday—when my wife, our second son and his wife, and I travelled to Rotorua. Since then, we’ve been in regular contact. I’ve just returned from another North Island trip for a niece’s wedding, where I caught up with my four siblings and their families.
My birth mother passed away in mid-2023, so I’m grateful to have been able to meet her a couple of times during my trips to Rotorua in 2022.
My sisters had no idea I existed until a family funeral in mid-2020, when an uncle revealed that they might have an older brother out there somewhere! My birth mother later told me I had been known as “The Big Secret” between herself and her husband.
I have been completely accepted into both the immediate and extended family.
It has truly been a life-changing experience! – John (New Zealand Adoptee)
Photo of John by the headstone of his birth father, Richard.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#25
I wanted to share a piece of my story that comes with its ups and downs. I was adopted from an orphanage in a city called Arkhangelsk, which is located right at the top of Russia. I was adopted alongside my brother in 1994 to New Zealand.
Though I have shared parts of my story here before, this part is about my relationship with both of my birth parents. I began my search with my birth mother, Tatiana. But before I get into that, I want to say how fortunate I’ve been to have such a loving upbringing here in New Zealand.
My parents who adopted me have always told me that if I ever wanted to search for my birth parents, they would support me and they have. I also understand the other side, where adoptive parents may feel hesitant about their children wanting to search. I understand this, 100%.
I know for a fact that my birth mother struggled with the decision to place me into an orphanage. But she wasn’t unfamiliar with that environment. She was raised with no family, no parents, and spent her entire childhood in an orphanage herself. In fact, the orphanage she grew up in was only about 30 minutes away from where I was placed as a baby.
When I first connected with her and learned this, I had to put myself in her shoes and consider what that must have been like. I’ve always emphasised to her that I simply want to know who she is and to learn about her life.
After reconnecting with Tatiana, I eventually found out more about my birth father.
I had been given paperwork after my adoption that included names for both my birth mother and birth father. However, only Tatiana’s name was correct. She hadn’t told my birth father about me, and it wasn’t until I reconnected with her that she told me who he was. Again, I thought about her situation and understood that her circumstances weren’t easy.
My birth father Misha, was the man I then reached out to. Everything changed so quickly. He couldn’t believe it. He also expressed understanding toward Tatiana and the difficult decision she had to make. Of course, he was upset that he hadn’t known about me but he thanked my parents for raising me and helping me become who I am today.
Tatiana has always carried a sense of regret. But she, too, has thanked my parents for giving me the chance at life that she couldn’t provide herself. I know things weren’t easy for her back then. I’m still learning more about her extended family to this day. She has a brother I’ve connected with in Ukraine, and her bloodline from her mothers side traces all the way back to Kazakhstan. Even though she was in an orphanage, I have been able to help her find those links for her.
Since reconnecting with both of my birth parents, I’ve had the chance to learn more about their lives. They always ask about my parents in New Zealand. I’ve also learned the Russian language so I can speak with them both on our regular video calls. I have also spoken with my Uncle in Ukraine too to learn about his life.
I know that for birth parents, we sometimes have to place ourselves in their shoes. And I know that for many, adoption is not always easy. I’ve faced challenges in my relationship with my birth mother, but I continue doing what I can to keep the connection going with both of my birth parents.
– Alex Gilbert (Born in Russia, adopted to New Zealand)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#26
I’m reaching out in the hope of finding answers and connecting with the father of my brother, Jose Luis Villa. My brother, born on February 22, 1989, tragically passed away in October 2023, and I believe his father deserves to know what a wonderful man his son was.
My name is Gabriella Diana Sara Reyes, born on March 2, 1988. My father’s name is Seraphin, and my brother’s father’s name was Via Villa (possibly a nickname). Both of our fathers were from Mexico. Our mother’s name is Virginia.
In the last week of February 1993, my brother and I were adopted under unusual circumstances. We were flown from Georgia to Utah and met an elder at the airport before being dropped off with a Mormon family in Sugar House, Utah. Our adoption was kept secret from our fathers and other family members, who were tragically told that we had died in a car explosion in Mexico. Later, we were told the adoption was meant to protect us from a dangerous situation within our extended family.
We lived in Southern California, Mexico, Tennessee, and briefly in Georgia. While I have some contact with our mother, getting clear answers about our past has been challenging.
If you have any information that could help me find Jose Luis Villa’s father, please connect with me. I want to honor my brother’s memory and ensure his father knows about his son’s life and passing. Thank you for any help you can offer.
– Gabriea (Adopted from Georgia, USA, now living in Minnesota)
Photos: The first picture is of me and my brother, Jose Luis Villa. The second photo shows us shortly after our adoption.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#27
Marjorie is on the search for her birth mother — can you help?
