I was adopted when I was 18 months old. I have a wonderful, loving family. I have a wonderful life. It’s not perfect but it’s better than some. I shouldn’t ask for anything better. My mom never hid the fact from me that I was adopted. I’ve known for as long as I can remember that I was adopted. Someone once told me that that was special. They told me that that meant 2 families loved me instead of just one.
Whenever I told someone I was adopted they always looked down for a second or gave me a weird look. Some asked me when and some didn’t ask me anything because they knew that it affected some people in bad ways. But I always said it was no big deal. It wasn’t like I could remember my real parents. The only biological family I’d ever known was my little brother and we were always fighting and arguing.
I never thought being adopted affected me. But then, one day I stepped back and looked at my life. I realized that it did; it scarred me. I was always a super-shy person and awkward in social situations. Until I got to know people, I could barely speak to them. Even my friends and family, I never trusted them enough to tell them any serious secrets I had. I listened and kept theirs but I could never tell them mine. I was also scared of love. I watched everybody I loved get hurt and knew I couldn’t take getting my heart broken. I pushed people away. I laughed and joked with them but I always kept the real me hidden from them. So much until she dwindled away.
I’ve only realized recently that all my insecurities were because of this. The reason I always feel out of place. The reason I feel as if no one could ever honestly love me. The reason that every time I looked in the mirror I saw something ugly and unlovable. I struggle every day to stop feeling this way. But it’ll take time. Time & acceptance.