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.

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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. 

By Aimee Rose-HaynesDirect-to-consumer DNA testing via Ancestry, 23andMe, and other companies has rapidly replaced the arduous tasks of hands-on library research, grave searching, and contacting strangers for the purposes of finding long-lost relatives—a tremendous advance since just a decade ago, when locating biological family or records to validate family lineage was a near impossible feat.

While these tests—which rely on saliva samples—are simple, quick, and affordable, interpreting the results is often a confusing and time-intensive process.

An International Case

In November 2019, I took on a special challenge that illustrated the tenacity needed to solve cases. The case involved a search for records from Panama and Columbia to help determine the client’s origins. Bob called on DNAngels to help him find his mother’s biological father. Ann, his mother, was born in New York in 1961 and raised by an Italian-American mother and stepfather. Her mother refused to tell her who her biological father was and took his name to the grave. Ann thought that was it—that she’d never know her paternal family—and gave up on the thought of trying to find him.

Bob, wanting to help his mother in any way possible, ordered Ancestry DNA tests for her, himself, his sister, and a few other relatives. Once he received the kits, he mailed them back immediately in hopes of finding the man Ann had spent decades wondering about and answering her questions. Was he tall? Was he a nice man? Where was he raised? What were his parents like? What did he look like?

Bob found the results that arrived a few weeks later both exciting and confusing. Ann’s ethnicity report had significant amounts of Spanish, Panamanian, and Columbian heritage. This gave them their first clue about where her biological father could be from. For Bob, looking at the numbers and trying to figure what it all meant was like trying to read a foreign language. He needed help.

The Search
Bob contacted DNAngels in the autumn of 2019 for help solving his mother’s DNA parentage puzzle. I requested access to his family tree and his mother’s DNA and went to work. I started by sorting his matches and separating Ann’s maternal and paternal lines. This was very easy to do since Bob had gotten tests for so many people in the family.

I looked at Ann’s matches and anticipated that the matching process would be difficult. Ann had six matches in the range of 108 centimorgans (cM) to 184 cM. A cM is a unit of measurement representing the length of DNA shared by two DNA matches. Testing companies use an approximate range of roughly 8 cM to  3,700 cM to determine relationships. The higher the cM, the more closely one is related to a match, with 3,700 indicating a parent/child relationship. I began by looking at the trees of all of Ann’s matches to try to isolate a most recent common ancestor (MRCA). Unable to get very far, I updated Bob, with whom I was in daily contact at this point in the process.

Bob informed me that some additional family members had also taken a 23andMe DNA test, and with their login information in hand, I hoped to locate a missing puzzle piece. I had handwritten charts, sticky notes, and highlighted names all over the living room table and floor for nearly two months for this case!

I was able to build a tree based on Ann’s 186 cM match and discovered that Ann’s great grandparents and second great grandparents were the same couple. This indicated that Ann’s 186 cM match was inflated due to endogamy—the custom of marrying only within the limits of a local community, clan, or tribe. So that became another puzzle to work through. Complicating things still further was that two matches on 23andMe were uninterested in helping.

Nonetheless, I persisted, finally finding an MRCA and building the family tree, which included 9 children. I then began linking Ann’s DNA matches to the familial lines that were slowly coming together and soon was able to eliminate three lines, leaving five lines left to trace.

I began researching, reading through US, Columbian, and Panamanian newspaper clippings—obituaries and public records including port arrivals and departures—as well as social media, searching for anything that might help expand this family tree. Bob was also relentless in helping to track and contact anyone in these family lines.

I never imagined I would ever use what I’d learned in Mr. Flores’ high school Spanish class; if I had, I’d have paid more attention back then. Bob sent me messages and voice recordings from potential family members, most of which were in Spanish. Using Google Translate much more than I’d like to admit, I learned a few important things necessary to solve this case.

Bob had discovered that the MRCAs had taken in and adopted two sons. A week later, I discovered that another son had never left Panama. This narrowed the search from five family lines to two and the details finally started to come together.