This story was shared with us by Marjorie, who was born in Beirut, Lebanon in 1980 and adopted to Switzerland. In 2021, thanks to DNA testing, she discovered her biological father’s side of the family. But she is still searching for her birth mother — and has very little information to go on.
Here’s her full story: I was born in Lebanon on March 2, 1980 (within a few days — it could be a little before or a little after). I was dropped off at the St-Vincent nursery in Achrafieh in Beirut, Lebanon. It was Sister Marguerite who took me in. Then two months later I was adopted by a family in Switzerland. In 2021, thanks to DNA tests, I discovered my paternal family. My biological father’s name was Tony H. He died in 2006. His date of birth is 03.09.1949.
I am looking for my birth mother. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about her. The nursery gives me no information and in my adoption papers all the names are borrowed names. On my biological dad’s side, no one knew of my existence before the DNA tests.
Thank you for your help. I thank you for letting me share and I hope that it will help me advance in my search.
– Marjorie
Adopted from Lebanon, now living in Switzerland
(Photo shows Marjorie today and as a baby)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#28
I was adopted six weeks before my 18th birthday, in an emergency sitting at the Four Courts in Dublin, Ireland.
My life was turned upside down at the age of ten, when three social workers arrived to tell me the truth. From that day on, it was nothing but interviews and meetings.
It turned out my baby brother was actually my biological brother, also in foster care, and we had a baby sister with another family. We would all meet at least once a year. But even back then, we looked nothing alike. They, however, looked alike.
I didn’t meet my biological parents until I was 13. I disliked my mother instantly, and I knew the man she claimed was my father couldn’t possibly be my father. The meeting only happened because she kept trying to take me. Funny, it was never the other two, only me.
We were adopted, my brother and I. Parents passed away, and life was as normal as it could be, until the day it wasn’t.
I was at work when I was approached by a woman who said she was my aunt. She asked if we could talk, if she could meet me for just an hour.
Her first question was: “Who is your dad?”
I had the same question for her.
Time went on. I now have my adoption files and have met older half-siblings I never knew about. A DNA test was done.
There it was.
He was never my father.
But all we have now are second cousins, and still no answers.
It’s heartbreaking. She ran away two weeks before my older brother’s Communion and came back two years later with me. She let another man believe I was his child for 19 years, until the day he died.
I was born a month early in Cork City on 31 August 1986.
This is my adoption story, and my search for how I came into this world.
– Josephine Maguire (Adopted within Ireland)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#29
Hi, my name is Katharina Tews, and I am looking for my biological family in Germany on my father’s side. I was adopted into the United States at 11 years old and am originally from Beidl, Germany. After arriving in the U.S., my mother changed my name to Katharina Conley, though my birth name was Katharina Schwarzmeier.
My biological father, Hans Werner Willie Tews, died before I ever had the chance to meet him. I was told he died in a car accident and that he had also spent some time in prison. I’m sharing as much information as I can in hopes it helps. I know I have a half-brother named Michael, who has a son named Timo, and a cousin named Nina.
I have no real sense of identity here in the United States and no family to turn to. If anyone can help me reconnect with my roots or find my relatives, I would be forever grateful.
It would mean the world to me to find my missing family in Germany and finally reconnect. If anyone has any information, I’d be deeply thankful.
— Katharina Tews (Adopted from Beidl, Germany; now living in Atlanta, Georgia, USA)
Note: This story has been updated with changes as there was a bit of confusion on the timeline of her story. Since sharing the story too Kat has been able to find out more information thanks to all of your help!
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#30
I was adopted at two weeks old. My birth mother was Janice Parkes, from Nuneaton, Warwickshire in England. My father was James Bassett, originally from Ireland (Maybe Northern?). He was reputedly a navy signalman, but after leaving the navy he became a labourer at a holiday camp in Blackpool, England, where he met my mother.
She moved to Coventry when she discovered she was pregnant, and later returned to Nuneaton.
He got my mother pregnant in 1967 and asked her to marry him, but my maternal grandmother discovered that he was already married. His family were reportedly from the Stoke-on-Trent area.
Does anyone recognise any of this? Please share.
I apparently have three older half-siblings. I am hoping to find answers!
