I was adopted at just two weeks old from a small city in Colombia called Bucaramanga. My parents already had four biological children, and about seven years after their youngest was born, both of them felt a quiet but undeniable prompting that their family was meant to grow in a different way. One day, while driving together, my dad turned to my mom and said, “I think we need to adopt.” My mom, stunned, replied, “I was going to tell you the same thing.” Soon after, she traveled down to Colombia, staying there for a month until she could go to court and bring me home to the United States.
Growing up, I had two older brothers and two older sisters. Our age differences sometimes made it tricky to connect, but I always knew I was deeply loved. I am the only Hispanic person in my family, while the rest of them are Caucasian, yet my parents always made sure I felt completely included. They showered me with love, took me on countless trips, and made it a mission to show me every day that I was cherished. I never doubted their love for a single moment.
My mom worked part-time, which left plenty of space for me to play with neighborhood friends. There were four of us who spent nearly every day together, forming bonds that have lasted a lifetime. Two of my friends were also far apart in age from their siblings, which made us feel like kindred spirits. Growing up surrounded by people who looked different from me never felt isolating—they never treated me as “other,” and I am forever grateful for that.
From a young age, people often commented on the beauty of my skin, and many would ask my mom if I would ever realize I was adopted. She always said yes, and she was open with me about it throughout my childhood. Learning to navigate being different from the rest of my family was one of the hardest parts of growing up. I often wondered what it would feel like to see people who looked like me. But I held onto hope that one day, through marriage and having children of my own, I would finally see reflections of myself.
My parents even framed a picture of my birth mom, an older brother, and an older sister, which I kept in my room. They always spoke with love and gratitude about my birth family, explaining how my birth mom had given me up for adoption to provide me with a better life. They told me I had another older brother living with my grandmother at the time and never shied away from answering my questions. This openness helped me feel connected to my roots, even from afar.
For years, I didn’t feel the need to seek out my birth family. Colombia had its challenges, especially with the prevalence of drugs when I was born, and I was happy focusing on my life in the U.S. Even after meeting my husband, the idea of searching for them seemed overwhelming and frightening.
Everything began to shift when we started having children. Holding my firstborn daughter for the first time, I was overwhelmed seeing my own features reflected in hers. She was a miniature version of me, and it was both surreal and deeply joyful. When our son was born, his cheek dimples and radiant smile melted my heart all over again. Seeing my children, I finally experienced the missing connection of seeing people who looked like me—and realizing that I had created that connection myself.
Turning 30 brought a lot of reflection. Despite having an amazing husband and a beautiful family, I struggled with self-love and my own sense of identity. I began focusing on my health, and slowly, my curiosity about my birth family grew. The thought of finding them was both exciting and terrifying. Could I even locate them in another country? Would they want to meet me? All I wanted was to express my gratitude to the woman who had given me life.
I started making Facebook Live videos, searching names from documents my parents had saved. It felt like a long shot, and many suggested hiring a private investigator, but I wanted to try on my own. After several videos, a friend from high school reached out, connecting me with someone willing to help find my birth family—for free, with one condition: I couldn’t be upset with the outcome or the time it might take.
Over the next few months, we exchanged messages while my husband’s work unexpectedly took him to Colombia. There, he connected with a local friend who helped confirm that my birth mom was still alive, living on welfare. Progress stalled for a bit, but then, one day, I received a message from the searcher while sitting in a movie theater. She believed she had located my birth mom. My cousin and husband were with me, and we couldn’t believe it. Soon, I started contacting siblings through Facebook. Skeptical at first, they needed proof, which I provided with a letter signed by my birth mom and her Colombian ID number. Gradually, they accepted the truth, and my birth mom expressed that she wanted to meet me. The process had taken only a few months, but it felt both rapid and miraculous.
Sharing the news with friends and family was a mix of support and caution. Everyone wanted me to be safe, and I appreciated their concern. As I connected more with my birth family, the experience felt surreal. Our mutual friend in Colombia even called my birth mom, telling her how much I loved and valued her. She, in turn, prayed for my happiness and health.
I am one of seven children in my birth family, right in the middle, and I am the only child adopted. Learning this brought up a flood of questions—why me? Did my mother love me differently? The unknown can feel heavy, but the love I received has always outweighed the fear. One of my younger brothers speaks English and Spanish because he grew up partly in the U.S., which I know was not a coincidence—God had a hand in this, guiding the connection.
On Father’s Day 2017, we finally video chatted. Seeing my younger brother speak English and offer to connect me with my birth mom brought tears. When I saw her face, cried, and shared that moment with my family, it was pure, overwhelming love. Meeting the rest of my birth family was emotional, beautiful, and life-changing.
Now, I continue building relationships with them. Watching them on video and noticing familiar mannerisms is still surreal, but deeply affirming. Adoption has taught me that family isn’t defined by appearance alone—there is room for love in more than one family. I am proud to be an adoptee, grateful for the blessings in my life, and hopeful that others will find courage in their own journeys.
Most importantly, this journey strengthened my faith in God. I realized I am never too late to pursue something that challenges me, changes me, and opens my heart. My advice to anyone on a similar path: be brave, protect your heart, but don’t be afraid to take that step. You never know how profoundly life can change when you do.