Now left with two brothers as potential candidates for Ann’s grandfather, Bob and I were excited as we got closer to solving the case. By this point, I’d worked on this daily for about 10 weeks and refused to give up. I continued digging even deeper into these two men, John and William, trying to place either man from Columbia in New York, where he might have met Ann’s grandmother.

William was born in Columbia, and I located a record of him having lived in New York. He actually married someone who was related to Ann’s maternal line. This union proved he had been in the same area as Ann around the time she was born. William had 2 daughters and a special needs son who was eliminated as a suspected biological father. Bob, who had been in contact with one of William’s daughters at this time, had William’s granddaughter tested, which revealed that she shared 236 cM with Ann. This excluded William, because if he’d been Ann’s paternal grandfather, his granddaughter would be expected to match Ann at a half niece relationship (Ann and the granddaughter’s mother would be half-sisters), or about 600 cM to 1,300 cM.

John, the other potential grandfather to Ann, was a soldier in the U.S. Army who was killed in action in Korea. I found a port arrival record showing he came to New York in 1928. I also found a record indicating he married in New York a year later. He would go on to have daughters as well as three sons—Manny, Greg, and Jake.

Manny died in infancy, and Greg couldn’t be located, so Jake was the only possible relative to search for. If Jake were still living, he’d have been roughly 90 years old. Fortunately, one of the cousins Bob had contacted knew that Jake was still living and was in New York. That cousin helped Bob get in touch with Sam, one of Jake’s sons, who was shocked when Bob told him DNAngels had discovered his father might have been Ann’s biological father. He was intrigued and willing to help. Bob sent him a DNA test in late January 2020 to confirm the suspicion.

While Bob waited on pins and needles for Sam’s test to come back, I stayed busy and continued to research and build the family tree. Sam’s test came back on March 6, 2020, revealing that Ann and Sam matched at 1,455 cM, confirming a half sibling relationship. Jake was her biological father. Bob sent a DNA test to Jake, the results of which showed a 3,299 cM—an amount signifying a parent-child relationship. I’d solved Ann’s case after nearly five months.

Ann went from knowing nothing about her paternal line to not only knowing her father’s name but also being able to meet him. She now has 9 half-siblings as well as several aunts, uncles, and cousins. Jake’s family has welcomed her and her family into their lives with open hearts.

Never give up!If you have a question you’d like to see answered in a future column, send it to bkjax@icloud.com.Aimee Rose-Haynes is a lead genetic genealogist for DNAngels and a member of the International Society of Genetic Genealogy and the National Genealogical Society. She has 20 years of traditional genealogy and 6 years of genetic genealogy experience.

Stephanie Leslie and Margaret Renner also contributed to this article.DNAngels, an organization dedicated to DNA results interpretation and more, was founded by Laura Leslie-Olmsted in February 2019 with the goal of helping not parent expected (NPE), adopted, and donor-conceived clients find their biological families. Seven months after being founded, it became a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. In 2019, the team solved approximately 550 cases; in 2020, it solved 697 cases, and it expects to continue to increase those numbers in 2021. DNAngels has a 92% case solve rate, which means the majority of its clients find the answers to their parentage mysteries. In 2021, it is dedicating every month to a specific theme. The theme for January is “Never Give Up” to highlight DNAngels’ dedication to finding answers for the 8% unsolved or “on hold” cases. Learn more about DNAngels at its website, and find it on Twitter @Dnangels4 and on Instagram @Dnangelsorg.

By Andromeda Romano-LaxThe gossip reaches me on New Year’s Eve, two days after my birthday—worth mentioning only because birthdays often put me in a reflective state that can easily turn to melancholy, and this year is no different. I’m in Mexico City, on vacation, about to go to dinner with my husband, mood beginning to lift. Then I receive the email from my sister.

It reads: “Considering that Mom could pass any day, I thought I should tell you a.s.a.p. in case you don’t know about it, which I assume you don’t.”

