A Beautiful Yet Painful Reality

I believe adoption is absolutely necessary in the world—no child should ever grow up unloved. But adoption is also not a fairytale. It’s complicated. It’s painful. And it’s not for everyone.

My perspective on adoption is deeply personal. I was adopted. And at 16, I also gave up a daughter for adoption. That decision changed me forever. It scarred me. My journey is not one of happy endings and perfect matches—it’s a story with twists, deep wounds, and hard-earned truths.

I was born out of rape. My biological mother made it clear—she didn’t want to see me, touch me, or even hear me cry. The moment I was born, I was placed in a foster home. She refused to share anything about my father, so I stayed in foster care for six months. Eventually, a couple adopted me.

They were kind people who did their best, but they were not my tribe. And that matters. When I say “tribe,” I mean those who share your soul language—your essence. The family I was adopted into didn’t speak mine. We had no similarities. I grew up feeling like a stranger in their home, constantly trying to mold myself into someone I wasn’t. Everything about them felt off to me—the way they talked, what they believed, how they acted. I just couldn’t connect.

As a child, I was probably cute. My mom loved me—at first. My dad loved me because my mom did. But as I grew into my own person, they didn’t understand me. I became someone they couldn’t control. My mom once told me that by the time I could walk—before I was even a year old—I was constantly trying to leave the house. I’d unlock doors, climb up to reach the latches, and wander out with our two Samoyed dogs trailing behind me. I’ve always known I was meant for something different, something more. That life wasn’t it.

Things only got harder as I got older. My parents and I were at odds constantly. They had two biological sons—my older brothers—and I was the outsider. I was verbally, mentally, and sexually abused. I was reminded daily that I wasn’t truly wanted. My brothers told me over and over that I was lucky to be there—and that if I ever stepped out of line, I’d be gone.

When I was 11, my mother had a brain aneurysm. I was terrified—not because I feared losing her, but because I feared being left alone with my dad and brothers. They told me that if she died, I’d be sent away. By that age, I’d already begun running away. I just wanted out.

At 16, I got pregnant. The father was abusive. When the police brought me home pregnant, my parents told me I had no choice: I was going to a foster home to have the baby and give it up. I pleaded with them to let me keep my daughter, but they refused. They said if I kept her, I was on my own. That was my final sacrifice for their acceptance. I gave her up. But that was also when I cut ties—I disowned them before they could disown me. I moved to Jamaica and barely spoke to them for 13 years.

Later in life, I reunited with my daughter. That’s a whole other chapter. But through all of this, I’ve learned one critical truth: adoption is not just about placing a child in a home. It’s about belonging. It’s about fit. It’s about seeing a child for who they truly are and being ready to embrace that person, not just the idea of a baby.

I was creative. I was a thinker. I questioned things. I challenged everything. I didn’t rebel in destructive ways—I just knew there was more to life than what I was being shown. And that made me a problem. I once looked my father in the eye and asked how he could tell me what to do when he was always drunk. His response? He kicked me out. I was 12. I didn’t even cry—I was relieved.

I didn’t hate my adoptive family. But they weren’t my people. We weren’t aligned.

If you’re thinking about adoption, take it seriously. Don’t just fall in love with a baby—babies grow up. Make sure the child you bring into your home will be accepted, seen, and truly understood as they evolve into themselves. Adoption isn’t just a gift you give—it’s a lifelong responsibility to love someone who may not look or think like you, but who deserves a place to belong.