– Lisa Brown (Adopted from Nuneaton, England, UK, now living in Market Drayton)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#31
Marina was born in the small town of Staryi Krym, located in Crimea. Before she turned two, she was adopted from an orphanage in Simferopol by her Italian parents, just as she was about to celebrate her second birthday. She grew up in Italy with the love and support of her adoptive family. But even from a young age, Marina carried a quiet curiosity about where she came from. As she got older, that curiosity grew, not just about her place of birth, but about the people connected to it and the circumstances that led to her adoption. Over time, she began exploring her roots and tracing her early life back to Crimea. This eventually led her to reconnect with relatives, some still in Crimea, and others spread across nearby regions. It was a journey filled with discovery, emotion, and complexity. Not everything came with easy answers. As the years have passed, Marina has continued to reflect on what adoption means in her life. She’s shared how the experience has shaped her identity and her relationships, not only with her birth family, but also within her adoptive family. In recent years, she’s also taken the step to begin therapy, helping her to navigate some of these ongoing questions and strengthen her own self-understanding.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#32
My name is Zara. I was adopted at a couple of months old from London in the UK. I always knew my birth mother was Jewish but had a feeling there was some other mix. I found out when I met my birth mother in 1988 at 24 that my father was Italian.
I moved to the USA 30 years ago and had always wondered how I would find an Italian man with only a first name. I moved from Los Angeles to New Jersey in the USA, and fast forward to 2016, I did a DNA family history test. I got a match with an American sister, also adopted.
She had met our father. He was living one hour from my house in New Jersey. You can’t make this stuff up! I had two years with him until he suddenly passed. I lost both fathers eight months apart. It’s a lot to take in at times.
I am an adoptee advocate and author. This is how I deal with being adopted. Hello to all.
— Zara Phillips (Born and adopted from the UK)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#33
My name is Eliana. I’m also an identical twin—my sister’s name is Tatiana. We were born in Vladivostok, Russia, and adopted into the United States in 1996. We always knew we were the fourth birth in our biological family. Years later, we found our three older siblings, who were also adopted by an American family here in the States, and we’ve since been reunited.
Looking into my adoption has been a personal journey, hoping to find more answers about who I am. Being adopted already brings up so many questions about identity. I was adopted as an infant, but as I got older and began to understand where I came from, I found myself searching—just trying to see if there’s something more out there. Maybe one day, I’ll find the answers.
Adopted in 1996 from Vladivostok, Russia.
—Eliana Laurance (Elena Kyngyrseva)
(Adopted from Russia, now living in the U.S.)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#34
I was adopted as a baby and raised in a loving family, but always carried an unspoken ache — a sense of not quite belonging and questions about my origins that no one could fully answer. As a child, I experienced the sting of bullying and the confusion of trying to be someone I wasn’t, learning to wear a mask just to fit in. Over time, I built a life filled with love, but also deep loss. After multiple miscarriages, I felt a powerful need to understand my beginnings and reached out to find my birth mother, who I found in 1995. This was something I did while my adoptive mum was still alive. It was a journey filled with emotion, healing, and connection. My mum passed away on 28 December 2011, after being rushed to hospital on Christmas Day. Her sudden death shattered me. And yet, even decades after finding my birth family, another heartbreak emerged — 26 years later, my half-sister decided I wasn’t truly part of the family. The pain of being re-rejected cut deeply, but it also reminded me of the importance of choosing who and what defines your worth. Through it all, I battled silent struggles and carried the invisible weight that many adoptees know too well. But I also found strength. I learned to let go of the stories that kept me small. I fought for connection, forged my own way forward, and made peace with the parts of myself that had once felt broken. Today, I honour the child who was left to cry by giving voice to her story. I’ve come to understand that my worth isn’t defined by where I began or who chose to stay — but by the love I give, the healing I pursue, and the truth I live. – Julie (Born and adopted in Western Australia) (Me on the left and me with my Dad on the right)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#35
I was adopted out at 2 weeks of age. My adoptive parents couldn’t have children themselves so they fostered my eldest brother and adopted my other brother and myself. I still remember the day they told me when I was 4 yrs old. Needless to say, it hit me like a tonne of bricks. Back then there was no counselling or therapy as such, so you had to try and make as much sense of it as possible in your own mind. I always felt like the odd one out, like I never fit in with extended family. The best way for me to describe it would be I felt like a square peg trying to fit into a round hole.
Fast forward 36 years — after marrying my childhood sweetheart and having 2 amazing children of my own — I made the huge leap of faith that would change my perspective on things forever. I contacted an adoption agency here in Adelaide, Australia with the little information I was given. Within days, they contacted me to ask me if “I was sitting down”, they had found my birth mother and father, who were both alive, still together, and had gone on to have 3 other children — a boy 3 years after me, then 2 girls 6 years and 10 years after I was born.
I couldn’t believe my circumstances. I went on to meet them all — they live 3 hours away and we see them regularly. I adore the relationship I have with my siblings and I’m so grateful for my birth parents who were so young they weren’t allowed to keep me.
Whilst I’m forever grateful for my story, I still feel a sense of loss inside — whether that is because I know they have all grown up together and I never had the opportunity to, or whether adoption just creates that loss inside you that will never pass. Regardless, I’m eternally grateful for the family and friends I have around to support me every day throughout this journey of life.