The news she shares is second-hand gossip from an old family “friend” who showed up to visit my mother—then dying of brain cancer—to reminisce, burn private letters and relive the good old days. The friend, who played little part in any of our lives for decades, revealed to another family member that my father wasn’t really my father. That person told the sister who emailed me. Now I’m the last in the four-person chain to find out.

As for my mom: she’s not talking, and never will, which isn’t surprising given her love of secrets and lifelong fear of being judged for parenting errors. Her fears are valid. I do judge her, most of all for not keeping my sisters safe when we were all younger.

Before leaving our hotel room to go to dinner, I reply to my sister: “That’s a big surprise! How lucky I don’t feel especially attached to ‘Dad’ or his side of the family or it could be upsetting.”

I take pride in my stoic response and the fact that I severed relations years ago with our late father—an undeniably “bad man.” But that stoicism is really only disorientation. I have no idea, at this time, that my identity and much of what I’d thought about both my parents will have to be recalibrated.

I never would have imagined that my mom, a self-identified, non-practicing Catholic with an affinity for the Virgin Mary, probably had multiple affairs when she was still married to her first husband, who came from a large Sicilian-Polish family. But there was a lot about our family I never suspected until each bomb dropped: for example, when, at age 14, I learned that my two older sisters, then 16 and 19, had been molested for years by the sweet-tempered, funny and charming man we called “Dad.”

The truth came out in jarring bursts. I remember a confusing scene in our living room when my sisters, in some argument with my mother, summoned the courage or rage to tell her what had happened to them. I can’t recall any words from my mom’s side, only my oldest sister’s repeating howls: “Oh no, oh no, oh no.” Until that point, she’d thought she was the only one. The knowledge that she hadn’t managed to stop the predator she knew well from seeking a second, even weaker prey—our middle sister—shattered her.

I remember a second confusing scene later that year, when our middle sister was locked in a downstairs bathroom. Her boyfriend called to tell me I needed to break down the door. Inside, she was trying to take her life. The boyfriend—bless his bravery and candor—told me why. It was Dad, again. I don’t know who made the 911 call. I do know I found my sister’s unconscious body. While everyone else converged at the hospital, I was left home alone to clean up the blood.

My parents divorced when I was three. The last time I saw my dad I was fourteen. I have no memory of him ever touching me. I find it incredible, even now, to think about the lengths he went to abuse my sisters—using not only emotional manipulation but also drugs and travel across international borders to conceal what he was doing. In other words, he was not only giving in briefly to unhealthy urges—as if that isn’t bad enough. He planned his molestation. He took steps to avoid prosecution.

After connecting the dots between his strategic, predatory behavior and my sisters’ exceptionally difficult teen years, I refused to see our father again, and he made no effort to ask why I’d stopped calling or hadn’t attended his father’s funeral. I think he felt a cold wind blowing. I think he knew there was at least one person—and maybe more—who had seen under his mask. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he retired to Mexico not too many years later. He died when I was in my late thirties.

And now, in my mid-forties, I’m being told that he wasn’t my biological father after all.

***

After the surprise settles and the DNA swab test results are returned, I look for the silver lining. He was a sick, morally bankrupt person. Isn’t it better to think I share no genes with him or any of his ancestors? Not that I believe pedophilia or an inclination to abuse is passed along genetically. No doubt his actions were a result of his environment. I have every reason to suspect my grandfather sexually abused his own daughters (my father’s sisters) as well. It’s even possible that my father was himself abused. Perhaps—the thought evolves in my mind as time passes—it was even condoned.

“Better to keep it in the family,” is the horrible phrase that comes to mind.

For a long time, I’m tempted to blame heritage, poverty, or lack of education for the practices that seemed accepted—though never openly talked about—in my father’s family. Even now I can cite recent news from Italy, where in some parts of the country, incest and sexual abuse are condoned. (In Italy, incest is illegal only if it “provokes scandal,” which sounds terrible, until you consider that in Spain, France and Portugal, it isn’t illegal, period.)

