it all started with... Instagram?

There are many factors behind the origins of this journey (specifically, searching for my birth mom and as such, starting this blog), but perhaps the biggest catalyst was, of all things, an Instagram post.

As my Adoption Day was approaching last December, I felt a prompting to write about it on Instagram, which felt so strange. I'm not one to post very often, and when I do the contents are certainly not out of the depths of my heart. Nevertheless, I followed through on the prompting and worked out what I thought the post should say. First I thought it would be an angsty, put you in your place, this is what you shouldn't say to adoptees, message. But I considered that what one person may find upsetting or comforting might be completely different for me, and vice versa. So the post morphed into (still angsty), adoptees need to have a voice! I always hear the birth mom story, rightfully so, and I always hear the biological mom story, also rightfully so. But it's not very often we hear from the adoptee. GIVE US A VOICE! I thought I would say. But as I began to write the words changed shape into something different, and while I didn't write it for the response, the response I received was overwhelming, unexpected, and humbling. It wasn't about the volume of responses so much as the stories and connections shared, and I was reminded how many people I know who have a connection to adoption. It also set the rest of this journey into motion, so without any further introduction, I present to you the infamous post:

It's so wild how one event, one day, can change the entire trajectory of your life. If today hadn't happened 35 years ago, I wouldn't know any of you. My adoption was the answer to many prayers- 10 years of prayer to be exact. My mom prayed for 10 years to adopt a 3 year old girl. 3 years before I was even born she journaled, asking God if He would choose a daughter for her to adopt, and then she wrote out my name, "Amy Elizabeth." What faith! How specific were her desires! And she was relentless in her dream. Her part of the story is truly incredible and I'll have to share it with you someday.

I recently started reflecting on what today must mean to my birth mom. Also an answer to her prayers: a family for her daughter who could give her what she couldn't. But what heartache and emptiness she must have felt, too. Adoption hits a lot different when you become a mom. To walk away from my children at any age, but in particular at 3, is unthinkable...unbearable. What faith, what strength, what love my birth mom had. As the story goes, I used to look out my bedroom window at night and sing Silent Night in Korean. Probably wondering where she was, maybe wondering where I was, too. I wonder if she thinks of me when she hears it now.

And here I am, 35 years later, and truthfully- struggling with my adoption more than I ever have before. Grateful for this life, grateful for my family, grateful for my moms. But like many things in life, adoption is beautiful and hard and messy. I used to think I should only be grateful, and not give credence to any of the sad emotions that came along. I'm slowly allowing myself to embrace it all, sadness and anger and messiness included. And it is hard. But I have to believe that there is purpose and redemption to come, and maybe some of that has already been fulfilled. And I believe there will be more to come; this isn't the end of the story. So I trudge forward, clinging to what hope I have, staying as present as I can to this beautiful life before me. Grateful to know all of you.

"Being confident of this, that He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6

In the end I realized that the best way to give adoptees a voice was to speak up and share my own story, so here I am. Welcome to my life, welcome to my story. I'm so glad you're here.