By Kara Rubinstein Deyerin

People with misattributed parentage, DNA surprises, and unknown origins have a lot in common. Many of us learn about being misattributed because we are byproducts of the direct-to-consumer DNA testing phenomenon. We bought into the commercial enticing us to learn more about our roots, or perhaps we were gifted a test, and then we received the shock of our lives—we are not genetically related to one or both of our parents. Some of us grow up knowing we have a different genetic parent(s) out there, somewhere, but aren’t interested in knowing them. However we get there, when we start the process of reunion, we all end up in a very similar emotional space.

One thing I continue to hear as I speak with people experiencing these new discoveries is “I felt all alone.” I can completely identify with this sentiment. While each of our stories is unique,  many common themes flow through them. We are not alone. United we can help each other heal. We can educate others about how deeply we are impacted. And we can elevate each other’s voices to change societal perceptions and laws to reflect our most basic right to know who we are.

Untangling Our Roots is the first-ever summit to promote these principles and bring together adoptees, the donor-conceived, people with an NPE, their significant others, raising and genetic family, and the professionals who assist our communities–an event sponsored by Right to Know and the National Association of Adoptees and Parents.

The summit will take place in Louisville, Kentucky, March 30-April 1. Tickets include breakfast, drinks, lunch, and snacks Friday and Saturday, all entertainment, tai chi and yoga moments, six different presenter sessions, a keynote speaker panel, and a special plenary speaker as well as the chance to meet many authors, podcasters, and therapists. There’s nothing like being in a room filled with people who just get it.

The event kicks off Thursday night at 5:00pm with registration, open mic, and Cory Goodrich’s show Folksong about her NPE. It’s a musical memoir of love and longing, an emotional ballad of grief and forgiveness, an ode to self-discovery, and a heart-stirring look at the lengths to which a family will go to protect themselves and each other. A five-time Jeff nominee, Goodrich is an award-winning actress who’s performed on stages across the country and has been seen on many television shows and commercials.

Starting Friday morning, Pekitta Tynes will be the master of ceremonies. Tynes is a professional comedienne, an adoptee, a foster child, a foundling, and the author of the book titled Thank God I Was Adopted ‘Cause DNA Is No Joke! She uses humor to share her search experience and her journey to finding her biological connection despite life’s obstacles. The first session will be a keynote panel with Astrid Castro, an adoptee who started Adoption Mosaic; Christine Jacobsen, an NPE and author of Dancing Around the Truth; and Chrysta Bilton, a DCP who wrote Normal Family. discussing family dynamics with NPE Leeanne R Hay author of NPE: A Story Guide moderating.

There are three session periods: a speaker workshop, speaker panel, and creative & therapeutic workshop with each session having five options. One session will be specifically for significant others because a DNA discovery is an emotional time for everyone. The day ends with comedy from Tynes and Laura High, a DCP, New York actor, and comedian.

Friday evening entertainment will feature Brian Stanton’s @ghostkingdom at 8pm. Stanton is a Los Angeles-based stage actor best known for his original solo play Blank, the true story of his adoption and search for identity. @ghostkingdom, his most recent work, has been screened at film festivals as well as for adoption support and at educational conferences. The Love International Film Festival honored Stanton with Best Screenwriter and Best Actor awards.

Saturday morning’s plenary speaker will be Paul Joseph Fronczak, whose foundling story touches on what many with misattributed parentage feel. “Ever since I was a child, I had a feeling I was someone else.” There will again be three session periods: a speaker workshop, speaker panel, and creative & therapeutic workshop with each session having five options. A full agenda is available here. And the summit will close with an to reflect and rejuvenate with Amber Jimerson, Lesli Johnson, MFT, and Ridghaus.

There will be a quiet room where therapists will volunteer to help attendees should a topic, discussion, or comment raise uncomfortable or difficult feelings or memories.

See the full agenda here.

Tickets are $279 until February 14, when they will increase to $319. Significant other tickets for Thursday evening and all-day Friday are $119 until February 14 and will increase to $139. NBCC credit available for therapist attendees from an online class recorded from summit sessions. For questions or further information, write to info@UntanglingOurRoots.org and visit the summit website.

Kara Rubinstein Deyerin is a non-practicing attorney with an LLM in Taxation. In January 2018, she wanted to see where in Africa her father’s family came from. Her direct-to-consumer DNA test revealed she was 50% something, but she had zero African DNA. This meant the man on her birth certificate couldn’t possibly be her genetic father. She lost her bi-racial identity with the click of a mouse.Deyerin discovered she was 50% Ashkenazi Jew. The DNA pandora’s box she opened led to an identity crisis. Lack of resources, advocacy, and access to support led her to co-found Right to Know. She’s a passionate advocate for genetic identity rights.

By Mark OverbaySo what are we supposed to do the day after—the day after our lives are upended by a call, an email, a Facebook message, or by clicking on new DNA results?

Mail-away DNA kits promise adventures of discovery, mysterious and exotic cultures, and inspired histories of relatives once lost; they are instead Pandora’s boxes and, once opened, can never again be closed. My kit certainly led to discovery as promised, but not the kind seen reflected in carefully crafted and nostalgic commercials. In my case, half of my family tree, meticulously constructed over decades, lay in pieces on the floor, leaves violently stripped from limbs in a sudden storm. The father who appeared in my now fading childhood photos and forever inscribed on my birth certificate, prominently positioned on the first branch in that tree, hadn’t, I discovered, created me. His leaf was the first to fall. I numbly stared at the screen as each of my four paternal half-siblings faded entirely away. A full-sibling transformed into a half-sibling. My paternal tree was bare.

DNA tells no lies, and the truths it reveals can be shocking. Day One, Discovery Day, raises questions rather than answering them. What the hell just happened? Who is my father? How does one deal with a half-empty tree at 58 years old? How does one process a nearly sixty-year-old lie? With these and countless other questions racing in my mind, I did something counterintuitive and went to sleep, my brain pleading for time to decompress.

On day two of my non-paternal event (NPE) journey, I woke surprisingly calm and energized despite having no earthly idea what I needed to do next. I was accustomed to dealing with complex problems, but this was like no mystery I had ever tried to solve. I paused, took a deep breath, took inventory of what I had at my disposal, and was encouraged by what I found.

The abundance and quality of my DNA matches were tremendous assets. While there were no parent or sibling matches on my list, there was an individual labeled as a possible “1^st cousin” who had a publicly available tree with 1000+ entries. All by itself, that was a gold mine. I also matched with several dozen second and third cousins and noted the same surname repeatedly appeared in that group. A quick cross-reference with my first cousin’s tree found that same name within his first two generations, so the odds favored I was on to something important right away. Was that my father’s name?

While I technically had a free Ancestry account, I quickly discovered that I would need to upgrade to gain access to any of the choice information I needed to fill in the many voids in my understanding, so I paid for the cheapest version offered. The resources available through this paid account were immense and much better than expected, but I hadn’t opted for the more expensive plan that provided access to old newspapers. I quickly learned that was a mistake, so I did what any other mature and law-abiding citizen would do in my situation and became a Google and social media stalker.

I created a private family tree focused entirely on my new paternal side, buoyed by the perks and freedoms offered by a paid Ancestry account. In the beginning, this unique tree was winterized, not a leaf in sight. Despite that, it was comforting to know I could use this proxy as my personal DNA spreadsheet, adding or subtracting new names and dates as I experimented with various paternal hypotheses. There were also many unfamiliar terms and tools I’d encountered early on this path. What was a centimorgan, and why was that important? Who was an NPE, and was I one? What does “DNA Painter” paint? I needed to learn this new language of genetic genealogy and took up this study earnestly and with a focus that would have made my medical school professors proud. I cheated, though, and watched YouTube videos repeatedly until some of it sunk in. Please don’t tell them.

Armed with a new vocabulary and growing confidence, I added the names of the people I thought were my paternal grandparents to my proxy tree. As it turns out, they were very distantly related (5^th cousins) and, before marriage, shared the same surname. This explains why there were so many of my close matches with that name. While no one source identified all their children, I was gradually able to piece together a comprehensive list. They had seven children, six of them boys, spaced over fourteen years. Each son became a leaf on my proxy tree.

In the meantime, I sorted through my mother’s archives. My mother was the family genealogist, historian, and archivist. She’d neatly cataloged our lives by carefully collecting, storing, and displaying family photos and memorabilia. From my first haircut to her grandson’s kindergarten graduation, no momentous event went undocumented. Mom left behind crates and boxes of scrapbooks, photo albums, and genealogic records. Since her passing, I hadn’t looked at them, so years of dust added weight to these treasures. She was a packrat, and there were mountains of records to pour through. While I didn’t expect to find an envelope with my name on it containing a letter titled “Mark, this is the real story of your father,” I was sure hoping for exactly that. There was, of course, no such letter. Even though she, like me, was born in Tennessee, I knew after college she lived and worked for a few years in central Florida, in the same area that my newly discovered paternal grandparents had lived. That had to be an important clue, but if she’d ever told me the details of where she lived and taught, I’d forgotten them. I was looking for that kind of needle in this voluminous haystack. I didn’t find anything revealing in my first pass through her archives. On a second pass, though, on a card measuring a mere 2 x 2 inches, the name and dates of where and when she taught were printed. I had missed it the first time through. As it turned out, this unassuming little card was the key to unlocking my mystery.

My best guess was that my biological father was close in age to my mother and so, at least temporarily, eliminated a few of the possible brothers from contention. I had narrowed my list to the three most likely and began to dig deeper into each one. By sheer luck, the first Google search I started yielded an obituary that stopped me cold. When a photo is included in an obituary, typically it is one taken within a few years of the individual’s passing. This image, however, was of a much younger man who, to my eyes, looked just like me. Breathlessly, I read his biography. He had taught at the same school as my mother during the same time. The physician part of my brain reminded me that it wasn’t proof but was extraordinarily compelling evidence. The emotional side of my brain, though, knew I had just found my father. The author of this obituary had unknowingly left me breadcrumbs to find him.

I was both thrilled and unnerved. Many take years to find their father. I had found mine in just a few days. This had been too easy, and that made me nervous. I needed someone to look over my work to see if I had made a mistake. I contacted a group I read about in some genetic genealogy-related material. I turned over all my DNA information to a DNA angel, including my proxy tree. My angel was thorough, compassionate, and amazingly efficient. In just a few hours, she confirmed my research. I had found my father. She recommended that I ask a half-sibling to submit a DNA sample for a more visually comforting verification, especially for my new biological kin. This, however, would require a massive leap in my journey.

I knew from the obituary I had five new half-sisters, but reaching out to one of them felt too big a jump to consider. Instead, I contacted my closest DNA match, who I now know was a half-nephew. He was kind and empathic while also protective of his mother and aunts. After thoughtful consideration, he agreed to share my information with his mom, telling me he had no idea how she would respond. Knowing that the road to biological family connection was littered with bad outcomes, I waited nervously for whatever awaited me, braced for denial, anger, and rejection.

Twenty-two days after my NPE discovery and five agonizingly long hours since I last heard from my nephew, I got the news. The youngest of my new half-sisters reached out through Facebook, warmly welcomed me to the family, and included three photos of our father. She volunteered to submit a DNA sample. We began to talk immediately. Three days later, I heard from another sister. She was equally kind and accepting. Many more photos and long conversations followed. Within a few short weeks, I had heard from them all. Each graciously shared photos, press clippings, and memories of my father. While we had no script, we began to process this most unlikely of unions through, at times, challenging but honest conversation, laughter, and tears.

I had been made whole again. The bare half of my family tree now had budding leaves. Together, we pondered what came next.Mark Overbay is a (retired) physician and in his second career as an academic school dean at a small college nestled in the mountains of Tennessee. He’s an avid reader, captivated by the wonder and complexity of the human condition. At 58 years old, an unexpected DNA discovery forced a reexamination of his prior perceptions of family and identity, and that ever-winding journey continues. Overbay is an amateur painter, novice writer, and a lover of freshly-brewed, loose-leaf Chinese teas. He met his wonderful and supportive wife while both attended medical school, and they have been inseparable for more than 35 years. They have one son and two high-energy Labrador Retrievers, Whiskey and Yona.

By Michelle Talsma Everson

In 1995, when Peter J. Boni’s mother experienced a stroke after open heart surgery, the walls she’d built to hold back a secret for nearly half a century crumbled. In rehab, she began to tell visitors what she never told him—that his father wasn’t his father, that he’d been donor conceived. And so began a quest to learn the truth of his origins and the nature of the societal forces that led to the circumstances of his birth—the subject of his new book, Uprooted: Family Trauma, Unknown Origins and the Secretive History of Artificial Insemination.

Roughly halfway through his narrative Boni says, “Never doubt my resolve.” But his dogged determination is evident from the first page. Early on, it’s clear that after serving as a US Army Special Operations Team Leader in Vietnam, he was the go-to guy in his business sphere, where he was a successful high-tech CEO/entrepreneur/venture capitalist and more—and he tore into his personal mystery with the same can-do attitude—a tenacity that fueled him through the 22 years it took to solve the puzzle of his parentage.

Uprooted is comprised of four parts that add up to exceptional storytelling. It’s compelling memoir of a troubled childhood with an unwell father, a determination to succeed, and the challenges of grappling with the emotional fallout of his family’s secrets. It’s also an exhaustive and insightful account of the history of assisted reproductive technology; a cogent indictment of the flaws of the largely unregulated, multi-billion-dollar industry; and a rallying cry for advocacy with a prescription for change.

