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“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”
“The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.” – Anais Nin
As a writer, my life is a tapestry woven from my experiences and storytelling. I find joy in sharing my journey, but when a narrative emerges that I struggle to articulate, it lingers in my mind, demanding to be expressed. I’m a writer, and this is my craft.
Initially, I hesitated to share this story on social media. It felt too raw and too personal, but now I’m ready—or at least I think I am. My stepmom expressed her gratitude for my trust in her as I broke down in front of her. She’s witnessed my tears before, but this time was different.
What do you do when every emotion crashes together? Apparently, you scream, “How could she do this?!” followed by laughter, tears, and a cycle of breakdowns. Time stands still. This kind of revelation feels like it happens to others, not to you.
To provide some context: both of my parents have passed away. My mother died in December 2008 due to complications from addiction, and my father followed in December 2010 from similar struggles. I was an only child, and I welcomed my son in January 2010, between their deaths. I was 22 when I lost my mom, 23 when my dad passed, and the impact was as jarring as it sounds.
Now, at 35, I finally decided to take a 23andMe DNA test after years of procrastination. I hoped to discover any long-lost siblings, especially since my dad was rumored to have other children. Before I sent the test off, I said, “Lord, your will be done,” a phrase I often use after my mom warned me about praying for patience. I already had a supposed half-brother, so I was eager for confirmation and perhaps even more family. I thought I was ready for this journey—I had started ADHD medication, taken up yoga, started therapy, and bought a treadmill. I was feeling positive.
But then I learned that my father, the man I still miss on long drives, isn’t my biological dad. I was floored. It was completely unexpected. I reached out to family, grasping for answers, but they had none.
As one friend pointed out, my dad was such an integral part of my identity that she feared for my well-being. My parents were flawed individuals, battling drug addiction, mental health issues, and instability. Despite all that, I clung to my father’s efforts to provide stability. He was no saint—he had his faults—but he tried. My mother, too, attempted to support me in her own way, but I mourned my dad more deeply.
The idea that we weren’t biologically related had never crossed my mind. There were a few hints over the years, but any doubts were easily dismissed as alcohol-related. I inherited his features, his work ethic. My narrative for my son was always, “From your dad’s side, yes, there are all these degrees and powerful careers… but from your mama, you get your grit and empathy. That’s all Talsma.”
I kept my maiden name to honor my dad, despite his initial disapproval. He embraced my Christian faith while identifying as a Wiccan pagan. I inherited his love for photography and curiosity about the world. Though he never completed eighth grade, he was the smartest person I knew. I loved him dearly.
Genetics may not change my feelings, but there’s a sense of sadness and disconnect now. I don’t see my features reflected in this other man’s face. My best friend reminded me that I had spent years recognizing myself in my dad’s likeness. His photos still adorn my walls.
Nevertheless, this new chapter has welcomed me with open arms. My newfound family is kind and inclusive, making me feel valued and acknowledged. I see glimpses of myself in their faces—traits I’ve always felt were out of place growing up. As I zoom in on photos, I catch a hint of my own face among theirs. They, too, seem curious and driven, and this unexpected plot twist has brought new life to my story.
This experience has shaken me to my core, leaving me vulnerable and raw. I know I will regain my strength, but for now, I allow myself the space to process this shock and to feel human. I shared this twist with my half-brother, who graciously accepted me as an honorary sibling. I look forward to weaving him into my narrative.
There are countless details still to explore. I’m navigating this one day at a time, getting to know those who want to connect while respecting the space of those who don’t. I’ve cried and lost sleep; I’ve laughed and sent selfies. Recently, I had a wonderful in-person meeting with a new sister. I’m grateful for that connection. Sharing this story publicly frightens me; life has thrown one more curveball my way, but as a storyteller, I will embrace it.
For more on navigating family dynamics and personal journeys, check out this post from our other blog, which delves into similar themes. And for those exploring pathways to parenthood, this resource is an authoritative guide on the topic, while this site provides excellent information for those facing challenges in pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author shares her emotional journey following a shocking revelation from a DNA test, discovering that her biological father is not the man she considered her dad. This unexpected twist prompts a reevaluation of her identity and family narrative, leading to new connections and a deeper understanding of her past. The experience has left her vulnerable but hopeful, as she navigates this new chapter in her life.
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