– Tash (Australian Adoptee)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#36
I was born Martin Paul Lombardi on 10/24/1984 and was taken at birth as a ward of the State of CA. I was in foster care from birth until 1.5 years old, at which point I was an emergency extraction foster care child due to my foster parents neglecting me—failing to take me out of my crib or stimulate me with play or interaction. I was immediately placed into the care of two individuals who were looking for a “hard-to-place” child. They would become my parents a short time later, but first, they helped me with physical therapy because my muscles had not formed properly and had atrophied. My motor skills were behind, and they fought for me. I’d go on to get straight A’s in high school and college and play college baseball.
My adoption was closed due to me being taken away at birth from my biological mother because of her mental state and homelessness. She had paranoid schizophrenia, which impaired her judgment and ability to maintain consistent work. She eventually found out from my social worker what my new name was, who my new family was, and our address. My family was very protective of me since they didn’t know her or what her state of mind would be when she tried to visit me.
When I was 18, I found out a lot about my adoption. Although my parents were always upfront that I was adopted and I always felt loved, I just didn’t know what I didn’t know. I made arrangements to meet my biological mother. When I met her, she showered me with love, asked so many questions, and expressed how thankful she was that my family took me in. She was so sweet and not scary at all. I learned her perspective on certain things I had been told, which gave me more clarity. What I realized was that just meeting her healed her heart—and, in some way, healed a part of me I didn’t even know needed healing.
I asked about my biological father, and she told me all she knew about him—he worked construction and was from Santa Barbara. During this time, I found out I had an uncle on my biological father’s side who lived in town. I arranged to meet him and learned a lot about the tough times my biological father had put him through, the bipolar disorder he suffered from, and how violent he was. My biological uncle told me not to seek him out because he said my biological father would kill me if I tried to convince him I was his son. That hit me like a ton of bricks, and from that moment, I stopped being curious and searching for my biological dad—until August of 2015.
One night, I thought to search my biological dad’s name on Facebook, and I found him—along with a young woman with his last name. I asked her how she knew him, and she said she was his daughter. Not long after, I got his number, and I called him. We talked for a couple of hours. He shared his perspective, adding more clarity to my life. He explained the state of mind he was in, how long it took him to get his life together, and how he never wanted to give me up—but had to. He said he had always wanted this day to come. We talked for two weeks straight and eventually made plans to meet.
One night, he called me several times while I was at work, but I didn’t pick up. The next morning, I woke up to multiple texts, phone calls, and social media messages letting me know that my biological father had died of a massive heart attack. I was just two days away from meeting the father I had waited 30 years to see, and now he was gone.
At the wake, I didn’t know what to expect, but there was a large family gathering. They all said I looked just like him, and none of them had ever known I existed. They were kind and loving and immediately accepted me into their family. It took a tragedy to bring together a group of people who otherwise would never have met, and in doing so, I gained a family. It was a blessing in disguise, and now I have a huge family that I stay in touch with.
There’s so much more to my story, but the point is—had I not been curious, I could have gone my whole life not knowing there was, in fact, a hole in my life. I could have missed out on discovering a family that was ready to love me. I know these stories don’t always have happy endings, and I encourage healthy boundaries and caution when seeking biological parents. But I also encourage you to test the waters—see what’s out there. You may heal someone’s heart, and maybe even your own, in ways you never knew you needed.
– Robert (Adopted from Goleta, CA, USA now living in Livermore, CA)
Pictured: Me with my birth mother Ann—top left (meeting for the first time) and below with my birth mother in 1984.
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#37
As most people know, I am adopted, and my birth name was Natalie Givans. It was a fully closed adoption, meaning I knew hardly anything about my biological family and had no way to contact them. I couldn’t have imagined a better family than the one I was adopted into.
That being said, growing up was difficult at times—especially because my older brother, who was also adopted, had an open adoption. He knew his full biological family, had open communication, and maintained a great relationship with them. Watching that, I always wondered about my own story. How did I get to where I was? Did I look like my birth mom or dad? How many siblings did I have? Were certain mannerisms learned or genetic? And what about my medical history—was there anything I needed to be cautious of? I had SO many questions.
Nine years ago, I found my birth mother. At the time, I was living in San Diego, and she was just 30 minutes away from me. I learned that I had seven siblings, but most of them were missing—either adopted into other families or raised in foster care. I was the youngest, the eighth child. But no one knew about me—not my siblings, and not even my birth mother’s husband of 17 years. (Let’s just say… that didn’t go over well.) As a result, my birth mother and I don’t speak.