Boni’s scope is ambitious and he succeeds on every level. Donor conceived people will see themselves reflected in his moving testimony about the consequences and repercussions of the inconvenient truth of donor conception. Many will feel seen and heard as he describes genealogical bewilderment and the roiling emotions aroused by the revelation of family secrets, the shattering of comfortable notions of identity, and the lack of knowledge about his genetic information. It’s a must-read not only for donor conceived people but also for donors and recipient parents as well as fertility practitioners, lawmakers, behavioral health providers, and anyone contemplating creating a family through assisted reproduction. While the actors in a deeply flawed industry who are motivated solely by profit aren’t likely to be swayed by Boni’s arguments or embrace his suggested reforms, Uprooted may fuel a wildfire of advocacy that has the potential to give rise to meaningful legislation, transparency and accountability, and a true cultural shift.Let’s talk about language. With respect to people affected by misattributed parentage, I’m increasingly interested in the words we use about ourselves and our experiences and the words others use about us. You use the words bastard and illegitimate, mostly in the context of the history of donor conception and when discussing the societal and legal ramifications. What are your feelings about each of these words? Do you find them offensive or descriptive or neutral?

Yes, “illegitimate” and “bastard” are emotionally charged and offensive words by today’s standards, aren’t they! I wanted to share the emotional connotation of those words with the reader. I felt rather outraged by the label. To defend myself, I intellectualized it. In my research for my origins, I needed to understand the societal backdrop that fueled my parents’ decision to conceive me in such stealth via an anonymous sperm donor.

Those words were so descriptive of the then prevailing attitudes fostered by Church and State, which had evolved over centuries. A Time article, dated February 26, 1945 (near the time of my conception), amplified that backdrop. It had recapped a ruling in Superior Court on the legal status of a donor conceived child. In the eyes of the court, the wife had committed adultery, the husband was granted a divorce on those grounds, and the child was deemed “illegitimate.” The articled was titled “Artificial Bastards?” Yes, that was with a question mark. Those attitudes contributed to driving the donor insemination practice underground. My parents’ fertility practitioner coached them on how to make me look “legitimate.” They were instructed to take their closely held secret to the grave.

I used “Artificial Bastard” as the working title for my book during its early drafting (retitled Uprooted, with help from my publisher). No neutrality on my part. It was personal.

Early on and throughout much of the book, instead of referring to your biological father, you’ve referred to your “paternal seed.” I don’t believe you ever referred to your donor as your father, biological or otherwise. Why did you choose that word and what did that choice mean to you? And when speaking with your sister, you referred to “her father,” “her brother.” What went into the choice of words here?

For me, my dad may not have been biological, but I was fortunate; he wanted to be a dad and was terrific at it. He gave me absolutely no indication that he was anything other than my genetic father. Discovering 33 years after his death that our relationship wasn’t genetic actually magnified my reverence for him. It also rekindled my grief over his death. He’ll forever be my dad. Referring to my biological father as “the source of my seed” protected me from the emotional construct of the word “father” applied to an unknown person with whom I had no such loving relationship.

I discovered the source of my paternal biology thanks to a DNA test and the open embrace of my biological father’s natural daughter (AKA my half-sister). When she asked me “How should I refer to him, I mean, Dad?” I responded rather callously, but genuinely. “He’s your dad, not mine. It was never his intention to be my dad. He sold his sperm to enable someone else to be my dad.”

Her brother (my half sibling), gave me no such open embrace. Once again, to defend myself from the bonding word “brother” applied to someone who showed no interest in my existence, I found it less threatening and emotionally safer to refer to him dispassionately as “her brother.”

We sometimes use the word identity loosely–or maybe it’s more accurate to say that it means something different to different people. How do you define identity and how do you feel your identity changed after your mother’s revelation and again later when you discovered your sister and the facts of your origin?

Identity is complicated. Nature, nurture, or a combination of both?

I always credited who and what I had become (my identity) to three major experiences. First, a disruptive childhood enhanced my adaptability. Second, an education from a fine state college opened innumerable doors of opportunity for me. Third, on-the-ground service as a special operations infantry officer in Vietnam shaped my collaborative leadership style. Wait a minute! What about my DNA? I always took that for granted. My last name had its roots in Northern Italy.

“Genealogical bewilderment” was a term I studied in a college psychology class. It was applied to the adopted who had experienced developmental and belonging issues as they sought for missing pieces of their genealogy. Upon learning that I was “semi-adopted,” I poked myself. I was still the same person, but everything had changed for me. All the stories of family lore were a fabrication. My birth certificate was a hoax. If not Northern Italian, what was I? Who was I?

My dad suffered from debilitating bouts of depression. As a younger man, he could shake them off. As he aged, he could no longer do so. He took his own life when I was sixteen. Dad’s old-school Italian family treated his mental illness as a shameful flaw to be hidden, lest it spill over onto them. Suicide of a loved one creates a wound that never heals. I felt flawed, inadequate, vulnerable, abandoned, and alone. I feared that this gene might pass onto me or my offspring. I camouflaged those feelings with bravado and kept his suicide a closely guarded secret. I vowed to become accomplished, always strong, and invulnerable. Isn’t that what my future family would need from me?  Had I overcompensated and shaped my behavior based upon a willful lie?

How could I feel deceived and relieved, sad and joyous, shame and pride…all at the same time? The feelings sometimes came in waves, either soft and soothing or churning and crashing. My experiences and how I dealt with them were mine. But what were the origins of my athleticism, my stamina and endurance, my intellect, and my tenacious will? Why was leadership so important to me? My identity had been challenged by this revelation. Was I the victim of identity fraud? Worse yet, was I a fraud?

My fervent need to know my genetic origins, health history and whether or not I had any siblings poured high octane gasoline on this blaze to fuel my relentless research…for 22 years…until I discovered my answers. During that process, with the help of some therapy, I bonded with the cartoon character Popeye. I still quote him often. “I yam what I yam”—no more flawed than anyone else!

Equipped with a healthier sense of myself, I finally uncovered my paternal genealogy (the source of my seed), a giving sister, and my genetic health history, all of which I could share with my children. With my persona intact, I better understood the origin of some of my characteristics, physical and otherwise. I wasn’t looking to create a new family. I had a loving one. But this unveiling was such a home run for me! I’m an only child with a couple of siblings I adore. We have a terrific friendship based upon unusual circumstance. Mission accomplished! I feel whole and complete. I am donor conceived, and I know my truth.

I find it interesting that we say “I am donor conceived” or “I’m an NPE” as opposed to I was donor conceived or I was an NPE, as if being donor conceived or an NPE isn’t something that happened to us but something we are. What are your thoughts?

I was born on December 12th. In astrological terms, that makes me a Sagittarius. It isn’t that I once was a Sagittarius. I am a Sagittarius. It isn’t that I was an NPE, misattributed, donor-conceived. I am. I will be donorconceived for the rest of my life. It can’t be changed. That truth has not defined me, but it does add to my identity.

Several times you used the word logical—as in “I was a logical Guidaboni.” I don’t recall seeing that before. Can you explain why you used that word and what it means to you?

My Italian cousin Eddie deserves the creative footnote for “logical.” He was the first of my paternal relatives with whom I shared my newly discovered donor conception. Since our relationship was no longer biological, Eddie coined me his “logical” cousin; a “logical” Italian. Doing so acknowledged our mutual feeling that blood alone does not define family. We were both keenly aware that we shared common experiences, common family stories of victory, rebounding from defeat, values and traditions, common foods, a common enemy at times (the elders when we misbehaved), and a common definition of hospitality—all part of our common upbringing.

Eddie is thrilled for me that I found my truth. It is only logical that our mutual feelings of family bond have intensified since my initial revelation and final discovery.

You used the word loneliness at one point to describe the feeling of having discovered this enormous secret in your life. Can you describe how the experience produces loneliness?

Allow me to give you a frame of reference for that feeling of loneliness.

As a small unit infantry commander in a combat zone, I led a competent team of people through the fear, stress, chaos, and confusion of hostile enemy fire. At times, I made life and death decisions in an instant, without complete pieces of information. I used those skills in my business career as a CEO in order to right organizations that had run aground. Leadership is a lonely place. There are competing opinions and interests all vying for attention. Only you hold the ultimate accountability. In war, the cost of accomplishing a mission can be as high as life or death. In business, the ultimate cost is measured in money, but it includes organizational longevity and career security, which can impact many thousands of people. These were unique experiences, from a unique perspective, shared by very few. My fellow infantry officers and fellow CEOs provided me with a sharing support group of sorts to help process those unique experiences and learn from the experiences of other people who have walked that walk. Collective wisdom is a powerful thing.

Upon this donor conception discovery, I felt genuinely alone. Who could relate? As I shared my confusing feelings with a closed circle of friends and family, their well-intending platitudes only enhanced my feelings of isolation. (“You at least know that you were loved and wanted” or “You are still the same person.”) Sure, I had empathetic friends and family and a fine trauma therapist. But throughout my entire 22 years of searching, I longed to meet and speak with other donor conceived people who shared my emotions from their own unique experiences to help me process and validate these confusing feelings. They were likely few and far between. Who were they? Where were they? Did they even know that they were donor conceived? I was surrounded by the love of so many, but I longed for company.

Moving away from language, but related to that last question, you write about having discovered the group We Are Donor Conceived. Can you talk about how important that discovery was and how it helped you not feel alone?

I received loving empathy and support from helpful friends and family. I had engaged an able therapist. They were able to “talk the talk,” but they had never “walked the walk.”  No handbook was readily available on how to walk that donor conceived walk. The internet and twenty-first century technology came to my rescue.

I googled “donor conceived and misattributed people.” Up popped We Are Donor Conceived, a private Facebook group that had only been in existence since 2016. It was comprised of several thousand donor conceived people from around the globe who had experienced the impact of misattribution and genealogical bewilderment from the surreptitious practice of artificial insemination by donor.

Everyone had their own unique story. Some had learned by the surprising results of their recreationally taken DNA test. Like me, they had experienced a range of emotions—sometimes simultaneously: anger, relief, violation, deceit, curiosity, shock, shame, isolation numbness, pride, grief, confusion, embarrassment, emptiness, sadness, joy, fulfillment, indifference, or a combination of high and low feelings that changed over time with more knowledge. Members of the group shared how they had discovered, processed, and benefitted (or not) from what they had discovered.

I was no longer alone. I had a nonjudgmental community with whom to share feelings, tactics, and strategy. This community had walked the walk. The power of collective wisdom from uniquely experienced people has been priceless.

You mentioned therapy quite a bit—how important was therapy to you in navigating your discovery and in your search for your roots?

This whole identity disruption I found traumatizing. The social context in which I had grown up and spent my adulthood (in both the war room and the board room) reinforced the attitude that weak and needy people were inadequate and unsuitable for command. Only the weak needed therapy.

In my case, this genetic identity trauma triggered flashbacks of a dysfunctional childhood, three decades of grief for my dead dad that I never allowed myself to fully experience, and the PTSD of war. It was difficult for me to admit. I was a CEO who needed some professional help to navigate the volcanic fallout from my changing genetic landscape. I did so discreetly.

My therapist was deadpan serious when he said, “You hit a trifecta. Newly experienced trauma often resurges others long past.” To effectively deal with my identity disruption, I had to deal with all three issues. I never worked so hard in all my life. In the process of searching for my roots, I had discovered myself.

At one point you wrote, “My persona had become softer, yet I had grown stronger, both personally and professionally, as a result of my intense, identity-challenging ten years from 1995 to 2005.” Can you say more about what you meant by that?

Therapy hammered into me that “flawed” is a human condition. It is okay to be blemished. Everyone has baggage. My therapy constructed a better handle for me to carry it. My unresolved baggage from childhood and war ruled my behavior. Never vulnerable, always strong; make tough, logical decisions without letting my feelings get in the way. That personality profile worked for me in the jungle as a Special Operations Team Leader and certainly in my chosen career. It was not working in my adult home.

My wife and I were in the midst of a marital crisis at the outset of my trifecta. We had issues. I had learned to deny my feelings and fears. To top it off, she found that the privacy with which I carried my feelings, my invulnerable air, had robbed her of an intimacy with me that she craved. For her, our relationship had not grown. It was shallow and incomplete. The leftover anger from a traumatic, life-altering Vietnam combat experience wore thin, too.

Gaining this deeper understanding of where I came from and who I am went a long way in helping to heal my marriage. I had learned to reveal more of myself to my inner circle and to connect more intimately with my wife and others close to me.

As a CEO for companies facing difficulty, I always thought I had provided the right kind of collaborative leadership. People followed me to take the hill. But I found that by adding an air of intimacy and revealing more of myself, the quality of my leadership increased markedly, as measured by the high caliber and low turnover of the teams that I built and the size of the hills my teams were able to conquer. No hill for us climbers!

Popeye might have said “I yam what I yam.” Perfect? No! But I was able to add, “I yam better than I yam.”

What most surprised you during your research into the field of assisted reproduction?

A whole host of discoveries surprised me as I researched the scandalous history and evolution of assisted reproductive technology, but two things stand out.

First, the unregulated practice of assisted reproductive technology has enabled dozens, even hundreds, of siblings, all unknown to one another, to be conceived from the same gamete donor, with no requirements for testing or registry and with no laws to combat what we term “fertility fraud.” A friend of mine who used to breed Rottweilers said it best. “The breeding of puppies enjoys greater legislative oversight.”

Second, a staggering number of us are misattributed, for whatever the circumstances. That is compounded by the generational impact. The experts estimate that 2% to 4% of us are misattributed; our DNA and our birth certificates don’t jive. While some make a calculated case that this number is a bit less, others make a cogent case that it is actually much higher. Either way, I find that number unfathomable. For instance, in my high school graduating class of 100, using that 2% to 4% estimate, two to four of my classmates are misattributed. I’m one of them. I have helped two other classmates interpret their DNA test results to the same conclusion. In a typical family tree, we have two parents, four grandparents, eight great grandparents, and so forth. When applied a few generations out, in geometric fashion, all 100 of my classmates are misattributed to (at least) one of their third to sixth great grandparents. There are over 50 million people in DNA databases today. How many have experienced their own identity trauma with an accidental discovery? How many more have yet to discover that something doesn’t jive? There remains much more trauma yet to come.

