I had always had this feeling, this assumption that something was different. I felt that I was a part of my family, but I also wasn’t at the same time. I had always questioned why I looked nothing like my mom and dad, and neither did my brother or sister. Little did I know that my questions would soon be answered.

Ever since I can remember, there was always this woman around; she had a shocking resemblance to me. She had my blonde hair and blue eyes that my parents didn’t have. I would look at her and think, there must be something here, because I don’t look like them. I look like you, but they’re my parents. I can’t explain it, but I had always felt that this woman was related to me and I had always felt a connection with her. That’s when everything clicked: I was adopted and this woman was my biological mother.

My biological mom was only sixteen when she had me. Being a senior in high school, I can’t imagine myself having a child at my age, let alone being sixteen like her. My mom knew that if she kept me, she couldn’t give me the life I deserved. I would’ve grown up in a house that was falling apart due to divorce. My grandma would have had to take care of me while my mom went to school, and there just wasn’t enough money or space. It wasn’t a healthy environment to bring and raise a kid in.

Although I am still very well in contact with my biological mom, I have never met my dad. He knows nothing about me and I know nothing about him. He wasn’t in the picture to begin with and still isn’t. Does he think about me? Does he wish he would’ve stayed? Does he even know about me? These are questions that I know I may never get the answers to, but I am so grateful for the life my parents have given me and the fact that my birth mom is still in my life.

Accepting this part of me was not all sunshine and rainbows, although it was at first. I remember being in elementary school and bragging about how I have two moms and thinking I was so cool to have this aspect of my life. I never thought of my situation as different. I had accepted it right away, and thought nothing of it. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to my other classmates at all.

Then came middle school. I vividly remember doing family trees in class, and not knowing how to make mine, because I didn’t know some of the things about my family and I didn’t want to talk about it. I became very closed off. I didn’t want people to know this about me or to think I was weird or different. There were bullies who would always tell me that I was a reject, or how no one wanted me. I knew it wasn’t true, but deep down they still hurt me. It was hard to ignore their comments when they all seemed so true. When my birth mom remarried and had children of her own, that’s when it really started to affect how I had felt about my whole situation. I would always get into my head and wonder, why was I not wanted? Why did she keep them and not me?

It wasn’t until freshman year that I started coming to my senses. I started thinking, why do I have to blend in? Why do I have to follow the crowd? I realized that I can’t blame my birth mom for giving me up when she was sixteen. I can’t hold that against her, she simply was not ready to raise a kid when she had me, and that’s okay. Eventually, the bullies comments rolled off my back and I became my own person. I realized that I was unique in my own way and if that bothered people, then that was their problem, not mine.

I realized that being different is good, it’s never been a bad thing. If everyone was the same, it would be pretty boring, right? Me being adopted does not mean that I am a reject or that I was not wanted. I was wanted, my parents chose me. I love them and they love me and at the end of the day, that’s the only thing that matters. It doesn’t matter that my situation may not seem normal to other people around me. I love having this aspect of my life and being able to proudly share it with others. This is who I am, this is my life, and I would never change a thing.