Over the past nine years, through DNA testing, countless hours of research, phone calls, and sheer determination, I found all seven of my siblings on my birth mother’s side. But half of my puzzle was still missing—my birth father. So I did what I do best: DNA testing, research, phone calls, emails, and the help of some truly amazing search angels and genealogists who helped me calculate centimorgans and trace family trees.
And now, at 27 years old, I can finally say I have found my birth father. He had no idea I existed. He has no other children, so this discovery not only made him a father for the first time but also made his brother an uncle and his mother a grandmother.
For the first time in my life, I know my full genetic background. And everything I’ve learned throughout my nine-year journey, I now use to help other adoptees and birth families reconnect with their missing loved ones. My search angel partner, Tara, and I have solved over 50 cases—bringing people together or helping them find closure.
I love my story, and I love being able to help others who share a similar journey.
With all that being said, I want to make it clear—I wouldn’t change a thing about my life. I couldn’t have asked for a better family. I truly believe I was placed on this earth to be a daughter to my one and only mom.
Thank you to everyone who has been here and supported me on this journey!
– Sierra (Adopted from San Diego, now living in Cody, Wyoming, USA)
(Pictured: Me (top left), my birth father, and my birth mother below.)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#38
Hi, my name is Andrey, and I was adopted at the age of 4 from Kherson, Ukraine. I was brought over to the United States, to Missouri, to start a new life with a big family. My adoptive parents also adopted another child from the same orphanage, who was four months younger than me. We were raised together and given a negative story as to why our parents gave us up for adoption. As a child, I believed everything I was told, so I didn’t think much of it.
The early memories were confusing. I was excited and confused about what was going on—excited for the new life I was given, yet confused as to why it was happening to me. Meeting the new family wasn’t a small experience. Meeting the extended family was a similar experience. Everyone was telling me how lucky I was to be in this position. But it doesn’t come down to just luck. It was followed by questions—who was I? What was my heritage? What’s my identity?
My parents raised me to be Mormon, which I eventually rejected once I was old enough. I felt a bit of guilt doing this, but I knew I’d feel even more guilty if I let someone else control how my life would turn out. I still love my adoptive parents. It took a while before I could figure out how to set boundaries and still love them for everything they did for me.
For the longest time, I was okay with not knowing who I was or what my heritage consisted of because I’ve lived a privileged life. But as I get older, the question keeps surfacing: “Who am I?” Am I just a collection of the experiences I went through, or does my origin hold weight in who I am? If so, I’d like to learn more about that side of me. I’m looking for support in my path to finding the answer to this question. I figured hearing others’ stories would give me a new perspective or some enlightenment on the subject.
Now that I’m older, I have a different mindset—one of understanding—and I would like to find out answers about my past instead of speculating about what could have been. – Andrey (Ukrainian-American Adoptee)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#39
I am 43 and work in a school, supporting children with additional needs and challenging behaviour. I have three kids—24, 11, and 7. I have always worked in the care sector. I met my birth mum in my early 20s. We only saw each other a few times a year. She was still an alcoholic and, unfortunately, hadn’t managed to break the cycle. I never blamed her for anything; I knew she had lived an extremely sad and difficult life. When she passed away, I scattered her ashes somewhere peaceful to set her free, which also brought me a sense of peace. I was adopted at the age of six, along with my two sisters, after years of moving back and forth between foster care and my birth parents. It was both a happy and sad time—I knew my birth mum wanted to keep us, but she wasn’t allowed to, and I was too young to understand why. My childhood was a mix of emotions. While I was privileged to experience many fun things, I always carried a sadness and anger I couldn’t explain. As I grew into my teenage years, I became an angry tween who struggled to show emotion and often blamed my adoptive mum. We had a difficult relationship, and I didn’t feel she was very nurturing. At 16, I left home several times, got into trouble with the wrong people, stayed in homeless accommodation, and took d**gs. My life turned around when I moved into supported lodgings with an older couple who treated me like family. I started a training course, got a job, found my own flat, and met a partner. At 19, I had my first son. Looking back, I was so young, but I tried my best. Becoming a mother helped me reconnect with my mum, who played a huge role in supporting me with my son. Now, at 43, I have three children, a partner I love, and a job where I support kids. I never thought I’d get here, but I did. Today, I have a great relationship with my mum. Adoption made me who I am, and I’m proud of the person I’ve become—a confident, caring mother who loves her children more than anything. — Leianne (Adopted within Scotland)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#40
I was born in 1994 and adopted from Vietnam a year later by an American family. I’ve lived in the U.S. ever since. Although I have my adoption papers, the information I have is limited. My name at birth was Nguyen Thanh Huong. I was abandoned as a baby in 1995 in Doan Hung Town, Phu Tho, at a motorcycle shop in the market. In 2015, when I first searched for my birth father, Nguyen, in Vietnam, the person our family hired was able to travel back to the town where I had been abandoned in northern Vietnam. He found the elderly couple who had taken me in after my birth father left me years before.
