As a child, I would sit in front of my mirror with the family photo album looking for any bit of similarity between my face and theirs. I didn’t know I was adopted then, and yet I understood that I didn’t see myself in their faces. 1/
https://twitter.com/JeanetteYoffe/status/1453750141077245959
I played it off as having all recessive genes. My parents never knew how deeply this bothered me, because from the point of view as a child, I felt crazy for it. 2/
When my son was born, he looked exactly like it. He’s 8 now, and it’s still a phenomenon I cannot wrap my head around. I find myself staring at him and digesting all his features that are mine too. 3/
It wasn’t until I was 40 that I confirmed I was adopted and entered reunion. Being around these strangers, though my family, with whom I could see my eyes, and cheeks and lips, the shape of my body was and continues to be surreal. 4/
Just the other day, I confirmed that I share the unique handspan of my biological father, as does my son. I can’t help but cry over such a seemingly innocuous discovery. 5/
I was never comfortable with the way I looked growing up. The first time I felt truly beautiful was after I shared physical space with people of shared DNA. 40 years is a long time to not feel like a beautiful human. 6/
I was told I was beautiful by my parents regularly. But it didn’t resonate inside me. I knew they meant it, but it was just words. 7/
These things matter so much. My self-esteem and self-worth were greatly affected by not having access to my own genetic mirrors. I had a “good adoption” and loving parents who provided me with a good life. Love is not enough. DNA matters. #adopteevoices #latediscoveryadoptee 8/8
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