There’s been some criticism of those of us who believe both that genetic inheritance matters and that we have a right to know our genetic identity, and that this emphasis on genetic information promotes the primacy/superiority of genetic family at the expense of nontraditional families? How would you respond to such criticism?

The right to know one’s genetics and the bonds of family, traditional or nontraditional, are not mutually exclusive. For instance, I can love my dad, not biological, and want, even need, to understand my genetics all at the same time. My “logical” cousin, Eddie, would agree.

As you know, many aren’t able to put all the pieces together as you did or haven’t found welcoming family. It may be hard to imagine, but how do you think your life might be different now had you not put together the pieces, had you not figured out the source of the seed, had you not been embraced by new family?

To put my answer to this question in context, I ran PSYOP missions in Vietnam. At times, we conducted Operation Wandering Soul. It exploited the superstition that the dead must be put to rest in their ancestral burial ground or their spirit would be doomed to wander forever.

I have reaped the benefits of therapy to better carry my baggage. I never aspired to develop a new family. My new sibling relationships are a bonus. In the absence of my final discovery, however, I expect I’d remain emotionally healthy, but the fire of genealogical bewilderment would endlessly rage within me. I imagined that I would be that agonizingly Wandering Soul, never at rest.

How did the experience of writing this book change you, if at all?

Before writing this book, I considered myself a retired venture capitalist, former high-tech CEO, combat veteran, non-profit leader, recreational sailor, and fun-loving grandfather. I still am. But this experience awoke my inner Don Quixote.

Mark Twain once said “The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why.”

Today, I am an author and an activist for the rights of the donor conceived.PETER J. BONI credits his disruptive childhood, a state college education from UMass Amherst, decorated on-the-ground service as a US Army Special Operations Team Leader in Vietnam (coined his “Rice Paddy MBA”), plus luck-of-the-draw DNA with making him the person he is today. Out of his accomplished business career (high-tech CEO, venture capitalist, board chairman, non-profit leader, award-winning entrepreneur, senior advisor) grew his first book, All Hands on Deck: Navigating Your Team Through Crises, Getting Your Organization Unstuck, and Emerging Victorious. The father of two and grandfather of three, he lives on Cape Cod, Massachusetts. Find him on the web, on Twitter @PeterJBoni1, and on Instagram @peterjboni.

By Maegan Bergeron-ClearwoodFirst, if you feel called to read this essay, then you belong here. Welcome. Do you belong in the Jewish community? Are you a part of this religion, culture, and peoplehood? Are you actually technically Jewish at all? To give a very Jewish answer: yes, no, maybe. It depends. But this journey of exploration and curiosity—of questioning and wrestling—is absolutely yours for the taking. So welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

Not everyone along the way will greet you with such open arms, so I want to make sure that mine are stretched extra wide.

An NPE* discovery is complicated enough, but when compounded by an ethnicity discovery—a Jewish ethnicity discovery especially—the complications are magnified. And Jewish identity is complicated enough, even for people who were raised Jewish. DNA testing may be new, but the question of “who counts as a Jew” is as old as Judaism itself. Judaism is an ethnicity, as you may have just learned unexpectedly, but it’s also a culture, a spiritual practice, a community, a set of laws, a set of holy days, and unendingly more. How many of those boxes must a person tick in order to be counted among the tribe? The answer remains: it depends.

There’s a beloved aphorism: for every two Jews, you get three opinions. Judaism is far more concerned with asking questions than it is with answering them. So if you came to this article asking “Am I Jewish?” be forewarned: you won’t get a clear answer. But you will, I hope, get a solid footing for the start of your journey, should you choose to embark.

The Rabbinic Answer

Let’s start with the answer you’d be most likely to get if you googled “Am I Jewish?” Or, let’s say you told a rabbi: “I just found out that I’m biologically half Jewish because the dad that I thought was my dad isn’t my dad and my DNA isn’t what I thought it was—what does that mean?” First, the rabbi would probably respond the same way most people do: a polite “please slow down because I don’t believe what I’m hearing,” or something of that ilk. Then, the rabbi would likely say that, according to halakha (Jewish law), you must be born to a Jewish mother or have entered the faith through conversion. For an NPE, then, this sounds like a resounding no: you are not, by law, a Jew. A reform or reconstructionist rabbi (these are the more socially progressive and halakhically creative of the four main Jewish denominations: learn more here) would tell you that patrilineal Jews count, but only if they’re raised Jewish—so you’re still out of luck.

Don’t take any of this to mean that rabbis are unfeeling jerks who won’t empathize with your situation, or that you shouldn’t seek out a rabbi with a curious heart, or even that all rabbis follow this halakhic law. But “Welcome to the tribe” might not be the first words out of a rabbi’s mouth when they hear your story, no matter how desperate you were to hear them said.

As NPEs, we are no strangers to rejection. We get it on all sides: from the families that raised us, for stirring up trouble; from our new biological families, for daring to exist; from our friends and partners, for being so damn depressing all the time. It’s particularly devastating, then, to seek refuge in our newfound ethnicity only to be turned away. These DNA results were what pushed us off the path of seeming normalcy to begin with, and now we’re being told that our DNA is not enough? If I’m not who I was before and I’m also not Jewish, then what am I?

So before you disavow rabbinic law entirely, a bit of context. The fact that Judaism exists in the 21^st century is a miracle. There’s a joke about Jewish holidays: They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat! And it’s true: on paper, Jewish history is bleak, what with the exiles, plagues, forced assimilation, slavery, to say nothing of the literal genocide—for a people who make up less that one percent of the world’s population, our existence is nothing short of miraculous. But it’s not a Chanukah kind of miracle, where God intervened to make sure oil lasted for eight impossible nights. It’s a miracle of resilience.

For more reasons than I can go into here, Jews don’t proselytize (learn more). Instead of growing in numbers, we grow in connection; Judaism isn’t about breadth, but about depth. Across hundreds of generations, Jews have passed along laws, traditions, and maybe most importantly, texts. Some of these inheritances seem ridiculous on paper (Why is God in the Torah such a jerk? Why don’t we light fires of Shabbat? And what’s the deal with shellfish?), but they’re the fibers that connect a peoplehood across the span of thousands of miles and thousands of years. This doesn’t mean that Orthodox and other more “traditional” Jews are more Jewish than Reform or Reconstructionist Jews or even than agnostic or atheist Jews, (because yes, you can be a Jew and not believe in God). To be a Jew is not to follow every single tradition. But intentionally changing or even rejecting a tradition can be an act of keeping those threads of connection alive.

In many synagogues you’ll see a sanctuary lamp, or Ner Tamid: eternal flame. It represents the menorah of the ancient Temple of Jerusalem, which was meant to burn continuously, across the generations, a symbol of God’s constant presence among the Jewish people. It sounds impossible, to keep one fire lit for thousands of years, but that’s the miraculous part: it’s still burning. In synagogues and on Shabbat tables around the world, the fire burns.

So yes, you have Jewish DNA. That means that your ancestors were part of this unending, miraculous chain of lights. What a beautiful discovery! Mazel tov! But if you knock on a rabbi’s door asking if you’re Jewish and they tell you “It depends,” or even “No,” they aren’t slamming the door back in your face. They’re just meeting your knock with a bit of healthy skepticism: your ancestors kindled the fire, true, but are you willing to do the same?

Because being Jewish is about so much more than DNA.

In fact, being Jewish isn’t about DNA at all.

The Ancestry Answer

 But it’s literally about DNA! Genetics are what got me into this reality-shattering mess to begin with! Science says that I’m Jewish, so I have to be! Right?

Yes. And no. It depends. But I would argue, that when it comes to this answer in particular, it’s mostly no.

Which is strange for me to admit, because if it weren’t for discovering my genetics, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and I love where I am today. My NPE journey is still, overwhelmingly, a hot, stinking, miserable mess of family drama and emotional upheaval. But becoming Jewish? That’s made it all worthwhile.

When I first started telling people about my NPE discovery, this was the most common response: “I always thought you looked Jewish!” My hair apparently, is a dead giveaway. So are my eyebrows. My “dark features.” My nose. Or I just give off the right vibes. “Yeah, I can see that,” people would respond. Gentiles and Jews alike, it seems, have read me as Jewish long before I knew that I had Ashkenazi parentage. Intellectually, I was always wary at of these responses. Surely there’s no way to “look Jewish,” is there? Isn’t that what the Nazis used to say to justify murdering six million of us?

And yet—it was also strangely comforting. My NPE discovery had fractured so much of what I thought to be true about myself, and this was the affirmation I craved: yes, you are different; no, you’re not crazy; yes, you belong.

The whole reason that Eastern European, or Ashkenazi, Jews show up as an ethnic group on DNA testing sites is because of a population “founder effect”: we descend from a small number of culturally isolated ancestors who rarely intermarried, so we share enough common genetic markers to classify us as distinct. Other Jewish ethnic groups, like Sephardi or Mizrahi, don’t show up with that kind of specificity. The attempt to genetically quantify “who is a Jew,” therefore, centers Ashkenazi Jews at the expense of so many other ethnic groups, Jews of color in particular (learn more about Ashkenormativity here).

And on an even more fundamental level, this quantification implies that ethnicity is a core component of Jewish identity, when in fact, the Jewish people have always been a “mixed multitude”: as far back as our exodus out of Egypt, the Jewish nation has transcended ethnicity, borders, and ancestry. To rely on a DNA test as proof of one’s Jewishness, and to equate being Jewish with looking a “certain way,” dismisses the beautiful spectrum of Jewish peoplehood, including Jews who have joined the tribe through marriage, adoption, or by choice.

The overarching implications of linking DNA to identity, however, is not only reductive and exclusionary: it’s downright dangerous. No matter where you land on the “Am I Jewish?” question, you have to tread carefully. Race isn’t biological. It’s an organizational tool for constructing social hierarchies based on difference and otherness. Jews have historically been racialized for this very purpose, across geography and time. The most glaring example is the pseudoscience of Nazi Germany, which made claims of supposed genetic markers to prove the existence of racial imperfections and justify the eradication of entire populations of people – Jewish, but also Black, Romani, the disabled, the list goes on. Genetics, both the science and the language around it, have been weaponized against Jews and other racialized groups for centuries. In these strange times of mainstream genetic testing, if I read someone’s search history and saw “Jewish ethnicity DNA,” I wouldn’t know if they were a neo-nazi or just curious about their ancestry. Which should terrify us. (Learn more about race, Jewishness, and DNA testing here.)

Technically, sure, you can call yourself Jew-ish based on DNA alone—but you run the risk of replicating some wildly dangerous rhetoric in doing so. As someone who ended up choosing to be Jewish after finding out about my Jewish ancestry, I’ve become much more familiar with the insidiousness of antisemitism, and the potential misuses of mainstream DNA testing frankly scare me. Ironic, that DNA testing is what led to my becoming a Jew in the first place, but true.

So if you’re new to this journey, I recommend doing a bit of reading: a) on antisemitism, particularly racial antisemitism, both historically and as it appears today; and b) on the incredible diversity to be found throughout the Jewish people. It’s critical that we expand our conception of what it means to be Jewish and who “counts” as a Jew; we need to recognize the glorious mixed multitude of peoplehood, of which genetics are barely a part, if at all. And we need to be careful with our words, particularly in this age of rampant xenophobia, racism, and antisemitism.

Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t explore your roots or disavow the physical traits that you inherited from your newfound Jewish ancestors—by all means, learn about your heritage and honor where you come from, if you feel called to do so. Many NPEs describe their experience as one of uprootedness, and delving into one’s Jewish ancestry can be a beautiful way of becoming re-rooted. Ashkenazi culture has so much to offer, from food and music to literature and language, so dive in! Eat, sing, read—savor it all.

Over the past four years, I’ve fallen in love with the stories of Sholem Aleichem, enjoyed lectures on theater and history the Yiddish Book Center (a wonderful resource for learning more about Ashkenazi culture), and, after some trial and error, managed to bake a few decent loaves of challah with my partner. I’ve also come to love my hair and nose in so many unexpected, tender ways, even as I remain wary of what it means to give off “Jewish vibes.”

Being visibly and genetically Jewish was my entry point into becoming Jewish, but that’s all it was: an entry point. An invitation. An awakening to new possibilities.

In a way, Jewish NPEs are weirdly lucky: we may feel hopelessly lost at family gatherings or when we look in the mirror, but at our fingertips, there’s a rich cultural roadmap for living with deep, interconnected roots. The tricky part being: we can’t just read the map. We have to actually make the journey.

Choosing an Answer

I wish I could say that discovering Jewish ancestry means that your identity suddenly makes sense. If you’re reading this article, then you’ve already been through enough emotional upheaval for a lifetime: wouldn’t it be a relief to have some simple answers for once, to just know who you are once and for all?

But remember: two Jews, three opinions. Simple answers are not, unfortunately, in the stars.

These days, you’ll probably hear the descriptor “Jew by Choice” more often than “convert to Judaism.” It’s a language choice that’s meant to recognize the activeness of the person’s journey into Judaism. It’s meant to be affirming, empowering even.

When I first started considering conversion, I bristled at this phrase. None of this was a choice. I didn’t choose to be born with this parentage; I didn’t choose to have my ancestry kept a secret; I didn’t choose to learn about my heritage in such a traumatic way. My Jewishness was thrust upon me, along with so many other complicated revelations about my identity and family history. I didn’t ask to be Jewish—I didn’t ask for any of this.

But when I look over the past four years, I realize just how many choices I’ve made along the way. When I got that email from 23andMe, I could have slammed my laptop shut and moved on as if nothing had changed. But I chose to let myself be transformed by the discovery. I chose to ask questions, I chose to do research, I chose to feel uncomfortable, and ultimately, I chose to be a Jew. I chose to light that candle, and I choose every day to keep it alive.

This article was clearly written by a Jew, someone who loves their peoplehood and religion. But I recognize that not everyone reading this is ready to seriously consider being Jewish in such an all-encompassing way. So let me frame things differently.