The note my birth father left with me said, “Your birth mother had died by accident.” It also mentioned my name, birth date, and his name. Unfortunately, the elderly couple didn’t know anything about my birth mother, and the townspeople knew little as well. Most of the people involved at the time had already passed away. So, the investigator we hired hit a dead end. Since my father’s name is very common in Vietnam, he didn’t think there was much else to pursue, and I gave up at that point.
Now, ten years later, and much older, I’m ready to continue my search for my birth father in Vietnam. This time, I contacted a Vietnamese TV station that helps reunite birth families for free, but I had no luck there. I’m so glad I decided to take the DNA route. After doing a lot of research, I ordered two DNA kits from different companies. Once I received my results, I uploaded my raw DNA to other DNA websites. On one of them, I found a third cousin, but the most significant discovery was learning that I have a biological sister in the U.S., also adopted by an American family. We look almost identical. At first, she was open to connecting, but then she panicked and rejected me. It was too overwhelming for her, and she chose to believe I wasn’t real, ultimately deciding to be in denial.
Sadly, I never received any information from her about our birth mother’s name or location. Now, I’m back to searching on my own, hoping to continue and finally find the answers. I hope sharing this story can get the word out there. – Phoebe Nguyen
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#41
My birth history isn’t straightforward. My birth mum was 16 when she had me, and my father was unknown. She later had another child three years after me, who stayed with her. My half-sister and I, however, were neglected and taken into care. We were eventually separated and adopted by different families when I was four years old.
Unfortunately, my time in care didn’t end there. When I was 15, my adoptive dad picked me up from school one day and told me that he and my adoptive mum needed a break. He was putting me in a home “for a couple of weeks.” I was labelled a problem child.
I never went back home.
I stayed in the children’s home until I was 17, when I got kicked out after a fight with a staff member. After that, I moved into board and lodgings, but it didn’t last. I ended up calling social services and spent one night in another children’s home before moving in with foster parents. They helped me turn my life around and put me back on the right path.
When I turned 18, I began searching for my birth mum. I discovered she lived just a few miles away, in the next town. I eventually met her and got to know my extended birth family, including my nan, half-sister, aunts, and uncles.
As I got to know her, I repeatedly asked about my father. She didn’t want to tell me, but eventually, she gave me his name and said he had died in a car crash a few years after I was born. That name always stuck in my head.
Unfortunately, my birth mum turned out to be a selfish person who constantly lied. I decided to cut contact with her, and we remained estranged until she passed away a few years ago from cancer at the age of 65.
Despite this, I successfully reconnected with my half-sister. Although we were adopted into different families, we’ve built a relationship and still keep in touch.
From the age of 15 to 25, I had no contact with my adoptive family. Not one of them reached out to me during those 10 years.
That changed when I unexpectedly bumped into one of my adoptive aunties. We started talking, and she asked if I wanted to see my adoptive mum and dad again. I agreed.
For a few years, we kept in touch, but we eventually fell out again. It was another three or four years before we reconnected. By then, too much time had passed, and though we tried to rebuild a relationship, it never felt the same.
We remained in touch on and off until my adoptive mum passed away last year. I was with the family when she died. My adoptive dad is still alive at 93, but I don’t feel a strong connection to him or the rest of the family.
At the age of 55, my wife bought me an DNA test to help me find answers about my paternal side. The only information I had was my birth father’s name—the one my mum had given me all those years ago. She said he had died in a car crash, but I wanted to know if I had any living relatives on his side.
I took the test in February 2024, but when the results came in, I only matched with second cousins. It was frustrating, but I wasn’t ready to give up.
Looking for help, I found a Facebook group which helps with DNA searches, where volunteers assist people like me for free. I shared my father’s name, though I wasn’t even sure it was correct. I didn’t know if my birth mum had told me the truth, so I had no idea what to expect.
At first, my supposed father’s surname didn’t appear in the searches. Then, one day, I got a possible lead. Suddenly, his name appeared in my family tree.
It was a huge shock.
Not only was he real, but he was alive. My DNA detective and I still weren’t completely certain, though. To confirm it, I needed a close relative from his family to take a DNA test.
I discovered that he had four daughters and another son. I reached out to one of his daughters on Facebook, but I didn’t immediately tell her that I thought her dad might be mine, too. I wasn’t sure how she’d react or what her family situation was like. It took a few months for her to agree to take the test.
When the results came back, they confirmed she was my half-sister.
At first, she thought I might be her uncle, but once I explained, she was stunned. She had no idea I existed. Neither did our father.