But any quick survey, like easy finger-pointing at priests or coaches or other groups, overlooks the fact that sexual abuse is discouragingly common everywhere. Writes Mia Fontaine in a story called “America has an incest problem” in The Atlantic, “One in three-to-four girls, and one in five-to-seven boys are sexually abused before they turn 18, an overwhelming incidence of which happens within the family.” Those figures are underestimates, due to underreporting.

If incest was preferable in my father’s family to affairs with grown women or molestation of children outside the family, then I have one answer to the question of why a non-biological child would be left alone. But did my father know I wasn’t his child? He never deprived me of appropriate affection. I felt loved, even when, at the age of 13, I cut off my hair and went through a punk phase that would last years.

Maybe that punk phase and my insistence on androgyny—or my manner, a “don’t FUCK with me” vibe that I mastered well before I had any reason to suspect my father of being a child molester, was one reason I was left alone, completely apart from blood relations. That’s what I would have said, as a young adult.

It’s comforting to think we have agency. It’s even more reassuring to think we can fashion the right armor for ourselves, and that perhaps some of us know, subconsciously, that such armor is needed. But it would be dangerous—as well as self-serving—to assume that one can so easily guarantee one’s own safety by acting or dressing a certain way. Life teaches us otherwise.

There are other possibilities, like birth order or simple opportunity, to explain why I wasn’t violated—or not violated yet—in the time before I broke off contact. (And note: I made that choice at the age of 14. My mother registered no opinion or even said a negative word about my father, as I can recall—clinging to her belief that it’s better not to judge people. She was frighteningly consistent, if nothing else.)

In any case, I was lucky—at least once, and maybe twice. Lucky because I was left untouched. Lucky again, because I was, and still am, free to imagine my biological father was a better person than the first man my mother married.

*

After my DNA surprise, a cousin reaches out and offers to help find my bio-dad. I’m reluctant. My own family history has convinced me to beware fathers, generally. There’s a good chance I’ll leave one “Dad” behind only to find a new one with his own character flaws or criminal background—someone who might want to take advantage of me. Even as an adult, I feel emotionally vulnerable.

My “amateur detective” cousin keeps sending messages—she enjoys these kinds of searches and excels at them—and I finally relent. Less than a month later, she introduces me to the identity of my bio-dad. His photo and other details provided by his living siblings leave no doubt. I experience the shock of seeing my own features, as well as that of my adult son, in the face of a stranger. I experience the double-shock of realizing this matters to me, when I thought it wouldn’t. I can’t stop clicking on the digital photos sent to me of his face at three ages—young boy, adolescent, twenty-something man—and finding them both familiar and somehow comforting.

More details emerge. My biological father is no longer alive, having died in an accident just a week before my birth. His long-ago passing was both tragic—not only for him and his family but probably for my late mother, who must have spent that final week of pregnancy in deep grief. But in a strange way, in addition to sadness and belated sympathy, I feel relief. I have nothing to fear from this new biological relative. I can accept without wariness or doubt the good details I hear: that he was a kind brother, for example.

Even with a new father to think about, I spend more time mulling the old one—trying to find consolation in knowing that we aren’t related. Given the frequency of DNA surprises, how many people are at first relieved to discover they aren’t related to a parent who was a murderer, or carrying some heritable disease, or simply unlucky in life? Especially if we are the children of someone who did something heinous, the ground shifts. We struggle to regain our footing, hoping to land in a better spot than we were before.

And yet, that’s not the whole story, either. As the news continues to sink in over the next year, I realize I’ve lost a lot. Anyone who has experienced a DNA-testing surprise may understand. Now, my sisters are only half-sisters, and my mother has been proven to be not only a person who hid the truth, but someone who wouldn’t relent even when asked directly, smiling in response to my sister’s questions. If she’d become upset, I would have sympathized. But a Cheshire-cat smile, tickled by the power of what she had to withhold? That’s harder to forgive.

