 By Dr. Adam Anthony Author’s Note: I wrote this piece from a place of healing and purpose — to honor the complexity of adoption, faith, and storytelling. Every adoptee’s story is sacred. Every family’s story is layered. And between them lies the work of truth-telling, grace, and growth. May we keep creating spaces where both truth and love can coexist. *** I asked my adoptive mom if I was mentioned in her book. Her reply was short: “No names.” Seeing how vague and unclear that was, I politely asked if I could read her book before it launched. In one of the chapters from her advanced copy, she’d written, “I would adopt before marriage.” Naturally, that led me to believe I might be featured in some way. It didn’t sound harmless to me—it raised a small red flag. Instead of being anxious or defensive, I did what felt most respectful: I asked for clarity. Her response was “no.” Then she went on to explain that this was her personal story—her journey of faith and purpose—and that what God placed in her to do would be told in her testimony. The simple question somehow became an accusation. She flipped it back on me, as though I was wrong for even asking. What started as a sincere show of support for her as a new author quickly became a moment that revealed deeper cracks in our relationship. As an adoptive son, I’ve learned that our stories are deeply intertwined—but also, they are not the same. My identity, my story, my truth still belong to me. I am the one who lived without choice or control over what happened before and during my birth.
And yet, I’ve learned to unpack that journey, to honor its layers, and to find peace in its complexity. So when she turned my question into an accusation—suggesting I was “making it about me”—I was baffled. But also, sadly, not surprised. Because this is a dynamic many adoptees know well: our lives can be interpreted, recast, or used by others—even those who love us —even under the language of faith. And even in families with good intentions, our voices are often made secondary. I didn’t want that to happen again—especially without my knowledge or consent. Too often, I’ve watched others tell my story in fragments. They said, “God had a plan.” They said, “You have wonderful parents.” They said, “You’re so blessed.” And maybe all those things can be true. But so can the separation from my birth family, the ache of not knowing my origins, and the difficulty of finding belonging and confidence in my identity without the right support. For years, I internalized that tension—the pressure to be grateful, to honor the story others wanted to tell about me, even when it didn’t fully capture the richness of my experience. I feared what people might think—friends, family, church members—if I spoke openly about the parts that were hard, painful, or complicated. But as I’ve grown older, I’ve met people who get it. People who listen without judgment. People who are self-aware enough to recognize their biases. People who admit what they don’t know about adoption but still want to learn. Those are the ones who have taught me that being heard doesn’t require perfection—it just requires being seen in truth. Faith, love, and family matter deeply. But they don’t give anyone the right to tell an adoptee’s story for them. This isn’t about control—it’s about self-respect. About honoring our lived experience. About protecting the sacred work of healing and truth-telling. For me, that means moving the way I move—rooted in faith, purpose, and a commitment to truth. I’m not here to make others comfortable with watered-down versions of reality. I’m here to tell the whole truth, even when it’s uncomfortable—because that’s where healing begins. I’ve only made one apology in this journey—and it was to myself. For not speaking up sooner. For letting fear of others’ perceptions silence my truth. Because being an adoptee isn’t just about being adopted. It’s about what that reality means—how it shapes your sense of belonging, your voice, your worth, your faith. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this: To adoptees: your story is yours. Claim it. Protect it. Speak it. To families, parents, and allies: before you share a story that involves an adoptee—pause. Listen. Ask. Create space. Because every story deserves consent. And every adoptee deserves to be heard first. About the Author Dr. Adam Anthony is a same-race Black adoptee, leadership strategist, and founder of EmpowerMENt by Dr. Adam, a consulting practice focused on belonging, purpose, and leadership for men of color, adoptees, and foster care alumni. His work bridges lived experience with research, helping others build spaces where every voice can rise. empowermentbydradam.com AKA invites you to hear from members of the extended family of adoption and the surrounding community. While we take great care in curating the content, please know
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