When my father found out about me, he was shocked. But instead of pushing me away, he embraced me. He wanted to meet me, and so did my new sisters and brother.
He welcomed me with open arms.
Since then, he’s messaged and called me every day. He carries a deep sense of guilt, knowing what I went through. If he had known about me, he says, he would have taken me in. He had a relationship with my mum, but he never knew she was pregnant.
We recently had a big family reunion, and it was an incredible experience. Along this journey, I’ve also connected with second cousins, who have become great friends.
Not all stories like mine have a happy ending, and I know how lucky I am. I’m grateful for the opportunity to build these relationships and for the people who helped me along the way.
I especially want to thank those who helped me. Without their help, I might never have discovered the truth.
– Jon (Born and adopted from the UK)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#42
I was born Cosmin Ciocoi in Romania in 1995, the youngest of four children. When I was three years old, my parents in America adopted me from an orphanage in Reșița, Romania. They chose to adopt me because my mother, who didn’t believe she could have children, had a miracle baby boy—my brother, Matthew. They wanted him to have a companion in life while also giving a child in need a home.
When I came to America, like many other adoptees, I had to adapt to a new culture, learn a new language, and adjust to a completely different way of life. When I was 15, my brother Matthew passed away unexpectedly, sending our family into turmoil. We buried him on my 16th birthday in 2011.
After years of healing, at 20, I moved to Tennessee with friends to start my life, build a career, and travel. As I got older and spent more time away from home, I began to wonder more about my family in Romania. I reached out to my parents to go through my adoption papers and explore what we could do to find them.
Through my research, I found a Facebook group that connected me with the foster family I had stayed with in Romania. I also met others who had been in the same orphanage. Incredibly, within just a week, I was able to find and contact my biological family.
This all happened so quickly because my biological sister had already reached out to the same resource just a year earlier, hoping to find me. Through this, I was able to reconnect with my sister, my brother, uncles, aunts, nieces, nephews—an entire, big, beautiful family.
Unfortunately, I learned that both my biological mother and father had passed away under tragic circumstances, leaving my siblings, Alin and Loredana, to also enter the system.
Two years ago, I traveled alone to England and Italy to meet my brother and sister. It was the most scared I had ever been, but also the happiest. What shocked me the most was how similar we were, despite never growing up together. My brother and I even had photos of ourselves at the same age, wearing nearly identical clothes, hairstyles, earrings, and necklaces. It was surreal.
Over the last three years, my brother and sister have been there for me just as much as I’ve been there for them. They truly are my family.
I was told that the reason I ended up in the orphanage was an accident. My mother had been traveling for work with my siblings, and I had become extremely sick. She left me at the hospital, asking them to care for me while she was away for a week. But instead, the state took me. My siblings told me that our mother never forgot about me and wanted to find me until the day she passed away. They, too, had always known about me and wanted to reunite.
Thankfully, my story has a happy ending despite its confusion and heartbreak. While I didn’t get all the answers I hoped for, I gained another family to love. I got the chance to be a brother again and, for the first time, an uncle. I plan on returning this year to visit even more of my family.
I a sharing my story here because I believe it can help others realise that they, too, can find the answers and healing they’re looking for—if they just take the leap.
– Shawn Loomis (Romanian – American Adoptee)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#43
I was adopted in Auckland, New Zealand after my mother fell pregnant following a short-term relationship with a man she barely knew. Both of my birth parents are of Australian descent and were in New Zealand on working holidays. They both returned to Australia, with my birth father unaware of my existence.
In 1999, I located my birth mother Mavis in Sydney, Australia. More recently, I reunited with my birth father and two half-sisters after finding them through a family genealogy website. While I am currently navigating this reunion, my first meeting with my birth mother was not successful. I only met her once when I flew to Sydney. While we embraced with warmth and shared a longing to heal past trauma, we were at points in our lives where we were unable to forgive the damage caused by adoption and could not move forward. Consequently, we never made physical contact again. However, I maintained contact with my half-sister, who kept me updated on my birth mother’s life and well-being.
During COVID, I decided to take a DNA test, which allowed me to trace several relatives. At the time, I struggled to separate the matches, despite exploring countless avenues over the years, such as ministries and genealogists. I eventually enlisted the services of Vanish in Australia to help locate my birth father, Max.
When I met my birth mother, she offered me photos and a few documents that provided clues to his whereabouts, despite leaving him off my birth certificate with the excuse that he had fled. This has since revealed the extent of her dishonesty.
This year, advances in family genealogy websites allowed me to separate matches into paternal and maternal relatives. After updating my account, I discovered a close match—a half-niece—who had taken the test after my half-sister mentioned her reunion experience to her nail technician.