My already-small extended family is further diminished. I can no long claim the great grandparents—one of them, a polyglot—on my father’s side. When my mother and aunt die in the same year, I’m without older relatives altogether, aside from my sisters. The family tree I thought I knew, already pruned by divorce, has been hacked to pieces and carted away.

I lose any sense of connectedness with living cousins—people I barely knew anyway, because we all mostly stopped talking when I stopped seeing my father. He refused to explain why we weren’t in contact, leaving them to assume that he was the puzzled victim of some conflict initiated by me and my sisters. Now, through social media, a few of my cousins send tactful messages, saying I’m still “family.” It doesn’t feel that way to me, especially given how little we all interacted for decades, but I am grateful for their kindness.

The biggest loss—and the one I’ve least anticipated—is how deeply sorry I am to have lost my Italian-American heritage. For most of my life, I’ve looked in the mirror and imagined that my calves were Roman calves, my nose an Italian nose, my stature and dark coloring and love of wine and Italian food all explicable, and meaningful, because it connected me to a rich heritage. By the time I find out Dad isn’t my bio-dad, I’ve traveled to Italy twice—the second time to write a novel set there.

Now, that novel and all the emotions attached to it seem distant. But another fictional representation of my family angst takes its place.

This month will mark the publication of the most personal novel I’ve ever written, called Annie and the Wolves. It’s the story of a modern-day historian who finds her life intertwined with that of her subject, Annie Oakley. In both historical and modern storylines, characters struggle to recover from abuse. As it happens, one of America’s great icons, an 1800s sharpshooter who took the world by storm, she was molested too—in this case, by a farm family called “the Wolves” who held her captive when she was between the ages of ten to twelve.

It doesn’t take a psychologist to imagine why I was drawn to that plot.

In my novel, which takes place across a century, characters struggle to remember, to uncover dark family secrets and deal with vengeful desires—all in the hopes of finding a way forward.

My own path includes exactly this: finding a way, through both fiction and nonfiction, to deal with my family’s legacy and my own confused feelings. I’ve been liberated from one connection. But in another way, I feel more chained to my father and his story than ever—unable to shake them off. You’ll notice I still choose to call him “Dad” and “my father.” It’s a choice I’ve made only recently, in part to be more honest with the influence he had on me, from birth at least until age fourteen. Biology isn’t everything. I’ve spent time thinking about his upbringing, wondering why he did what he did and what he, himself, may have suffered.

The man I grew up loving was almost certainly a victim who passed along his damage to others, repeating what was done to him. He wasn’t really a monster, of course. But he was a predator—someone who hunted his prey with cunning.

Regardless of any blood connection, he’s a wolf I’ve had to confront—one who still prowls the dark corners of my mind.Andromeda Romano-Lax is the author of Annie and the Wolves (Soho, Feb. 2, 2021) as well as four other novels. She lives in British Columbia, Canada. You can visit her website and find her on Instagram.

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.

• 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.

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…

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.

It was a movement waiting to happen. It only needed a catalyst. Enter Dr. Laura Schlessinger, an unapologetic bully and “infotainment” therapist masquerading as a helping professional. Host of the Dr. Laura program, heard daily on SiriusXM Radio, Schlessinger bills herself as a “talk radio and podcast host offering no-nonsense advice infused with a strong sense of ethics, accountability and personal responsibility.” A Los Angeles marriage and family therapist, she’s no stranger to controversy. For example, there was criticism when it became known that in the early days of her television program her staff posed as guests, and outrage when two decades ago she declared that homosexuality was “a biological error” and made racist comments that temporarily derailed her radio career. Now, her SiriusXM program, with an audience of eight million listeners, doesn’t shy away from the sensationalism that ratchets up the ratings.

Recently, she directed her venom at NPEs (not parent expected.)