Recovering from trauma is all about crafting narratives. Something totally outside of your control just happened to you. Reality has become unreal. The story of your life has ripped to shreds. And the only way to unfreeze yourself, to feel in control again, is to rewrite the story, with you at the center. You didn’t choose to discover you were suddenly Jewish, but you can choose what that discovery means.

For me, becoming Jewish was a way to craft a healthy narrative. There’s a beautiful adage in Jewish mysticism, that every single Jew was present at Sinai when Moses delivered God’s commandments, when the covenant between God and the Israelites and was sealed and a united peoplehood was born. The soul of every single Jew, across history and geography, Jews of choice included, was there at the base of the mountain, being called to their place in history.

This narrative brings me comfort. Was I really at Sinai, standing alongside every single member of this sprawling, interconnected family? Is that why I felt called to respond to my Jewish ancestry discovery—because my soul was Jewish all along? Is that why all of this exhausting, traumatic family secret nonsense happened to me?

Yes. No. It depends. Chances are, I like the Sinai story because it helps me make sense of a senseless thing. It isn’t my DNA that brought me to the base of that mountain; I’m there because I choose to be. And this act of choosing doesn’t make my presence at Sinai any less true–my soul was there because I believe it to be there, and that belief is realer to me than any DNA test.

If you want to make sense of your newfound ancestry, if you want to answer the question “Am I Jewish?” once and for all, you absolutely do not have to convert to Judaism. But you also can’t just ask a rabbi or trace your genetic family tree. You have to answer the question for yourself—you have to decide whether being Jewish fits into your new narrative of personhood. Making that decision requires curiosity, energy, introspection, and lots and lots of books.

It also requires patience. You may have discovered that you had Jewish ancestry overnight, but discovering your Jewish identity will take time. It’s taken four years and counting for me, and it’s been a boundlessly radical process. It may take even longer for you. It may be wildly transformational or not a huge deal at all—but that’s not for me, a rabbi, or anyone else but you to find out.

Exploring Judaism is one of many ways to heal and construct new narratives out of an NPE experience. You’re no less valid a Jewish-ancestry-NPE if you decide against such an exploration. But if you feel called to journey, if you really need to know whether being Jewish is part of your story, then welcome.

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

*NPE: not parent expected, nonpaternity event, nonparental event — discovering that a person you believed to be your parent wasn’t your genetic parent

Severance is not monetized—no subscriptions, no ads, no donations—therefore, all content is generously shared by the writers. If you have the resources and would like to help support the work, you can tip the writer.

Find the author on Venmo @ottertarot.Maegan Clearwood (she/they) is a writer and theater-dabbler based out of Western Massachusetts. As an essayist and theater critic, their work has been published in The Journal of Dramatic Theory and Criticism, OnStage Blog, Howlround Theater Commons, and Everything Sondheim. They earned an MFA in Dramaturgy from UMass Amherst, with a graduate certificate in Advanced Feminist Studies, and a BA in English and Theater from Washington College. Find them on Twitter @maeganwriteson and Instagram @ottertarot.Do you have a story about discovering a new ethnicity, religion, or culture? We want to hear it. Read our submission guidelines and get in touch!

By Kara Rubinstein DeyerinIt’s what those of us with misattributed parentage like to call “sibling season”—the time when people who received an over-the-counter DNA test for Christmas are getting their results. When you have a DNA surprise and learn the person who raised you is not your genetic parent, you are plummeted into a world of confusion, doubt, and shock. You feel all alone in your experience. You are likely thinking it is impossible that anyone else could have had such a crazy thing happen to them. And so when you turn to a professional—a licensed therapist—for help, the last thing you want to hear after explaining your situation during your first session is “Wow. That’s incredible. I’ve never heard of that before!”

We estimate that 1 in 20 people have misattributed parentage—that’s 16.6 million Americans who may innocently spit into a tube and discover they’re not who they thought they were. People have a misattributed parentage experience (MPE) from a variety of circumstances: they discover they’re adopted or that they were conceived through assisted reproduction or as a result of an extra-marital affair, rape, or other sexual encounter. Regardless of why someone has an MPE, the news is traumatic for many.

“After I told my therapist about my MPE, she said she had no idea how a person should respond to being told such a story.” Lisa

In Right to Know’s 2021 Survey of MPEs[1], 39% of those surveyed responded they’d sought help from a licensed therapist. Of those who saw a therapist, just only 18% felt their therapists had sufficient training in misattributed parentage issues to assist them. This needs to change.

“Today I had a therapy session with yet another new therapist. Every time I have to educate my therapist on what an MPE is, how we feel, how our situation is life altering, how we have an identity crisis, and how we search for family….” Michelle

Right to Know is a nonprofit dedicated to advocating for people with a DNA surprise and misattributed parentage and promoting understanding of the complex intersection of genetic information, identity, and family dynamics. To promote this goal, we now offer the first misattributed parentage education platform providing educational information on MPEs and the impacts of DNA surprises to professionals and the public. With this initiative, we aim to tackle one of the most important aspects of the MPE discovery—the need for training for licensed therapists and information for those affected by an MPE and the public at large.

“During my first visit to a therapist, she admitted this was all so new to everyone and she had no experience with this specific trauma, that there was no handbook on how to handle my feelings. She told me my mother had every right to lie to me, that it was her body.” Dan

When a person makes a discovery of such a potentially traumatic magnitude, properly trained licensed professionals can provide essential mental health support. We offer four core introductory courses for continuing education credit on Identity, Grief and Loss, Psychological and Ethical Impacts, and Reunion, with more classes coming soon. Learn about the CE courses at www.MPE-Education.org, and use coupon code 15%OFF on your first CE course. Right to Know has been approved by NBCC as an Approved Continuing Education Provider, ACEP No. 7181. Programs that do not qualify for NBCC credit are clearly identified. Right to Know is solely responsible for all aspects of the programs. Not a therapist? We also offer these courses without education credits at a discounted price.

“After telling my therapist about my MPE, he kept calling my father that raised me my ‘stepdad.’ I cringed every time he said it; it made me uncomfortable hearing him referred to in this way.” Susan

Identity confusion can be a major part of an MPE. Identity & MPEs, taught by Jodi Kluggman-Rabb, MA, LMFT, PsyD, covers identity formation and the dimensions of identity, genealogical bewilderment, and the psychological impact of an MPE identity crisis. This class provides an overview of what an MPE is and the terms associated with a non-paternity event (NPE).

People with an MPE may be dealing with disenfranchised grief and ambiguous loss. Cotey Bowman, MA, LPC Associate, teaches Loss & Grief in MPEs through the lens of an NPE. He reviews the foundational concepts of loss and grief, discusses how this can complicate healing from an MPE, and compares treatments including artistic creation for loss and grief for people with an MPE.

Some common psychological concerns of people with an MPE include complicated grief, complex PTSD, attachment issues, identity and existential confusion, family secrecy, depression, and anxiety. Psychological and Ethical Implications of MPEs offers therapists an understanding of the themes associated with MPEs, psychological concerns and diagnoses, as well as the ethical and advocacy considerations of MPEs. Lynne W. Spencer, MA, LLP, RN, illustrates these issues from the perspective of donor conception and reviews the terms associated with assisted conception.

The prospect of deciding whether to reach out to new genetic family is daunting, especially when considering all of the possible outcomes. Leslie Pate Mckinnon, MA, LCSW, in Navigating Reunion with MPEs, takes therapists through the steps of reunion from an adoption perspective. She provides an overview of adoption terms and history, discusses the innate desire for people to know their genetic identity, and offers tips about the nuts and bolts of reunion.

These classes are just the beginning. Classes on helping parents talk to their children about their unique conception and understanding genetic sexual attraction are also in the works. If you’re interested in having Right to Know sponsor a course on a certain topic or if you’d like to teach a course, send a message to info@RightToKnow.us.

And to all our new siblings out there, we got you! We’re working hard to ensure you have access to the information and resources you need to process your MPE. If you are looking for a therapist, Right to Know maintains a list of therapists with experience working with misattributed parentage on our MPE Counseling Directory. If you need help with your DNA surprise, call 323-TALK MPE. We’re here to listen, help you identify your genetic family, find an experienced therapist in your state, and provide a mentor—all for free because no one should ever feel alone with such life-changing news.

[1] 2021 MPE Survey, Right to Know and the DNA Discussion Project (600+ respondents).Kara Rubinstein Deyerin is co-founder and CEO of Right to Know. She is a non-practicing attorney with an LLM in Taxation and an MA in trade and investment policy. In January 2018, she wanted to see where in Africa her father’s family came from. Her over-the-counter DNA test revealed she was 50% something but it wasn’t African. This meant the man on her birth certificate couldn’t possibly be her genetic father. She lost her bi-racial identity with the click of a mouse. Deyerin discovered she was 50% Ashkenazi Jew. The DNA pandora’s box she opened led to an identity crisis. She’s a passionate advocate for genetic identity rights. It is a fundamental human right to know your genetic identity.

By Kara Rubinstein DeyerinThe advent of over-the-counter DNA testing has unlocked the closet where many family secrets were kept. While many learn one (or both) of the parents who raised them are not their genetic parent from a DNA test, sometimes people find out in other ways. A mother with a 104-degree temperature might let it slip that she had a son as a teenager. A family friend may tell someone mourning his dad, possibly at his funeral, that the suffered from infertility and had used a sperm donor. And sometimes having a child of their own prompts individuals to search for their biological family because they grew up with a vague idea of who their fathers were. Regardless of how one learns about misattributed parentage, the process of coping with such an experience is daunting and life-changing.

Right to Know is a non-profit founded on the principle that it’s a fundamental human right to know one’s genetic identity. We believe in inclusivity and embrace anyone who facing misattributed parentage. To that end we use the term misattributed parentage experience (MPE) to describe the phenomenon of coping with the fact that you did not grow up knowing your genetic parent. It’s a term used by mental health professionals for decades. We believe the word experience best describes the long-term effects we all have, as opposed to “event,” which is a one-time occurrence. The ramifications of an MPE last a lifetime to some degree.

An MPE belongs to one of three primary communities:

• Non-paternity event (NPE): those conceived from an extramarital affair, tryst, rape or assault, or other circumstance
• Assisted conception: those conceived from donor conception (DC), sperm donation, egg donation, embryo donation, or surrogacy; and
• Adoption: those whose adoption was hidden, orphans, individuals who’ve been in foster care or are who are late discovery adoptees (LDA), etc.

United, our communities have a stronger voice to effect change in society—to promote laws to protect our rights and encourage a better understanding of our experiences.

Right to Know focuses on three pillars to support people with an MPE: education, mental health, and legislation. Adoptees are trailblazers in many of these topics, but there’s still much work to be done. Many people with an MPE feel powerless, and through our work, we hope to empower them. Advocacy and helping others often facilitates healing.

People with an MPE often are not represented in lawmaking in the U.S. In fact, some of us clearly have no rights in the eyes of the law. Right to Know advocates for changes in laws to ensure people with MPEs are represented and our fundamental right to know our genetic identity is established legally. Our legal advocacy starts with your participation at a grassroots level. We are working to pass broad-based fertility fraud legislation with criminal penalties for all types of fertility fraud along with a civil cause of action allowing for both parents and offspring to bring a lawsuit. We also encourage an additional criminal penalty and a loss of licensure for doctors who use their own sperm to inseminate patients. We’ve teamed with legislators in Iowa, Michigan, New York, Oregon, and Washington to pass such legislation, with Nevada and Georgia soon to follow. We also partner with adoptee rights groups to see how we can help enact laws to ensure access to original birth certificates.

As part of RTK’s mental health initiative, we hold a monthly Community & Connection event on the first Sunday of the month at noon pacific time with a licensed therapist to discussed issues pertinent to MPEs. Past topics have included “A Look at Loss and Grief in MPEs,” “The Importance of Finding your Tribe and Feeling Supported,” and “Reaching Out to Bio-Family and Coping with the Response.” The next Community & Connection is “Identity and MPEs,” with Jodi Klugman-Rabb on Sunday, July 11. To register, send an email to RSVP@RightToKnow.us.

RTK also operates a hotline number, 323-TALK-MPE, to help people find resources to process their MPEs and pair them with someone who’s had a similar experience. To facilitate access to licensed professionals who have experience working with people with an MPE, we provide a directory so you can find a therapist to help you. We also work closely with DNAngels to help people find their genetic family.

Each month, usually on the third Sunday at noon Pacific time, RTK sponsors a webinar with world-class speakers on a topic related to MPEs. Past topics have included “Interacting with Narcissistic Moms” and “Family Members’ or Societal Perceptions of Ancestral DNA, Race, & Identity.” Find Information about upcoming webinars on the website.

RTK strives to educate the public on the complex intersection of genetic information, identity, and family dynamics through various media projects. In the fall it is launching an MPE Education website that will offer a variety of classes related to misattributed parentage.

Due to the newness of DNA testing and the surprising consequence of discovering misattributed parentage this way, there’s very little data available about MPEs, the rate of occurrence, demographics, and what we need to heal. Right to Know is excited to partner with Anita Foeman, PhD, and Bessie Lawton, PhD, from the DNA Discussion Project to gather information on MPEs through an online Institutional Review Board (IRB)-approved survey that aims to understand how MPEs affect individuals,  their family relationships (both preexisting and new), and their health and determine whether sufficient recourses and access to resources exist to cope with such a discovery. Your voice matters. Please participate in this groundbreaking research to ensure people with MPEs receive the help they need in the future. If you’d like to help or need more information about Right to Know’s initiatives, send an email to info@RightToKnow.us or find us online. Find us as well on Twitter and Instagram @righttoknowus.Deyerin is a non-practicing attorney and co-founder of Right to Know. She discovered three years ago that the man named on her birth certificate was not her biological father. With the click of a mouse, she went from being half black to half Jewish. She’s a mom, wife, writer, cook, knitter, and connoisseur of all things human. Follow her blog about her own journey, Unexpectedly Jewish. BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles and essays about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

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Severance speaks with Gina Daniel, DSW, LCSW, whose personal experience—her discovery that she’s an NPE (not-parent-expected)—has redirected her professional goals, putting the spotlight on the challenges and needs of individuals with misattributed parentage experiences. She recently earned her doctorate, her dissertation a study of the NPE experience, and she’s working to help create awareness among mental health professionals and improve their knowledge about the specific needs of people who’ve discovered misattributed parentage.Did your upbringing influence your desire to be a social worker and if so, in what way?

