This past Thursday I celebrated eighteen years of being my moms. Eighteen years of having a family. Eighteen years of being unconditionally loved. I wouldn't change this life for the world, but that doesn't mean I haven't thought about or questioned who and why.
For the longest of time I felt a sense of identity loss, questioning: "who was I really?" and "where did I come from?" As a kid and even now, I still think up what my mother and father might look like and if I have brothers and sisters still in China or others who were adopted. There's so many possibilities, and still after eighteen years I keep coming up with more. My favorite theory is one I dreamed up when I was little, that I come from a lineage of emperors who fell out of power after a great dispute. What little orphan girl wouldn't want to believe that she was royalty. The movie Anastasia gave me such false hope, but it is still one of my favorite movies. However, at this point in my life I think the most probable theory is that I came from a poor shop keeping family who had one to many kids, over the allowed limit, and the truth is I'm okay with that. Who I was or could have been doesn't matter anymore. I have a wonderful life here in America. I have the opportunity to go to school, do what I am passionate about, have a family who loves and supports me, and most importantly I have the ability to go to church and pursue a relationship with God. I am not who I was born from, who the world says I am or who I say I am. I am who God says I am, and that is a child of the one true King.
Another question I have asked myself is why, why was I abandoned? How could one just look at their new born baby and walk away? Why was I not worthy of their love? Even though my adoption day is celebratory and truly a happy occasion, my mind still wanders to these questions, and a big lump rises in my throat. Without fault my heart breaks, and I hate myself for not being good enough. Then the sadness and hurt wash away, and it turns into anger. The thought of abandonment has left we with trust and abandonment issues, a low self-esteem, and the inability to reciprocate the phrase "I love you" back to my mom all the time. Then I am reminded that God loves me unconditionally and has great plans for my life. I needn't worry about the lies and trials the devil throws at me, I just need to trust in my heavenly father. The one who tells me that I am good enough and that I am worthy to be loved.
I still struggle with these questions and still pray for answers, but I have come to peace with who I am and how my story has played out so far. My goal is to live with purpose, and show others who share the same thoughts and questions I have, that they are special and are worth being alive. God gave me my story for a reason, and I choose to use it to inspire and encourage others.