In the program’s July 7 Call of the Day, “My Mom Never Told Me the Truth,” Torri, the caller seeking Dr. Laura’s help, stated she wasn’t sure how to continue on in her relationship with her mother after recently learning her dad wasn’t her biological father. Schlessinger asked if the man who raised her was nice. After Torri responded that he was, Schlessinger launched into an assumption-filled toxic diatribe. She berated Torri, asking “What in the hell is wrong with you?” When Torri tried to explain she was upset by her mother’s lying, Schlessinger responded by saying, “So what? So what? Who gives a shit?” She continued to defend Torri’s mother while dismissing and disparaging the vulnerable caller, leaving Torri barely able to speak. “I seriously would rather smack you across the head than anything else right now, you ungrateful little twit. You insensitive, ungrateful twit.” When Torri, after a stunned silence, tried to respond, Schlessinger interrupted. “You’re a twit for saying that. You’re a twit for repeating it.” She continued for several excruciating minutes to bully and berate her caller.

Word of the episode spread quickly among adoptees, donor-conceived people, NPEs, and others affected by separation from biological family. As more and more people listened to the podcast, outrage surged from one Facebook group to another like jolts of electricity. Soon, members responded to Schlessinger on her website and on social media, many demanding an apology, some clamoring for a boycott of her program, and others calling for the radio host to be stripped of her license to practice psychotherapy. The complaints appeared to fall on deaf ears as the complainers were quickly blocked from Schlessinger’s social media accounts. A post on her Facebook page overrun with comments about the episode, however, was quickly shut down.

Therapists soon weighed in as well. Jodi Klugman-Rabb, LMFT, wrote an article about Schlessinger’s breach of provider ethics, and Eve Sturges, LMFT and host of a podcast, “Everything’s Relative,” released an “emergency” episode to bring awareness to the issue.

I grew angrier by the day, says DNAngels’ search angel Ashley Frazier, “and on July 1, I put out a call in all the groups I’m in that it was time to speak up and let our voices be heard. Torri’s call was a rallying cry for members of our communities, who are often faced with rejection and the judgment of people in their lives who share the views of Dr. Laura, simply for wanting to know the truth about their genetic identity.”

When a friend shared with her a link to the show, Erin Cosentino, of the Facebook group NPE Only: After the Discovery, couldn’t bring herself to listen at first. “It took me a few hours to work up the courage,” she says. Reading the comments first inspired her to move ahead. “So many people were in support of Dr. Laura’s comments, and I was sickened by that, so I listened.” She and her friends spent days discussing the podcast and debating about what to do and how to educate the people who supported Dr. Laura. Then she saw the post written by Ashley Frazier. “It was so in line with everything my friends and I had been discussing that I asked permission to share it. I was meant to see it. It was meant to be. Within minutes we were planning.”

“We spent the evening messaging about strategy,” says Frazier. “Our plans quickly evolved into the two of us starting a group together, and by morning we had a group chat with more than 30 people discussing bigger plans than we could ever have imagined. Within 24 hours, we had our own private group formed with nearly 100 members brainstorming and offering to help achieve our mission.”

What they created that evening is the Coalition for Genetic Truth, which has united 27 NPE, adoptee, late discovery adoptee (LDA), search angel, and donor/surrogacy conceived support groups with combined memberships totaling more than 105,000 people.

The coalition now has both a public and a private group on Facebook whose 400 members include individuals from the various communities as well as their allies. Frazier and Cosentino quickly assembled a team of friends and fellow advocates to moderate the groups and represent all of the various communities with a stake in issues related to genetic identity—Laura Leslie, Emily Ripper, Kayla Branch, Annie Persico, Cindy Olson McQuay, Cassandra Adams, and Kathleen Shea Kirstein.

“The initial goal of the coalition was to raise our voices to speak out against Schlessinger’s abusive treatment of Torri,” says Frazier. “But we very quickly realized there were more effective ways to spread our mission in a positive manner,” adds Cosentino.