I expected to become an elementary teacher growing up and had no idea what social work was until I was in my 20s. However, once I discovered social work, I knew that was what I needed to do. My upbringing was full of moments when I was a little social worker (counseling, advocating, and educating) but I did not know it until later. I was raised by a single father who worked hard to be sure we could pay the rent. All the moms in the neighborhood helped to raise me.

You were already a social worker and well into your doctoral studies when you decided to change the topic of your dissertation. Can you explain why you chose to align your scholarly interests with your NPE experience?

I was. That was quite the detour. I trust my gut with most everything I do. I could not find a way to study school social work (my profession) in a way that felt interesting to me. Once the NPE event happened, I brought it to my committee and they helped me determine that this was the path that fit better for me. Knowing there was little to no scholarly research at that time was a huge attraction to me as well. I agreed and was willing to do the extra work.

How, specifically, did you design your thesis—what were you looking to discover and how did you propose to accomplish that?

I knew I would do interviews for qualitative research. The idea of secrets kept was fascinating. Also, the impact that this discovery had on me and how off balance I felt at middle age got me interested in the impact on identity. The obvious path was discussing the impact on family of origin relationships—living or deceased and on the new family relationships—living or deceased.

You interviewed 51 people. Can you describe those interviews—how you selected subjects and what the interviews involved?

I was a part of one of the private NPE Facebook groups that agreed to work with me then backed out. Another Facebook group offered assistance then stalled. Finally, a woman who was starting another NPE Facebook group offered to assist. I was a member but did not participate for a long time. The process was an advertisement of the study and a link for those interested. The criteria for interviews included having discovered paternity through a direct-to-consumer DNA Ancestry test, living in North America, being over 18.

The first round of interviews was in the fall of 2019, the second round of interviews was in the fall of 2020. Unfortunately, the first round interviews were not used in the final study. It’s a complicated story but every one of those interviews mattered significantly to me and, interestingly, my findings were the same. The interviews were incredible. People were so willing to share their personal stories, so interested in helping other NPEs, and were so vulnerable and lovely. I feel incredibly lucky to have shared some time with all of these amazing individuals.

Can you summarize your overall findings?

To summarize my research, there appears to be a significant psychological blow to participants discovering paternity/family secrets through a direct-to consumer (DTC) DNA ancestry test. There’s a struggle to incorporate the new information. Half of the participants in my research sought mental health counseling in order to cope. Personal identity is changed as a result (incorporating new family, concerns with previous family, health issues, and ethnicity changes); resemblance to family is a significant component within this experience; participants prefer the truth over not having the truth (despite the emotional difficulty); and social supports (e.g. Facebook groups) are helpful and after a certain point appear to become a ‘pay it forward’ place. In my research I called this ‘healing through helping.’

You’d already had an NPE experience, and although it was relatively new, you’d had some time to process your emotions. Was there anything revealed in the interviews that surprised you?

I had time to process and discussed with a therapist as well. The similarities in the emotions that most people shared mirrored my experience. I was surprised at the sense that some of this felt universal—deception, lies, shock/surprise, understanding, hurt—and all mostly at middle age.

What, if anything, would you describe as universal in the experience of your interviewees?

Similar emotions that erupt suddenly when the discovery is learned and then occasional eruptions of the same emotions, maybe less intensely, over time. Also, the idea that almost everyone feels alone at the beginning of this process—as if they are the only ones going through this.

If you had to choose the top three most difficult challenges or most difficult emotional issues experienced by NPEs what would they be?

Shock/surprise, anger, and feeling alone. Also the rejections from new family that happen for many.

Can you give an overview of the kinds of issues NPEs have with respect to identity and what are some strategies for dealing with them?

To be completely honest, I don’t feel I went as deeply as I should have for the identity questions. When I asked questions about if identity changed, the vast majority said yes. When I pressed the “yes” responses further with “how,” I was often met with pause in thought. However, ethnicity and health information were the most often described areas where identity shifts occurred. Seeking information about new family was necessary in order to understand more about self. I included resemblance into this section as this topic came up so often in interviews as related to not looking like family of origin, then looking like new family, children looking like new grandfathers, etc.

As far as strategies, I don’t think I have any to offer based on what was provided through the research outside of have a professional genetic counselor or mental health professional to talk with while processing these complex shifts.

This is a complex, multi-part question. I’ve noticed that for many NPEs, this experience seems to become central, becoming almost the centerpiece of their identity and front and center in their lives in an ongoing way. Is there a danger in that—in lives being overtaken in a sense by this experience?

Like with many things, it depends on how much it impacts your functioning in your typical life. I’m not sure how it can not become a central feature of a life when so much of what you’ve known about yourself is upended while doing a recreational activity. For some, how do you reconcile trust again after this occurs?

What can individuals do to help integrate the experience so it’s not overwhelming and doesn’t come ultimately to define them?

So, it can be overwhelming and create a new definition of themselves. However, the idea is that it is now an expanded definition. You are what you were and what you now know. It’s realizing that piece, I think, that’s helpful as people process the losses and grievances along the way with this experience.

Is there an end goal of assimilating this experience, or will it always be front and center? 

In my opinion, assimilating is the goal. What we cannot control, we cannot control. People may not choose to have us in their lives, and we have no option but to accept that. People may be deceased, and we get no answers to the questions we have about our existence. We again have to find a way to accept that. These are not easy tasks, but to remain in a place of anger and sadness only steals your life from you.

Many NPEs belong to support groups on Facebook and perhaps elsewhere. Can you comment on the benefits and also the limitations?

There are significant benefits belonging to a healthy group of people sharing similar experiences with something brilliant to offer us in the way of hope, support, or suggestion when needed. This is what it is to be a social human finding your ‘tribe.’ However, the limitations are when professional help is needed and people use Facebook—or when people on Facebook want to be professional mental health professionals doling out advice and are not qualified.

You wish to help educate mental health professionals about how to better treat NPEs. What are the biggest needs in that education?

Awareness of this experience to start with.

Therapists are trained to work with clients with issues related to grief, loss, shame. What are they lacking that prevents them from being able to better help NPEs?

We all hope the therapists we work with understand how to work with grief, loss, and shame, but judging from my research, many NPEs seeking mental health help were met with flippant comments minimizing their experiences. That tells me that perhaps they are not viewing this experience from the lens of grief, loss, and shame. The impact of secrets on families is an area to understand more, as well as all the ways an individual can become an NPE. This isn’t as simple as ‘mom had an affair’ in a lot of situations. I also think we are still learning the best ways to help NPEs therapeutically, so I am not in any way indicating this answer as a full and complete response to your question.

Until therapists are better trained or until there’s truly a network of therapists specializing in these issues, what advice do you have for individuals who are seeking mental health care?

Just meet with a professional you’re comfortable talking to, who is listening and seeking to understand and help. If the first one doesn’t fit, move on until you find one that clicks for you.

What should people look for in a therapist and how might they be able to tell when a therapist will not be right for them?

Someone who is not minimizing your experience. It’s completely ok to interview a therapist prior to meeting them. Ask them if they have heard of NPEs, ask if they have worked with someone who has been adopted, ask about their experience with family therapy and family secrets in therapy. If you don’t like them on the phone, move on. I suggest if you’re on the fence with a therapist (after meeting once), try them three times. If after three times it’s not helping anything, move on.

I understand you’re interested in doing research on siblings who are discovered by NPEs. I’m wondering if you have a sense yet of what reasons might keep those siblings from being accepting of NPEs?

So this is personal. I did not indicate my interest in this in my research study and am not 100% I am going to do this, but I think about it a lot. Siblings, at this age, are typically peers and have information that can help us better understand the new parent and health information. We can potentially grow old with them and have that extra layer of familial connection. However, they’re not always willing to accept the new sibling no matter what the situation was, and this can be very difficult for an NPE to cope with. Inheritances, sibling positions within the family, and loyalties to other family appear to be reasons to keep away. Like I said, this is a personal one for me so I will tread lightly as I move forward. It may also be a challenge to find siblings willing to open up unless I were to go through an NPE, so I imagine the information would be skewed toward acceptance. Still, it could be interesting to get their perspective. Maybe I am totally off base and am taking my rejection of two younger siblings too hard!

 Can you tell me about the support guide you’re working on and your hopes for it?

Well, it’s currently evolving into a blog I believe. Perhaps the blog will develop into the support guide in paper form one day. Another NPE and I are working on it currently. Our hope is that it is a helpful tool for everyone—NPEs new and existing, family members, mental health professionals. You’ll hopefully be hearing about it soon. We hope to get it really moving this summer.

 What are the most important aspects of this experience that researchers need to explore?

Well, I just completed someone’s study questionnaire from West Chester University in Pennsylvania that looks like quantitative research, so that makes me excited thinking we can get some of that info out there. Within my study, I suggest future research considerations to include qualitative research with biological mothers, longitudinal studies with NPEs, and consideration of if/how the new medical information changes behavior once misattributed paternity is uncovered.

What haven’t I asked you that you think people should know either about the NPE experience or about the work you’ve done related to it?

This experience has a spectrum of response. NPEs are many in our world, always have been, and will continue to occur. Learning about your NPE status through a direct-to-consumer DNA ancestry test is perhaps an unintended consequence to a recreational test for a most popular hobby. This is also a first world issue accessed primarily by Caucasian individuals who can afford to test for fun. The impact on identity is significant.Gina Daniel is a licensed clinical social worker. She has worked in public education as a school social worker for more than twenty years and also works in her private practice in central Pennsylvania primarily focused on individual and family work. Daniel discovered her NPE status in June 2018 and subsequently completed her doctoral dissertation with a focus on unexpected paternity discoveries through direct-to-consumer DNA ancestry testing.BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles and essays about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

• Please leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
• Let us know what you want to see in Severance. Send a message to bkjax@icloud.com.
• Tell us your stories. See guidelines. 
• If you’re an NPE, adoptee, or donor conceived person; a sibling of someone in one of these groups; or a helping professional (for example, a therapist or genetic genealogist) you’re welcome to join our private Facebook group.
• Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag.

Jeff award-winning actress and musician Cory Goodrich has released her first memoir, Folksong: A Ballad of Death, Discovery, and DNA, published by Finn-Phyllis Press. Folksong is at once a remarkable memoir of love and longing, an emotional ballad of grief and forgiveness, an ode to self-discovery, and a heart-stirring look at the lengths to which a family will go to protect themselves and each other.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

Are we better off forgetting the details?

I started writing this memoir as a way to process my mother’s death and remember the events surrounding it as they happened before coping mechanisms settled in to destroy the memories in order to protect me. But I haven’t yet been able to write about the actual moment of her death. I’ve been avoiding it. I’ve been avoiding reliving those moments because writing them down will make them real again in my mind and bring me one step closer to a breakdown.

My mother went out of this world like she came in. “The Red Menace,” as she was called by someone along the way—probably my father, made her own choice as to when to go. There was no peaceful exit, even though we were there, holding her hands and singing to her. A timebomb went off and simultaneously destroyed her body and my life. Perhaps that sounds dramatic, but I was simply not prepared for the devastation left in her wake or for the PTSD I experienced, like a soldier having returned from war.

I’ll be honest: I was a little worried about my mental health in the months after she died. I was able to cope better when I was with my brothers and sister. Maybe something about being together again reminded me that, in spite of the years apart and the distance between us, we are still a family. We grew up together and got on each other’s nerves as children (and still do now as adults). When we are together, I remember I am not just an interloper to their happy little trio. Nothing has changed.

But when home alone, or even at home with David and the girls, I still get a little paranoid. Obsessive. Worried that I don’t belong to this family, and that there was a plot to keep the truth from me. To punish me.

I know this is not true, but my brain goes there.

I talk out loud to myself when I am alone making coffee.

I argue with myself. I start to doubt the information I’ve been given from various people, and I make up wild conspiracy theories in my head. I feel just a small crack emerge in my sanity, and I worry that another hit will blow that motherfucker wide open and I will fall down the chasm of insanity like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. Down, down, down, down…

1989, Lancaster, Pennsylvania

I’m twenty-one and I’m doing a national children’s theatre tour of Alice in Wonderland. We are performing at the Fulton Opera House in Lancaster. For some reason, we have a couple of free days after this performance, before our little bus-and-truck production moves on to the next city. Lancaster is only an hour’s drive from Wilmington, so I’ve asked my father, Tom, to come pick me up so we can spend a few days together before my cross-country tour resumes. I arrange for a ticket to be held at the box office under his name, and I tell him I will meet him out front after the show.

I am excited because Daddy has never seen me perform; he saw none of my high school choir concerts or musicals or college plays or cabarets. Nothing. I have only seen him in his world—in Delaware. He has never seen me in mine. I am thrilled that he will not only finally see me perform but he will watch me play Alice, the title character in a really charming musical for young audiences.

I’m nervous during the performance, knowing he is there in the audience, but inside I am beaming. My father is finally seeing me, the authentic me. Not the little girl but a woman, a paid performer. I AM pretty enough to be an actress.

I walk outside of the theatre after the performance, and I see Daddy standing by the box office window. I wonder, as I do every year when I see him again, if I should hug him. I run to him and pause awkwardly, and he says hello. I don’t hug him even though I want to. I wait for him to say something about my performance, and when he doesn’t, I self-consciously ask how he liked the show. “Oh, I didn’t see it. I waited out here.”

