To Any Parent That Thinks Their Donor Conceived Child Simply Does’t Care
I don’t really know if people understand how kick-ass it is that moms like mine had the strength to bring a child into this world on their own. You know, at first, that’s the only way I would look at my situation, that way things were more positive. But in reality, my kick-ass mom never knew and never will know the damage that not having a father has caused me. To whoever is reading this: I know what you’re thinking right now, “Why don’t you just tell your mom how you feel?” I really, really wish it was that simple. That I could sit down with her, look her in the eyes, and say — “I don’t think you understand how it feels for me to wake up every morning and realize that my biological father is looking up at the same sky. We look up and see the same exact thing every single day and yet this man has absolutely no idea who I am.” I just want to scream about the half siblings. How I know they exist, how I know that she is aware of their existence too because she used to have an account with the Donor Sibling Registry. How betrayed I feel that she kept these 7 people that share my DNA from my reach. My mom is kick-ass, she really is. But it doesn’t conceal the idea of loss or curiosity or anything in between. No matter how kick-ass my mom is, I will think about the siblings with my same donor’s blood rushing through their veins. No matter how kick-ass my mom is, I will still not have the courage to tell her that I found my biological father, like many other donor-conceived offspring, through nothing more than a few google searches. She can never know that I felt unhappy enough to the point where she (the one that paid thousands of dollars to bring me into this world) is not enough to satisfy me. People comment on her photos all of the time, making remarks like “Wow! The two of you look so much alike!” But if they really looked close enough they would see it. How our noses are polar opposite. How although our eyes are both brown, mine are shaped differently. How our skin tones are not even remotely close. Yet, they just see a photo of two girls and immediately conclude that two brunettes with brown eyes that are related look alike. I love my mom more than anyone in this entire world, but would be lying if I said that things are going perfect. They aren’t. I want to know what life is like for my biological father. I want to know if he stares up at the same sky, knowing I am out there in this huge world staring right back.