At first they focused on sending email messages, making phone calls, issuing a press release, and creating a petition that’s now been signed by more than 1,300 people calling for an apology from Schlessinger. “Realistically, we know we’re not going to get an apology. This step was simply a springboard to get to our greater mission, which is to be a united voice that gets the community and the public talking and recognizing that there’s a need for education about the importance of knowing one’s genetic identity,” she adds. It’s important, she says, for the burgeoning population of identity-disenfranchised people to be able to find their way to these communities “and know that there are tens of thousands of people in our support groups who can truly understand what they’re going through, give advice based on experience, and support them without judgment. As hard as our friends and families try to be supportive, they can’t put themselves in our shoes and often make hurtful and dismissive comments, such as ‘This doesn’t change anything,’ or ‘Your dad’s still your dad.”

Equally important as connecting community members to resources, says Frazier, “is to educate our known and newfound family members and friends about how they can better support us during this difficult time. There’s also a huge need to educate mental health professionals about this important issue and enable them to provide resources to their clients.”

Join the public or private Facebook group and follow the coalition on Twitter @GeneticTruth and on Instagram at #coalitionforgenetictruth.Among the members of the Coalition for Genetic Truth are the following.*

ADVOCACY

Right To Know On Twitter and Instagram @righttoknowus and on Facebook 

COUNSELING/THERAPY

Eve Sturges, LMFT: a licensed marriage and family therapist in Los Angeles. On Twitter and Instagram: @evesturges

NPE Counseling Collective: group of therapists specializing in best therapeutic practices for the NPE community.

Jodi Klugman-Rabb, LMFT: a licensed marriage and family therapist and creator of Parental Identity Discovery (see NPE Counseling Training below). On Twitter @JodiRabb, Instagram @jkrabbmft, and Facebook

FACEBOOK GROUPS

Note: Not all groups are open to everyone. Check the “About” section of each group for restrictions and to determine whether you are eligible to become a member.

Adoptees, NPEs, Donor Conceived & Other Genetic Identity Seekers

Adoptees Only: Found/Reunion The Next Chapter On Instagram @adopteesonly

Adoption Search & Support by DNAngels — Adoptee/LDA

DNAngels Search & Support — NPE/DC

DNA Surprises

Donor Conceived People

Donor Conceived People in/Around NY

Friends of Donor Conceived Individuals

Hiraeth Only: Longing for Home

The Mindful NPE On Twitter and Instagram @TheMindfulNPE

MPE Cross Cultural Connections

MPE Jewish Identity Surprise

NPE Counseling Collective

NPE Only: After the Discovery On Twitter @NPEsOnly1

Pacific NW MPE Life

GENETIC GENEALOGISTS/SEARCH ANGELS

DNAngels On Twitter @DNAngels4 and Instagram @DNAngelsorg

Enlighten DNA: Email: Truth@enlightenDNA.org

MEDIA

Severance Magazine On Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag and Facebook

NPE COUNSELING TRAINING

Parental Identity Discovery

PODCASTS

NPE Stories, hosted by Lily Wood

Everything’s Relative with Eve Sturges

Sex, Lies & the Truth, hosted by Jodi Klugman-Rabb and Christina Bryan Fitzgibbons

Find more resources about adoptees, NPEs, donor-conceived people, and others with genetic identity concerns in the “Resources” tab top right here.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.

Libby Copeland is an award-winning journalist, former Washington Post staff author and editor, and author of The Lost Family: How DNA Testing is Upending Who We Are, published in March 2020 by Abrams Press.How long did you spend researching and writing The Lost Family?

Altogether, about three years. I first wrote about Alice Collins Plebuch’s fascinating genetic detective story in The Washington Post in early 2017. The response to that story, which was hundreds of emails from other consumers sharing intimate and moving DNA testing stories, convinced me the topic needed to be a book, and I started researching for the proposal soon afterward. But the bulk of the work was done during 2018 and 2019. In The Lost Family, I revisit Alice’s story and tell it much more fully. I was able to travel to Washington State and spend time with her, as well as do historical research going back a hundred years to illuminate her family’s astonishing story. And as I follow her story, I also tell many other tales from people I Interviewed—wrenching, moving stories of how this technology is changing how we see ourselves and how we talk to one another, not to mention how we think about truth and the past.