It would be cliché to say, “time stopped” or “my heart sank into my stomach,” but those things happened. The moment took my breath away—also cliché, but so true. All those years I spent growing up five-hundred miles away from him in Michigan, all the missed high school concerts, the leads in school plays, the chorus solos—these were the things that defined me. And here was the one chance he had to see—in person—the person I was and the life I had chosen, and he didn’t walk into the building. He was there, but he waited outside.

Sometimes, the things that most define our lives are not the things that happen, but the things that don’t.

Daddy died a year later, so there was never another opportunity, and even if there had been, I doubt he would have walked into the building then either. It plagues me. Did he not understand how important performing was to me? Did he just not care? Was this the ultimate metaphor for my life? My father never saw me perform. My father never saw me. My father never knew me.

And I never knew my father.

“There are things you don’t know about your father, Cory.”

And this is why I worry that another blow to the tiny but delicate crack in my sanity will shatter me wide open.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PRETTY LIES

October 5, 2017—One day post surgery

I spend all day at the hospital with Jim. Mama drifts in and out of consciousness, but she has been down deep most of the day. She wakes periodically and claws at the tube, but the breathing machine is still doing 95% of the work, pushing air in and out of her lungs. We are frustrated and heartsick, but the nurses and doctors keep repeating flatly that she is not processing the anesthesia in a normal fashion (duh), but it is nothing to worry about—everyone responds differently. I ask what they are giving her for her pain, and they say Tylenol and I lose my shit again. Tylenol doesn’t even begin to alleviate one of my headaches, how could it possibly work on a body cleaved in two? They refuse to give her anything stronger despite my pleas, and I wonder if they think the sheer pain will rouse her from her coma.

At around seven, Jim leaves the hospital to go pick up my sister Susie from the airport. He will take her back to the house in Green Valley, and I will sit vigil with my mother until I am too weary to take any more. I am curled up in the hard chair, playing music for her, trying to focus on my work as producer of a Christmas CD for the charity organization Season of Concern. Peace on Earth and Good Will to Men is about the furthest thing from my mind right now, so I get very little done. I crack open The House at Riverton and read the first page for the third time, but I cannot focus, so back into my bag it goes. I hold my mother’s hand and self-consciously talk to her. Can she hear me? What do I have to say, anyway? Will sappy declarations of love mean anything, or will she wonder who the hell this emotional basket-case child is? But I talk anyway and sing softly to her, feeling foolish but determined to let her know that I am there.

Mark, the day nurse, is in and out of the tiny ICU room, and he smiles and gives me encouragement, but I can see he is frustrated looking at the numbers on my mother’s chart. He has been adjusting levels of various medications throughout the course of the day, but nothing seems to satisfy him. I’ve asked him several times if my mother’s condition is something he’s seen before, and each time he shrugs and says, “I’ve seen it all.” But now that Jim is out of the room, his answer changes. He wants me to know the truth because he knows I know he has been lying.

Mark is short and sturdy; a comfortable man. I’ve also learned he is a musician, so I instinctively trust him. He is the type of man you could lean on, so I do. “Mark, is this normal?” I ask again.

He sighs and sits down in the chair next to me. He takes my hand. “No. It’s not. She is down so deep, and if she doesn’t start breathing on her own soon, you are going to have to make some difficult choices.”

“She doesn’t want this,” I tell him, shaking my head furiously. I can feel her not coming up for air, not breathing on her own because she wants to die, but you can’t exactly pull the plug on an intuition.

“Are there any other options? Is there anything else we can do?”

“Dialysis,” Mark tells me, “but we really don’t want to put her through that. It’s extreme.” He takes my other hand and looks me straight in the eyes. “So, we are going to do everything we can to get her out of this before we go that route.”

Okay…Dialysis—not a good sign.

I thank Mark for his forthrightness and his sympathy. He gives me courage by telling me the truth.

Here’s the thing about the truth: It is usually easier to handle than a lie. When you tell a lie, the person you are telling it to usually knows, somewhere inside. They may not consciously realize it, but an uneasy feeling sets in. They start to doubt themselves and their instincts, and they know something is wrong, even if they can’t quite put a finger on what that something is.

It works that way for me, anyway. I can deal with a hard truth. A pretty lie, on the other hand, is like walking in quicksand, every step pulling me further down and under, just like my mother is down and under in her postoperative coma.

Tell me the truth so I am not basing my life on a lie: Have you guessed my mother’s secret yet?Cory Goodrich came to Chicago to pursue her dream of acting in 1989. Born in Wilmington, Delaware and raised in Clarkston, Michigan, she’s a Jeff Award-winning best actress for her roles as Mother in Drury Lane Oakbrook’s acclaimed production of Ragtime and as June Carter Cash in the Johnny Cash revue Ring of Fire at Mercury Theater Chicago. A five-time Jeff nominee, Goodrich has performed in productions at the Marriott Theatre in Lincolnshire, Chicago Shakespeare, Theatre at the Center, Ravinia, Candlelight, and Drury Lane. A graduate of Michigan State University, she’s also a singer/songwriter, producer, writer, mother of two, and children’s composer with two award-winning CDs, Hush and Wiggly Toes and a recording artist with original country album W.O.M.A.N. As the recipient of the 2015 Cohen-Grappel Recording Endowment, Goodrich produced Wildwood Flower, a collection of traditional and original folk songs featuring the autoharp. Her latest experimental folk album, produced with The Quiet Regret’s Ethan Deppe, is set to drop in March and features music from her memoir. Visit her website, find her on Facebook, and on Instagram @folksongbook and @corygoodrich.

By Brad EwellIn Facebook groups for people with not parent expected (NPEs) or misattributed parentage experiences (MPEs), there’s a consistent large difference in the ratio of men to women. If you were a man looking to meet women, this would be a place to be. There are typically a handful of men and thousands of women. Where are all the guys? Percentage-wise there couldn’t be that many more women than men having DNA surprises. So what’s going on here?

Looking at the bigger picture, this is a fairly common phenomenon among individuals with depression, anxiety, stress, and other mental health concerns. Several studies indicate that men are typically much less likely than women to seek professional help when facing psychological distress. The study authors suggest a number of factors for the disparity, such as the fear many men have of being judged as emotionally vulnerable or weak. Researchers also point to the fact that because men are trained from an early age to compete with other men, it makes them less likely to trust each other and reveal what they may perceive as weakness.

I posed the question to several individuals who not only are behavioral health practitioners but who also have personal experience with misattributed parentage. Their thoughts generally mirror the finding of the studies, but they offered additional insights.

According to Jodi Klugman-Rabb,* a licensed marriage and family therapist and licensed professional counselor, “Sometimes it’s as simple as the gender role conditioning specific to cultural norms that men are not manly if emotional. So expressing emotions is then seen as weak, making group process emasculating. On a more micro level, emotional process can have a lot to do with the family of origin dynamics and whether kids were allowed or encouraged to explore emotions safely, how cultural gender norms influenced that, and, to take it back out on a macro level, how these expectations were transmitted intergenerationally.”

Eve Sturges,* also a licensed marriage and family therapist, agrees. “Men,” she adds, “generally are taught to look for solutions; without a direct path, they often don’t understand the benefit.” Men view support groups as a place to talk about things, but they fail to see the benefit of the emotional burden that’s released when feelings are verbally expressed.

Men also fear that a vulnerable disclosure might disrupt the peace in their relationships, whether with their mates or family members or at work, according to Cotey Bowman,* a licensed professional counselor associate.

In order to make support groups more appealing to men, these professionals say, the stigma that prevents men from seeking support and expressing emotions must be addressed at a cultural level. Until this cultural change, the best option is to allow and encourage men to see other men model vulnerability and acceptance of emotions.

After reading the studies and talking to professionals, I can see myself and the culture I was raised in fairly accurately reflected in their comments. At 50 years old, I’ve been a police officer for half of my life. Police and other first respondors are notoriously emotionally restricted at work because the job demands it, explains Jodi Klugman-Rabb. It’s very difficult, she adds, “to ask first responders to compartmentalize at work but share at home. Most cannot walk both lines because our brains are not wired for that level of compartmentalization.” It’s an apt assessment of the people I work with daily.

I was raised in an environment where the expression of emotions was an indicator of weakness. As a result, I’ve grown into a person who is self-reliant to a fault. I try to avoid having people to do things for me because I don’t want to bother them or draw attention to myself. My dad taught me the importance of being self-sufficient and tough. When you get hurt, he said, you just “rub some dirt on it” and move on.

I vividly remember several instances in my childhood when my father imparted these lessons. Once, while building a fence, he accidentally nailed the palm of his hand to a picket fence with a nail gun. My job was to go to the other side of the fence, pull his hand off the nail, and get some duct tape so he could tape his hand up and finished the fence. Another time, he lost his balance while using a chain saw on a ladder and sawed through part of his thigh. Again, I was assigned to get the duct tape so he could tape himself back up and finish the job. (I think he got some stitches, but only after we finished the job). Finally, and most memorable, was the day he broke his leg. We were riding horses in a pasture when another horse came up alongside him. The horse tried to kick my dad’s horse, but instead kicked my dad in the shin. My dad grimaced. “We need to go back,” he said. “I think my leg is broke.” We rode back a couple of miles without him making a sound; he just wore that same grimace on his face. Once we got to the stalls, we tied up the horses, got in the truck, and started to the hospital. I was in middle school and had driven a few times around where we kept our horses but never out on the street. When we got to the road, my dad stopped and said, “If I feel like I’m going to pass out, I’ll just pull over to the side of the road and switch seats so you can drive me to the hospital.” He managed the 10-mile drive to the hospital, where he allowed me to grab a wheelchair to get him into the emergency room. Inside, I watched blood pour out when the nurses pulled his boot off. It turned out he had a compound fracture.

Clearly, reaching out to others for help is not something I was taught to do.

You may be wondering, then, how have I come to be writing an article about being emotionally vulnerable in groups? Given the way I was raised and the culture I grew up and work in, this is the last place in the world I’d want or expect to find myself. I don’t consider myself particularly weak or vulnerable. My job requires the opposite of me; I have to show courage and be strong for others. I had been in therapy once several years ago for help with some anxiety and stress issues, but my therapist had moved away and I felt better, so I didn’t take the time to find another one. I addressed it more as a strategy session than as therapy. I believe this is because, as Eve Sturges explains, I was looking for that step-by-step strategy to fix my problem and I didn’t view talking about my feelings as a useful part of the steps. I also told only a handful of people in my life that I had gone to therapy. This was intentional—a decision based on the fear of being emotionally vulnerable. I simply didn’t want to be viewed as weak and I believed that would happen if people knew I was struggling with my emotions.

So what went so wrong (or right) to bring me to the point that I’m sharing personal struggles and fears out in the world for other people to see? The answer is nothing. I finally realized no matter how much I wanted to believe I could deal with everything on my own, that’s not realistic. When I discovered that I’d been adopted, I was absolutely lost and felt totally alone. My wife was supportive, but there was no one who could really relate to the depth of loss that comes with such a discovery. My wife suggested I look on Facebook and see if there were groups formed by people who had experienced something similar. It sounded like a good idea, but I thought there would only be a handful of people at best who’ve gone through this. Instead, I found a community of thousands who have all experienced the same thing. So I lurked, devouring everyone else’s stories but not sharing my own. Over time, I observed more people sharing and receiving helpful and empathetic responses, which made me start feeling safe. And that feeling of safety finally led to me being comfortable enough to participate in the groups. I told my story to strangers who shared my experience and in return they gave me good advice and empathized. And I’ve taken it farther. Now I write about my experiences to a wider audience beyond the safety of private Facebook groups. In doing so, I’ve learned that sharing my stories has been deeply cathartic and healing. Every story I tell feels like a weight lifted off my shoulders.

As I talked to other men who have joined and participate in groups, I noticed their stories were similar to mine. They grew up learning to be self-sufficient and kept their emotions under wraps. I also noticed a common theme—a duty to keep family secrets private. I know there are many other men just like me trying to navigate their way through this NPE/MPE journey, many of them trying to go it alone. While there are likely a handful of people who can make this journey alone, I believe everyone can benefit from finding a community and experiencing its benefits.

My hope is that sharing this article and my other stories will let men know there’s a direct benefit from participating in Facebook and other support groups and sharing their stories. Cotey Bowman explains that when he works in group settings with men and is vulnerable himself, this modeled behavior is then reflected back as men in the group learn it’s safe to display emotions and vulnerability as sessions continue.Brad Ewell lives in Texas with his wife and three children. In 2019, he became a late discovery adoptee after taking a home DNA test. He feels he’s still very much in the middle of this journey and enjoys writing to help organize his thoughts and better understand his own story. Brad volunteers with Right to Know, a non-profit group dedicated to supporting people’s right to know their genetic identity. He’s told his story on two podcasts, NPE Stories and Sex, Lies, and the Truth. You can connect with him on Instagram @Brad1407, on Facebook, or email him at mpebrad@gmail.com.

Read more of his articles and essays: An Unexpected Abandonment, Dear Mom and Dad, and Watching and Waiting. *Eve Sturges is the host of a podcast, Everything’s Relative with Eve Sturges. Jodi Klugman-Rabb is the developer of Parental Identity Discovery and the co-host of the podcast Sex, Lies & the Truth. Cotey Bowman is the creator of the MPE Counseling Collective.BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

• Please leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
• Let us know what you want to see in Severance. Send a message to bkjax@icloud.com.
• Tell us your stories. See guidelines. 
• If you’re an NPE, adoptee, or donor conceived person; a sibling of someone in one of these groups; or a helping professional (for example, a therapist or genetic genealogist) you’re welcome to join our private Facebook group.
• Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag.

