I’ve always struggled with making new connections. Starting conversations, deciding how much to share, figuring out when it’s appropriate to open up—these things overwhelm me. I overthink everything. I love people, truly, and I love hearing their stories, but my anxiety often keeps me from sharing mine. Over the past few years, I’ve mostly experienced acceptance and love, but judgment has been there too. My life isn’t a tidy, PG-rated story—it’s messy, complicated, sometimes R-rated. Lately, I’ve spent nights awake, turning over in my mind how I would face this newest chapter.
Someday, maybe, I’ll write the whole story of how I got here. Right now, I’m still untangling what the “real” story even is. Here’s the essential part you need to know: I never knew my biological father. My mom was dating someone when she became pregnant, and they parted ways. She had me on her own and soon met the man I’ve always called dad. But none of this was shared with me until I was 12. That day—the day I learned about my biological father—marked the start of a downward spiral. I became angry, acted out, and made choices that hurt my family, tearing us apart. My parents were dealing with their own struggles, communication was weak, and instead of talking about the real issues, we lashed out at one another over everything. I felt rejected, so I coped by rejecting everyone around me. But that’s a story for another day.
Fast forward to the present. After fifteen years of wondering, daydreaming, and holding onto questions, I decided to try to find my biological father. I did a DNA test—thank you, Lizzo, for the inspiration—and a few months later, the results came back. Most of the matches were on my maternal side, but a few names were unfamiliar. I took a leap and messaged each one, explaining my situation and what I hoped to find. About a week later, one person responded with a few questions. Through our back-and-forth, I discovered I was speaking with my biological aunt—my father’s sister! I had done it. I found them.
My aunt helped me connect with other family members, and eventually she told my father about me. Not long after, I spoke to him on the phone for the first time in my 27 years. I don’t even have words to describe that moment—nervous, excited, uncertain, yet ready for whatever was coming next. The next day, we planned to meet in person. I drove to Chattanooga that weekend, and in a matter of three hours, I met my biological father, a sister, an aunt, an uncle, my grandfather and his wife, and my oldest sister and her family. Overwhelmed doesn’t even begin to cover it—overwhelmed in the most beautiful way. Every conversation, every laugh, every story felt familiar, natural, like I had known them all my life. I soaked it all in. On the drive home, mostly in silence, I replayed the day again and again. By the time I got home, I was sobbing. I had finally found a piece of myself I didn’t know was missing.
I worried about inserting myself into their lives. Did they even know I existed? Would they want me there? As it turned out, my biological family always knew I existed, but they had no way of knowing my name, let alone how to find me. We were mysteries to each other. This journey has stirred emotions I didn’t anticipate. People ask if I’m angry at my father. I’m not. There’s been grief—letting go of the image I had of my family, letting go of childhood daydreams of being “rescued,” and facing the reality that I had missed out on years of their lives. The sadness comes in waves, wondering how life might have been different if we had met earlier.
Since that first meeting, my oldest sister and I have exchanged phone numbers. Over the past few weeks, we’ve talked, laughed, and shared pieces of the last 27 years. I have two nieces, two nephews, a brother-in-law, and a sister who genuinely wants to know me—and my heart is overflowing. This weekend, I went back to Chattanooga for our first official “sleepover.” It was relaxing, joyful, and grounding. Sitting at home now, with my worn-out dogs by my side, I feel content. I was warned to keep my guard up; that I might be hurt or rejected. But instead, I’ve found acceptance, belonging, hope, and love. Hearing my sister introduce me as her baby sister never fails to make me smile.
