For most of my life, I’ve known I was adopted. I was placed with my family just one week after I was born, and I’ve always felt deeply loved, supported, and grounded in that part of my story. Still, like many adoptees, I carried a quiet curiosity — wondering about where I came from and who I came from.
In 2009, I made the decision to search for my birth parents. It wasn’t out of pain or loss, but from a deep desire to understand my roots. On June 22, 2010, I met my birth mom, April. She was young when I was born, navigating a difficult season of life, and I’ve always held that part of her story with compassion. Over the years, our relationship has grown strong and steady. We’ve stayed connected, created meaningful memories, and built something real. I’m grateful every day for the bond we’ve formed.
For the last 15 years, based on what she believed at the time, we thought we knew who my birth father was. But in March of this year, life handed me a plot twist I never saw coming.
I received a message through AncestryDNA from someone named Jeremy. Seeing the word parent under his name and the DNA match showing 50% made my heart race.
We exchanged a few messages and what happened next still feels like a movie. Just a little over 24 hours after reading that first message, we met in person at a local coffee shop on March 22, 2025. No script. No handbook to navigate this. No expectations. Just two people connected by DNA, sitting across from each other for the very first time. We spent a couple of hours together that afternoon, and it was… surreal. And surprisingly natural. There was this sense that something long-lost had quietly settled into place.
A few weeks later, Jeremy came to visit me in Texas and stayed for the weekend. It gave us time to slow down, talk more deeply, and just be around each other. No rush, no pressure — just the beginning of something new and meaningful.
About a month later, I traveled to Oklahoma to spend time with him again. That visit added another layer to the story. Jeremy met my parents — the people who raised me with steady love and open hearts. We all talked for a while, and it was nice to see that connection take shape. Then I met his mom — my Nene — and instantly felt the warmth and kindness that runs in their family.
Fast forward to June — I still can’t believe we got to spend our very first Father’s Day together and that he drove all the way to Texas just to make it happen meant so much to me — bonus: he even surprised me by showing up early! It wasn’t about big plans or a grand gesture. It was a meaningful weekend simply because we were together. Sharing that day felt special in a way that’s hard to put into words; it was a moment that marked how far we’ve come in such a short time, and how deeply this connection is already rooted.
There’s something incredibly healing about seeing both parts of your story come together. Not to replace anyone, but to expand the definition of family. This experience hasn’t changed who I am — it’s added depth, clarity, and an unexpected kind of joy.
As I’ve been updating my friends and family, many have told me, “You need to write a book one day,” and maybe I will. But right now, I’m just living in the middle of this story — honoring every part of it. From the mom who gave me life and made an incredibly brave decision, to the parents who raised me with love, to the birth dad I always hoped to find and who has shown up already in ways I never expected— every part of this story holds meaning.
And the beautiful thing? This isn’t the end. It’s just the beginning.