Recognizing the challenges facing individuals who experience DNA surprises, Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC) has launched the DNA Discoveries Peer Support Group, a virtual peer support program focused on the emotional impacts of the journey. It kicks off with a special panel on February 2 facilitated by ANC’s search specialist, Traci Onders, that will feature an individual who’s discovered misattributed parentage, a donor-conceived person, and adoptees who have found birth family. Onders spoke with us about the program and the personal journey that led her to working with ANC.

How did you come to Adoption Network Cleveland and how did you become interested in this work?

I started as program coordinator for adult adoptees and birthparents in 2016. I’d begun volunteering at Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC) prior to that because its mission was personally important to me. Adoption Network Cleveland advocated for adoptee access to records in Ohio for more than 25 years, and finally in 2013 Ohio passed legislation that opened up original birth certificates to adult adoptees. It’s hard to imagine this would have happened without the steadfast determination of ANC, and as an adoptee, I wanted to give back to the organization that made it possible for me to request and receive my original birth certificate. ANC is a nonprofit organization and has a reputation for advocacy rooted in understanding, support, and education—a meaningful mission to me.

I was born to a woman who had been sent to a home for unwed mothers to hide the shame of pregnancy from the small town in which her family lived. There was no counseling available for the grief of relinquishing a child, and she was told to go on with her life and forget about it. These homes no longer exist; we know now how awful and hurtful this practice, rooted in shame, is.

My birthfather died a year later in a tragic accident. He was also an adoptee, raised as a son by his maternal grandparents. I will never know if he knew who his father was, but thanks to DNA, I do.

I first searched for my birthmother more than 20 years ago after my children were born. Pregnancy and childbirth made me want to know more about the woman who carried me and gave me a deep understanding that she made decisions that had to be extremely difficult and painful in a way that I had not previously appreciated. I had complicated pregnancies and no medical history for myself or my children. As a mother, I felt compelled to know and understand more about both my history and my beginning. At that time, I discovered that the agency that handled my adoption, Ohio Children’s Society, had destroyed its records. I had no information at all to work with, and my search hit a brick wall. It was important to me that I connect with my birthmother in a way that was respectful. I didn’t know if she had told anyone she’d relinquished me, and I was concerned that if I hired a private investigator, the PI might use tactics that I wasn’t comfortable with or make a possible secret known to others, and that this somehow might hurt my birthmother or her family. Until I could request my original birth certificate in 2015, I didn’t have many options. In 2015, adoptees were finally able to access their original birth certificates in Ohio, and when I did this, it named my birthmother. I also discovered that I have a maternal half-sister. My birthmother and I reunited very shortly after that. I was finally able to learn her story and to gain a more complete and ongoing medical history. Knowing these things and my relationship with her have been blessings in my life that for many years I did not imagine would be possible. A few months later I met the extended family, and their warm welcome touched my heart.

My search for my birthfather led me to test my DNA at Ancestry and 23andMe. I‘d been told who he was, but since he died very young, I did not have the opportunity to connect with him or understand his story. Using DNA, I was able to confirm what I’d been told, which allowed resolution that I might not have been able to find in such ambiguous circumstances. He was a kinship adoptee, and I was able to determine his parentage.

I learned that although he died when he was twenty-three years old, he’d had three children with 3 different women—that I have two paternal half-brothers, both born to different woman. The first died as an infant. The second brother took a DNA test to learn his ethnicity. He discovered misattributed parentage—that the man who raised him and is on his birth certificate is not his biological father and that I am his paternal half-sister. We don’t know if his father knows, or even if his mother knows for sure. He doesn’t want to discuss this with them, and that’s his decision.

At ANC, we use DNA to help adoptees solve for unknown parentage, and my own search made me acutely aware of how much in recent years DNA was tearing down brick walls and helping connect people who might otherwise never find each other. It also made me particularly sensitive to the fact that some of these discoveries can be quite earth-shifting for people.

As my work in this area grew, I was promoted to search specialist to greater focus on assisting those in search, utilizing both traditional methods and DNA. ANC provides support and guidance throughout the journey of search—before, during and after—and has for more than 30 years. I came to appreciate how many people outside the adoption community were also  touched by DNA discoveries.

My own personal history of search and reunion give me an important connection with the people I work with because I can truly understand how these questions can consume one’s thoughts and time. I can relate to the frustrations, the joys, the sadness, the loss, the quest for knowledge when one doesn’t know their “chapter one,” the feeling of having to write “medical history unknown—adopted” every time one fills out medical forms or sees a new healthcare provider. Having reunited with my birthmother, I know the roller coaster of emotions that reunions can bring. I have a deep respect and understanding of the birthparent’s experience because of my work with many birth families and also my connections to my birth family.

Through my own journey, I have come to realize many things about adoption. It’s a lifelong journey, and not a one-time transaction. My work helping others separated by adoption to find each other—whether it is adoptees searching for birth family, birth family searching for adoptees, or more recently people that have DNA surprise discoveries—has revealed many complexities and similarities. When we shine a light on these discoveries, we find the impacts of secrets, shame, infertility, racism, money, power, privilege, mental health, abuse, neglect, domestic violence, trauma, addiction, grief, loss, religion, social class—to name a few. For me, it’s important to advocate for progressive practices and reform in adoption and child welfare.

The DNA Discovery Peer Support February 2 panel discussion is a joint endeavor by Adoption Network Cleveland and Adoption Knowledge Affiliates. Can you describe the nature of the collaboration?

Adoption Network Cleveland founded in 1988 and Adoption Knowledge Affiliates founded in 1991 have a lot in common. Both organizations were founded by adoptees with a vision to bring together adoptees, birthparents, adoptive parents, and professionals in an effort to increase knowledge, service, and understanding. Both have been impactful organizations over the years. With the pandemic and our world going virtual, ANC and AKA partnered to host a joint virtual conference in October 2020, combining conferences each organization had planned and been forced to cancel in the spring.

At ANC, we had been discussing how to better meet the needs of people who were coming to us with DNA discoveries—not only adoptees but those with misattributed parentage, individuals who are donor conceived, and others. Adoption Knowledge Affiliates started its DNA Discovery Peer Support Group in Sept. 2020, and ANC planned to start one in 2021. Adoption Network Cleveland and AKA are collaborating for the panel discussion on Feb. 2, and from there each will individually hold its own DNA Discovery Peer Support groups. People who might find more than one meeting a month helpful might like to have options.

How was ANC’s DNA Discoveries Peer Support group developed and conceived and why it was felt to be necessary?

At this point the majority of searches we assist with have a DNA component. In addition, we’d like to increase engagement of people with DNA discoveries beyond adoption-based situations. We have expertise in this area and would like to be a resource in a broad variety of situations. People are finding biological family or are being found; and they’re finding new information about their core identity, such as ethnicity, birth order, unexpected relatives, and more. There can be a wide range of reactions by those being found and those searching.

Many of the issues that folks are working through with a DNA discovery are the very same core issues experienced by the adoption community, such as loss, rejection, guilt and shame, grief, identity, intimacy, and control.

We felt uniquely positioned to offer support and guidance in a manner similar to what we have been doing through our General Discussion Meetings, which are open to anyone touched by adoption and/or foster care. Adoption Network Cleveland started holding these meetings more than 30 years ago, so we bring deep knowledge and the meetings evolve to meet current needs. More information about those meetings can be found here.

Adoptees who are using DNA to make these discoveries are excited to find new information and new relatives. It can be important to remember that we don’t know what this discovery might mean for the person on the other side, such as in the case of misattributed parentage for example, where someone might be learning that the man that raised them isn’t their biological father.

We wanted to create a safe place for people to speak about the emotional impact of these discoveries, in a confidential environment with people who have walked a similar journey and truly understand.

Are the groups being held via Zoom? Are they virtual as a consequence of COVID-19 or will they remain open to people from any location when virus restrictions lift?

We will be using Google Meet, which is a lot like Zoom. The DNA Discovery Peer Support Group and our General Discussion Meetings are free, but advance registration is required so that one can receive the link for the meeting. The meetings are the second Tuesday each month, 8-10 PM Eastern Time. Registration can be found on our calendar. We plan to assess and see once it’s off the ground if the meetings will remain structured virtually. Personally, I see this continuing as a virtual group if there is a demand.

How do you envision how these groups will go? Will each group meeting be facilitated? By you? What’s the goal and desired outcome?

Our group will be focusing on the emotional impact of DNA discoveries. This is something that all discoveries have in common, and this will be a place where people can really connect and provide understanding, another perspective, and support. Our DNA Discovery Peer Support Group and our General Discussion Meetings are facilitated by experienced volunteers who are supported and overseen by our staff. I will be assisting with the DNA Discovery Peer Support Group as needed, and, as a search specialist, I am available for individualized guidance, one-on-one search assistance, and support. The experienced volunteer facilitation team members chosen for the DNA Discovery group are both adoptees with their own personal DNA discoveries. The group they lead is shifting from being one of ANC’s six monthly General Discussion Meetings to meet this specific need.

Our goal with the DNA Discovery Peer Support Group is to provide a safe and supportive environment where people feel open to discuss a major life event—finding out new information about themselves and their identities. One does not need a connection to adoption to attend these meetings. We will be focused on supporting people throughout their journey and helping them to connect with others who truly understand how earth-shifting this can feel, how others have worked through their own discoveries, and the accompanying emotions. We understand these types of discoveries are not a one-time event, they are lifelong journeys. Connecting with others who have walked a similar path can help to normalize what can be an overwhelming experience.

What do you believe are the most significant issues, the most pressing concerns, for which people need support after a DNA Discovery?

Every situation is individual and unique, so it’s hard to generalize. However, the core issues that arise are very much the same that we know from adoption and permanency: loss, rejection, guilt and shame, grief, identity, intimacy, and control.

DNA testing has the power to unravel decades old secrets and can make individuals question their ideas of family, or religion, or even morality. I am a firm believer that everyone has a right to know their genetic heritage, but that does not mean anyone has a right to a relationship, as that is something for both parties to determine. Many people who take a DNA test do not think they will receive a result that might include a surprise such as a different ethnicity, or a new sibling, a different parent, an unknown child, a niece or cousin. Discoveries can also include learning one is adopted (late-discovery adoptees) or donor conceived. These can be a very powerful experiences and can upend long held beliefs.

In what ways do you believe peer support makes a difference? How does it help?

Connecting with others who have been there and understand can be normalizing and healing.

We have followed a peer support model for our General Discussion Meetings for more than 30 years with great success. We’ve welcomed those with DNA discoveries to these meetings as technology has evolved. It can be extremely valuable to hear the perspectives of other individuals who have walked a similar journey and truly understand. I’ve seen people make wonderful connections with each other and learn insights that might not have happened anywhere else. Peer support offers a place to work through some of the core issues such as loss, rejection, grief, identity, shame and guilt. Hearing how other’s work through their journeys provides a variety of options as we consider connecting with relatives and offers a chance to see how people have gained a sense of control over the experience of discovery, and not have it control them. Peer support also offers an opportunity for people who are farther along in their journey to give back.

What limitations are there, if any, to peer support? 

Peer support is not meant to take the place of therapy, and individual therapy can be a very powerful and healing experience. Accessibility can be a limitation for some.

In addition to the peer support group, ANC also offers a Monday evening speakers group. Can you tell us more about that?

Adoption Network Cleveland is a leader in bringing the adoption community together to create a network of support and advocacy. In this critical and uncertain time for all of us, we are pleased to offer a Monday Evening Speaker Series full of topics that are of interest to a broad audience impacted by adoption, kinship, and foster care. More information and recordings of past presentations can be found here.

Learn more about the DNA Discovery Peer Support special February 2 panel and the ongoing group here. And for information about other programs and events, click here.

Look for Adoption Network Cleveland on Facebook and Instagram and Twitter @adoptionnetcle. Look for Adoption Knowledge Affiliates on Facebook and onInstagram @aadoptionknowledgeaffiliates.Traci Onders is a search specialist at Adoption Network Cleveland (ANC). An adoptee herself, she’s facilitating ANC’s new DNA Discovery Peer Support Group special panel on February 2. 

Christina Bryan has an impressive portfolio of skills that make her exceedingly good at her work as a genetic and family investigator, but it’s her tenacity that drives her success where others may fail. Based in Marin County, California, she helps clients across the country cope with life-altering DNA test results and shocking family surprises, untangling misattributed parentage discoveries and locating their biological family members. Whether working with adoptees, donor-conceived adults, or others who’ve had a misattributed parentage experience (MPE), she employs an array of investigative strategies and doesn’t stop until she’s solved a client’s puzzle.

A Portland, Oregon native, Bryan moved to the Bay area to go to California State University, East Bay, where she earned a bachelor’s degree in sociology and became a performance analyst in the investment banking field. But after she took an autosomal DNA test in 2014, she found herself on a new career trajectory. She learned about the science of DNA, applied it to her own family tree, and began using her newfound skills to help others solve the puzzle of their parentage or better understand their ancestry. It quickly became apparent it wasn’t merely a hobby; it was a calling, as the nickname her clients have given her suggests—Super Sleuth.

In 2016, she began taking on complex cases for high profile clients and performing international and historical research. She’s in demand not only for her persistence but also for her intuition, which has helped her solve cases for attorneys and law enforcement personnel. She’s also co-host, with Jodi Klugman-Rabb, of Sex, Lies & the Truth, an entertaining and informative podcast about DNA surprises.

Bryan knows her job doesn’t begin and end with solving a case. She’s likely to encounter clients experiencing stress, trauma, identity confusion, and intense emotions related to their change of status within their family and she offers comfort, humor, and emotional support. Here she talks with us about her work.

Do you call yourself an investigator or a genetic genealogist?

I’ve toyed with the title several times and am currently settled on genetic and family investigator. I also do general investigative work that’s completely unrelated to DNA and family research, so I’ve removed genealogist completely from my title.

What do most clients want when they come to you?

