I Know I Shouldn’t Be Here
Standing in front of a mirror looking at the mark on my side, the feeling of not being worth anything comes rushing back.
Doctors don’t know whether it’s a brand or a scar from a knife, one thing they do know is it happened when I was an infant. There forever lays a mark that is a constant reminder of my adoption.
Nobody knows who my birth parents are, only that they left me on a hospital doorstep in China, abandoned without any form of identification. This is where I should've died.
Articles ran in the paper of a baby boy being found outside a hospital, nobody stepped forward. Orphanages then became my residence for the time being. The exact number is still unknown. At ten months old I was brought and adopted to a loving family here in the United States.
I never realized what being adopted meant as a young kid, I had two parents who provided for me. Nothing seemed different between me and every other child-born family I knew.
At around 10 years old my adoption became very real. Questions came up and the trail of why laid its path in front of me. Why wasn’t I kept, why did it happen, why was it my fault? If I wasn’t good enough for them, would I be good enough for anyone? This thought raced around my mind and found a nice comfy spot for years to come.
Discouragement consumed me, controlling my life. A deep sadness took root, and for the first time, I felt like my adoption had defeated me. During this time, I poured over every document in my file, imagining the events over and over again. I couldn’t believe something like this could happen to anyone—let alone me.
As I reflected on every part of my adoption journey, I began to realize why it always felt so surreal. The truth is, it shouldn’t have happened. Statistically and circumstantially, the odds were stacked against me. I shouldn’t have survived the challenges that were present.
In every part of my story, the odds were against me. Being left on a doorstep, nobody could've found me, I could've died there. The fact that articles ran and nobody came forward. I could’ve been claimed by anyone whether it was true or not being their biological child. All with the one-child policy being in place and the culture of wanting a boy during this time in China. My odds of ending up here in America were next to none. The odds were I shouldn’t be here.
The unknowns of adoption are undeniably scary. They can linger in the back of your mind, creating a void filled with questions you may never have answers to: Why did it happen? Who are they? Was it something I did? These unanswered questions can feel overwhelming, like an unsolvable puzzle that constantly resurfaces.
“The unknowns of adoption are undeniably scary. They can linger in the back of your mind, creating a void filled with questions you may never have answers to.”
Accepting that some questions may never have answers is a difficult truth to face. It’s a mix of grief, uncertainty, and reluctant acceptance, each emotion pulling in its own direction. Coming to peace with the gaps in my story has taken time—for some I know it can take a lifetime. But for me, within that acceptance, there is also freedom—the freedom to stop searching for what may never be found and instead embrace the life I’ve built, the blessings I have, and the opportunity to shape my own path forward.
I don’t know exactly when the shift in my mindset happened—these kinds of realizations don’t follow a timeline. They take countless hours of feeling, reflecting, and coming to terms with everything. But I do know this: I’m glad it happened. I found myself in the cycle of the unknown, but instead of staying stuck in that cycle, I chose to look at my adoption differently—not as a limitation, but as an opportunity. An opportunity to make the world a better place. An opportunity to practice gratitude for the life I’ve been given and the blessings I’ve received. And perhaps the greatest opportunity of all: to help others make sense of their own adoption journeys.
“I found myself in the cycle of the unknown, but instead of staying stuck in that cycle, I chose to look at my adoption differently.”
This mindset didn’t come easily, and it didn’t happen overnight. It took time and a lot of emotional work. But ultimately, I decided to focus my energy on the positive aspects of my life, the things I can control, and the ways I can be a light for others. In doing so, I found peace. And with that peace came purpose. I still struggle today when those wandering mind thoughts appear. It's now the ability to recognize those thoughts that helps me overcome them.
I now create spaces for adoptees to be heard. Through mentorship, public speaking, and connecting with adoptive parents, I work to bridge the gap between experience and understanding, ensuring adoptee voices shape the conversation.
When they creep up I lean on my support system...Friends. Nobody forces anyone to be friends with anyone. I don’t know too many people who are friends with people they don’t like. So it’s the fact that I have friends who CHOOSE to be there for me and want me to come talk to them that I can find my comfort. I replace the unknown with the known of support. Within those feelings of support are feelings words can’t describe.
“I replace the unknown with the known of support.”
I’m grateful to say that this mindset shift happened early in my life, and it has laid a strong foundation for me moving forward. It’s taught me that life will happen—sometimes you’ll be dealt a bad hand, and other times you’ll be given one. But ultimately, how you let it define you comes down to one thing: you. Now as I look back into the mirror, I see the mark that lay upon my side. Yes, the reminder of my adoption comes back, but how I look upon it is up to me.
