Earlier this year, I heard the words “adoptee” and “adoptee trauma” for the first time. 

I’m writing about this book because I can’t stop thinking about it.

My mom burned her journals when she was young.

An old man, his mouth open, watched my brother lift a heavy chest of drawers and maneuver it up into the moving truck.

This is the hardest thing I have ever tried to do.

You have always told me how beautiful I am and how lucky you were to get me. I think I was (am) afraid by this seemingly boundless potential that was handed me—was I a princess who deserved everything? Sensibility told me no. So did that mean I was basically nothing? Sensibility was speechless.

SAVE THE DATE!

Stillness is our breath, our heart, our body, where we reside. Tornado is the mind, a place of stories and of others.

I can’t talk about David’s book as a whole here because that would be like trying to explain New York City to you in a single breath.

Chameleons change the colour of their skin to suit their environment and blend in.

It's one thing to live your life and do the best that you can. It’s another thing to feel like you’re a train on the edge of flying off the tracks.

The other day some social workers were talking to me about You Don’t Look Adopted. One of the women asked, When do you think you’ll heal?