Everyone wants answers and a deeper and honest understanding of their story. Who wouldn’t? Clients who’ve been adopted or are NPEs (not parent expected) frequently know very little about their biological truth. If a client is looking for a relationship, I think that’s great. When someone comes with an open heart and mind, I’m profoundly impressed. We know that the other side—the biological family being sought—may look at things very differently, and that’s what we ultimately prepare for. For example, those on the other side may not feel as though they’ve lost anything or maybe don’t want to be found just yet. They may not have an open heart or mind and they may reject you for reasons that would never have occurred to you. Some want a relationship, but not necessarily a parent/child relationship. Maybe they are wondering about siblings or cousins their own age. Finding someone for the client to connect with is important for me, regardless of who it is.

Do you ever have clients who don’t want to make contact but just want the information?

Many of those I’ve worked with over the years start out just wanting some information. It feels safer for them to learn in bits and pieces and not come out swinging. But as you can imagine, it becomes hard to do nothing when the details begin to appear. You see familiar faces or hear details that interest you and you need a next step.

Is it true that you almost always find what you’re seeking?

I do have two outstanding paternity cases that are my most difficult and remain unsolved. There are even two close DNA matches, but the family is covered in NPEs at every turn. I’ve been able to discern quite a bit about the circumstances, but just need one more match on each that turns the tide our way.

In those rare cases when you’re not successful, are there typical reasons?

I never close a case, so an unsolved case will always remain open and on my radar. The most common reason for a brick wall is multiple NPEs within a family. Sometimes I need to solve another NPE case within the same family before I can move forward. This is particularly difficult when you encounter a relative who doesn’t even know they have the NPE in their family. It’s not my place to share information with someone when they are not even looking (unless it clearly impacts the case). If they are researching Grandmas’s side, I wouldn’t volunteer “Guess what, Grandpa’s not really your Grandpa.” It’s hard to sit on my hands in those situations, but, with rare exceptions, I need to do only what I was hired to do.

One client—I’ll call her Jane—was looking to find out who her biological father was. One man who was a candidate had two sisters who were happy to provide DNA for comparison to Jane. While looking at the sisters, I noticed the DNA measurement was not consistent with them being full sisters. One was an NPE and didn’t know it. I did not share the information with them.

What’s been your most challenging case?

My most challenging case turned out to be one of my most rewarding in the end. The client and siblings were raised in a few different orphanages in London during the 1950s, where they endured extreme physical and sexual abuse, which has since been uncovered as widespread. The case also involved a cult, parents that didn’t want to be found, a cover-up at every turn, and quite a bit of pain and sorrow. Regardless, they’ve learned their story, and they needed to know it.

How do you advise clients to go about contacting any biological relatives you find?

I recommend sending a snail mail letter sent via FED-EX with a signature required—the direct adult signature required option. If you choose the FED-Ex indirect signature option, it may go to a neighbor if the addressee is not home. There’s just too much uncertainty with email and connecting through social media. Those are last-ditch efforts, as is sending a message to an individual’s workplace. And I always recommend not showing up to someone’s work or home.

Making contact through other people can sometimes be a critical mistake. Here’s an example. You find cousin Susie as a match on a DNA site. You directly ask cousin Susie if she’s heard any rumors about your birth mother, then proceed to share you are the long lost and possibly secret daughter or son. What if Susie tells the whole family before you’ve had a chance to contact your birth mother? It may feel like a violation of your birth mother’s privacy. I think giving the birth mother a chance to respond first is the respectful thing to do.

Now, if you’ve given the birth mother a chance to respond and, say, she declines, then you are free to speak to whomever you want. Every human is entitled to know and share their truth, period. I tend to recommend a one-month time limit for birth parents to respond before sending a follow-up message. Otherwise, it can just drag on and on.

What fears do people have about searching?

Rejection! Imagine after you’ve made the decision to search and you get the door slammed in your face. You’ve really got to be ready for that to happen.

Clients also relying on other people’s stories or outcomes as possibilities for them. For example, if they’ve heard a nightmare scenario from someone else who’s searched, they assume they will find the same. Many worry the biological mother had been raped or there was an affair or some other turbulent event. Though we know the reason can be much simpler than that, it’s hard to fathom a mother giving up a child or concealing the identity of the biological father for any other reason.

Rejection is a realistic fear. Attempted reunions don’t always turn out well and can, in fact, be heartbreaking. How do you help clients manage expectations and prepare for the possibility of rejection?

I play a little game called “what would you do/how would you feel.” It’s actually more like a game of interrogation, because it needs to be. I ask tough and uncomfortable questions that one might never have considered. Here are some examples from real cases.

For adoptees searching for their birthparents: how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your birth parents were married with a few children when they gave you up?
• they were married and went on to have more children after you were adopted?
• after finding your birth parents, they both wanted you to call them “Mom and Dad”?
• you contacted a birth parent and they completely denied you and insisted they never gave a child up for adoption?
• you learned you had a twin sibling that your birth parents kept?
• your adoptive parents were closely related to your biological parents?
• your biological parents were a different race than you were told?
• your parents were not the religion you’d been told they were?
•  if both of your birth parents were deceased?

Also, how would you feel about your adoptive parents, and would you be open to sharing the journey with them?

For NPEs searching for a biological father or paternal relatives, how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your biological father turned out to be your dad’s best friend?
• your mother had been sexually assaulted?
• your biological father was a prolific sperm donor who may have fathered dozens of children?

For all searchers, how would you feel or what would you do if:

• your biological family members thought they were too good for you and showed zero interest?
• you were lied to right to your face?
• you were mistreated by the people you’d been looking for?
• you found a biological parent who asked you not to tell your biological siblings anything?
• You found a biological family who pretends you don’t exist?
• you finally found your biological family and they wanted you to take care of them financially?
• you felt no connection at all to your biological family?

If you’re not prepared for any of these scenarios or responses, you may not be ready to reach out. You really need to be prepared for anything.

Do you continue to work with clients after you’ve found their family member/s? Do you work with them on next steps or on managing their emotions?

After spending a lot of time on a case, I’m pretty emotionally connected myself, as I should be. I’m always thankful and honored to have been part of someone’s search, regardless of the outcome. It can be such an emotional experience, and one of the biggest of their lives, and they are putting a lot of trust in me.

The reality is, the DNA part of the case can be a cinch. Nowadays, most people can log into a commercial DNA site and help someone find the answers they are looking for. There are thousands of search angels who can do just that. This is where I differentiate myself from some of the volunteer searchers. My real work is navigating the emotional pieces of the case and ensuring the search is tailor-made to each specific person. I call it crisis management, and I’m confident it’s where I do my best work.

Can you talk about some of those emotional pieces experienced by clients during this journey?

Fear: what are they going to find?

Rejection: what if their biological relatives don’t want them?

Sadness/sorrow: if their bio parents are deceased.

Shock/surprise: finding something they never expected.

Anger: at having missed out on something they needed.

Happiness/elation: finding exactly what they needed.

Settled/at peace: finally finding the answers, regardless of what they are.

Connection: making an instant bond

Disappointment: if they thought they would feel different

How can potential clients find you?

I don’t advertise or poach potential clients who are vulnerable from Facebook groups. I rely exclusively on word of mouth and referrals from past clients and family and friends. Generally, I receive an inquiry email or a call/text from potential clients. Anyone who needs help can find me at at my website, send a message to me at christina@dnasleuth.com, or call me at (415) 378-1993. And if you’d like to share your story on the Sex, Lies & the Truth podcast, I’d love to hear from you. You can even participate anonymously if you like.

COMING SOON, A NEW COLUMN

Check back soon for a new column, Dear Christina, in which Christina Bryan answers your questions about all aspects of search and reunion. “I’m a neutral party, so I look at these situations from both sides. That’s the best way to make a cohesive and successful process for the searchers,” she says. You can ask her anything from advice about searching to how to fix an outreach that didn’t go well. Or you could tell your story so Christina can advise you about how to proceed or validate your choices and make suggestions for readers.

BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles about NPEs, adoptees, and genetic genealogy.

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Tell us about your own NPE story to the extent you’re comfortable sharing it.

Seeing only 1% French was the red flag in my initial 23andMe DNA report. I was raised to believe I was significantly French and Norwegian. A few months later I took the Ancestry DNA test to compare from the same database that my sister had used. Those results produced the most shocking and traumatic day of my adult life. I had a half brother appear on my DNA results, and I didn’t have a brother as far as I knew. A trip over to my mother’s house an hour later produced more confusion, dismissal, and a host of secrets started to come out. Apparently, my mother and BF worked together in the 80s and had a one-night stand. My mother never told him she got pregnant and never saw him again, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. My mother still claims she didn’t know to this day. I think the most painful part of finding this out is how my mother, birth father, and newfound family have treated me in the aftermath.

How far into your own journey were you when you started your podcast?

Six weeks after I had my DNA shock I published my first trailer for the podcast calling for NPEs to share their story and giving a launch date of July 2019.

What compelled you to start the podcast?

The only comfort I had in those first few weeks of shock was reading other NPE stories on the forums online. I was nodding along with their written stories and scrolling for hours and hours. I would read aloud parts of other NPE stories to my husband at all hours of the day and night. I wanted to be able to listen to these stories as I walked around the house and did my errands. I knew I couldn’t continue to sit in front of a computer the rest of my life but I wanted to bring the comfort of finding others like me everywhere I went. I searched “NPE” on the podcast platforms and at the time did not find anything like it so decided I would produce my own. I realize now I could have used other terms and certainly found other podcasts with these stories on them, but with my limited knowledge at the time I was unable to find other podcasts.

Did you initially find NPEs very willing to speak out, or did you have to coax people to share?

I have only ever asked one guest. My first one I had to search for on reddit; I was too afraid to ask anyone on the DNA sites because I didn’t want to break the rules and get kicked off if they considered it “self-promotion.” After that I’ve had a pretty steady stream of people who reach out. I’m booked for 22 weeks out. I can only handle about one guest a week at this time because I do everything myself including scheduling, recording, and editing. I’m only a hobbyist—I’m literally learning everything as I go.

I believe stories benefit the teller as well as the audience. From your experience sharing people’s stories, can you talk a little about the ways the stories help the listeners, and the ways telling the stories helps the storytellers?

I know every story I record is sacred. Somebody out there is listening and nodding along in relief. A lurker, or perhaps a new NPE bingeing on stories all night long when they can’t sleep from the overwhelming grief they are experiencing. I get emails from listeners saying they have been listening or bingeing all night long to some of these episodes.

As for the storytellers, I wish I could explain the relief, giddiness, and joy I hear in their voices after I sign off. Some of what they tell me afterwards is pure gold, but of course off the record after I’ve stopped recording. They all sound like a weight has been lifted off their shoulders; sometimes they’re exhausted and yawning. I leave every recording session feeling filled with empathy and love for my fellow NPEs.

Why do you think storytelling and sharing is so important for NPEs?

I don’t think most NPEs receive true understanding and empathy from people. We get it. We can empathize with each other’s heartbreak, confusion, anger, and, sometimes, joy. Finding a community has been life-saving for me in this journey.

In one episode you mentioned that you sought therapy after your NPE discovery. Can you talk about how you chose a therapist and whether it was difficult to find someone who understood NPE issues?

I chose a therapist by pure panic. I literally had a panic attack at 3 a.m. a few weeks after my DNA discovery and thought I was going to be hospitalized. The next morning I called my clinic and got in with the first available intake appointment they had. No research went into it, and I happened to be paired with a cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) practitioner. I gained tools, but I don’t know what the “right” therapy is for anyone. I literally had to take it a moment at a time and fill my entire world with NPE everything, including reading articles on Severance Magazine, and joining online support groups.

You mentioned at the end of the episode in which you tell your own story that you’re not an expert. That’s something I feel strongly about—people, even other NPEs, trying to speak for everyone, wanting to be spokespersons for NPEs. I believe each of us is an expert on our own experience, but none of us can speak for everyone. Can you address that, whether you agree or disagree and why?

I don’t know anything. I joke with other NPEs that I’m waiting for someone to write the handbook on how to guide us through our DNA discovery. I get skeptical when I hear anyone opine on what I should do with my family members or what I should be feeling. Especially the online threads on forgiveness, or forgiveness-shaming as I like to call it. We can each only share our own personal experience, and I agree that none of us can speak for everyone. Sometimes we share experiences, and in that moment of understanding and empathy we can all nod along with each other. Those are the moments I like.

Have you seen many commonalities as you hear more and more stories? What issues resonate most?

Yes, the mothers. I hear the same mother being described in so many NPE stories. Self-centeredness sometimes appears in many of their stories. Actually many of the parents involved, including birth-fathers, have a thread of self-centeredness woven in. I realize this is rooted in shame and self-protection, but all the same it exists in so many NPEs stories.

What has surprised you in the stories you’ve heard?

I still get surprised every week. I actually have to take notes the whole time to keep up with all the family members and timeline. I have been surprised by the violence I find out about. It makes me a little sick with the rape, murder, and child abuse I have heard and read about. My heart breaks whenever I imagine an NPE as a helpless child in some of these circumstances.

Is there anything else you’d want readers to know about NPE Stories?

I merely consider myself an organizer for the podcast NPE Stories. It’s a safe space where NPEs can share audible versions of their stories. I may help them along with a few questions, but I try to leave room for them to fill the space in their own words. It’s not live, is completely editable, and can be anonymous if the guest prefers.

Are you seeking NPEs to tell their stories, and if so, how would you like them to contact you?

I have a rather long waitlist, but if someone doesn’t mind scheduling 6 months in advance, I go in the order of emails received. I record everyone’s story who is willing, and I can be reached at NPEstories@gmail.com for scheduling. I have a Facebook page, NPE Stories, and I’m on Instagram @lilymwood.Lily Wood, host of NPE Stories, is a 39-year-old stay-at-home mom of three children. When she and her husband, Graham,  were in their twenties, they started an app development company that’s since been acquired by Buzzfeed. In addition to raising her family and hosting the podcast, she volunteers with the American Red Cross as a disaster worker. BEFORE YOU GO…

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