Currently, my birth father and half-sisters are visiting from Western Australia, which has been a life-changing experience. The synchronicity of events in our lives is truly unexplainable. I feel deeply blessed to have found a sense of belonging and family. It has genuinely been a homecoming. – Tracy
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#44
I have always known I was adopted; my adoptive parents never hid that from me. I was born Sarah Lee Tyrell in Mayfield, Dalkeith, Scotland, on 3/11/1973. My birth mother did not provide my birth father’s details; however, social services recorded a man’s name in my file, assuming he was my birth father. Just before my 20th birthday, I received a letter from social services stating that a family member was looking for me. I called them and learned I had a younger brother who wanted to meet me. This is how I met my birth mother. My brother was 17 and needed me to help him find her.
The rest is her story to tell. However, over the years, I found three more siblings. I always wanted to find my birth father too, especially after having my own children and lacking any medical history. I decided to take a Family History DNA test, and around this time last year, I connected with a first cousin—a link I had been waiting for.
Through this connection, I discovered who my birth father is and found even more siblings, one of whom I am now building a bond with. I also met an aunt who was one of the first people to hold me as a baby; she was friends with my birth mother but didn’t know I was her niece. We recently met (Oct 2024), and it was surreal meeting someone I resemble. – Sarah
(Photo shows me with long after my adoptive parents brought me home, and a more recent one of me)
Image source: imadoptedOrg
#45
Kia ora! I’m Graeme. I knew growing up in a small NZ town I was adopted at birth, but it took 30 years to discover how close and entwined I was with my birth family, the parallels, the coincidences, and how often we came close to being in the same place at the same time.
When I married in 1974, my future father-in-law was kind of anti-Māori, in so far as it was okay to be mates but not okay for his daughters to marry or have a Māori boyfriend. (Ironically, when I started my new family tree, I discovered his wife – now my mother-in-law – was a direct descendant of Te Rauparaha.) I grew up looking like a Māori boy, but even though my adoptive parents were both of European descent, no one really questioned it.
Looking back at my 1950s school photos, there is no doubt I’m the tall, geeky Māori boy in the back row. Following the law change in my early 30s, I met my birth parents – my father was 20 and had just arrived from the Netherlands under a government work scheme, and he met my mother, aged 19, mailing a letter home at Waipukurau Post Office. Their first date was a local dance, their first summer holiday in 1952 was a motorbike trip around Lake Taupō, and I was their firstborn nine months later.
Moving on, here’s the fun part: I grew up in Greytown, South Wairarapa, and for the first 2-3 years, my parents and their growing family were farming 2 km across the Waiohine River from our farm in Carterton, before later settling in Pahiatua & Eketahuna. For a short time, aged 19 years old, I managed the Regent Theatre in Pahiatua, where my three younger brothers would attend movies. My best friend from school days worked in the same shearing gang as my youngest brother. In the 1970s, I owned the Regent Theatre Taumarunui, and I didn’t know my sister was living and working at the Chateau Hotel and attending my movies.
The principal of the Taumarunui Primary School was head of the Māori trust that owned the dairy farm my parents were share milking on SH2 by the rail bridge between Woodville & Mangatainoka, and I was related to most Taumarunui Chadwicks. Next, to Rotorua in 1981/83, where I worked on Radio Geyserland and often went to the Geyserland Hotel, not knowing my sister worked on the front reception. I remember my adoptive mother saw a guy resembling me at Solway Park Masterton just before we met, and it was my brother Peter. In later years, I met a lady in Auckland who flatted with my sister at the Chateau.
I now know my iwi is Ngāti Pāhauwera & Tainui, my great-great-great-great Irish grandfather Daniel O’Keefe (aged 17) settled in Māhia, became a whaler, and married the chief’s daughter. My grandfather captained the Hawke’s Bay & Māori All Blacks in the 1930s, and my mother’s eldest brother is Sir Timoti Kāretu – the Godfather of Te Reo. My marae is Kohupātiki, Hastings, where I will rest one day in the same plot as four generations on my mother’s side, with a clear view of Māhia Peninsula.
My birth parents were married for 60+ years and met and became friends with my adoptive parents, who were considerably older. My mother kept a scrapbook of my school achievements garnished from the Wairarapa Times Age – they always knew my name and where I was living, and would drive past our house on SH2 hoping to see me. The day my mother passed, I helped change her, and I was holding both her hands when her spirit left for the last time.
As an aside, my father-in-law Russell Bishop was a competitive NZ wrestler in his youth – ironically, his coach was my great-grandmother’s brother, Ike Robin from Kohupātiki. There are secrets and an adventure awaiting discovery within every whānau – you just have to open the right door and ask the right questions! – Graeme
Image source: imadoptedOrg
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