What so intrigued you initially that you were willing to devote so much time and attention to this issue? Did you realize early on how complex the subject would be?

I was really intrigued by the idea that questions about genetic origins and family could lead individuals, families, and the culture at large to deep explorations of essential human questions about identity, what makes a family, and how we define ethnicity. The science was indeed quite complex, and so were the experiences of people affected by this technology. I got to interview a lot of genetic genealogists about their techniques and the history of the field, and to tour a DNA testing lab and speak with a number of scientists and historians about human genetics and autosomal DNA testing. But really, it was the deeply human stories that moved me most. The emails from readers and the stories I heard from other people I interviewed sometimes moved me to tears. There were stories of adoptees searching for family, of donor-conceived individuals defining and building relationships with half-siblings and donor fathers, of people discovering NPEs and struggling to incorporate that news with everything they’d known before. I was really interested in the idea that this technology was touching the most intimate parts of people’s lives and changing them forever. I was intrigued, too, by the idea that the past is not really over. It’s still very present in people’s lives, and DNA testing—and all that it can uncover—is prompting people to reassess what they thought they knew about things that happened 50, 60, 70 years ago.

Of all the seekers you spoke with, what story touched you most?

There are so many stories! It’s hard to pick one. There’s a very moving story in the book about a foundling who was left on a doorstep in the 1960s and adopted. Years later, she went looking for her biological family in order to know where she’d come from and to understand the context for having been given up. Her name is Jacqui. The genetic genealogist CeCe Moore helped Jacqui and suggested I interview her because she thought Jacqui’s story was so poignant and because she wanted people to see the range of ways that DNA testing stories can play out. Jacqui’s story is reflective of the fact that, as one mental health counselor put it to me, reunions aren’t always “happy” ones, even though those tend to be predominant in news stories.

Jacqui’s sisters on both sides have largely declined to have relationships with her; one set of sisters even decided they don’t believe that she’s their relative, despite clear evidence from DNA results. There are certainly happy reunion stories, and I write about a number of them in the book. But Jacqui’s story is equally important for people to read because she expresses her desire for connection with her siblings in a heartfelt, evocative, and relatable way. And yet, her truth is so threatening to her siblings that they decline and even deny the connection. There’s no easy solution to this kind of problem, and the complexity of it—and the way genetic relations who are essentially strangers can feel themselves to have hugely different interests from one another—illustrates how much we need to grapple with the legacy of what DNA testing is uncovering. I would argue there needs to be vastly better support for the millions of Americans trying to navigate these situations.

As you talk to people about DNA testing (consumers and potential consumers) what have you found to be most misunderstood?

I think if it hasn’t happened to you, it can be difficult to understand just how disorienting it is to discover that your own genetic origins are not what you long believed. From my interviews with people over months and sometimes years, I’ve come to understand that these revelations are not rapidly processed and incorporated into a person’s reality; indeed, the process of understanding a profound surprise go on for years, perhaps for a lifetime. A DNA surprise can pose questions about a consumer’s relationship with her parents, her understanding of her childhood, her sense of where she belongs, and her orientation on the world. These revelations can be traumatic, even if people are ultimately glad to know the truth about themselves. Those two things—experiencing pain as a result of a revelation yet not wishing to un-know it—might appear to be in conflict with one another, but they’re not.

On the other hand, the perspectives of those being sought out—I refer to them as “seekees”—are not told nearly as much, and are not as well understood. Those who don’t want contact with genetic kin and don’t want these revelations uncovered are much less likely to want to tell their stories. There can be happy reunions between parents and children or between siblings, but sometimes there’s a painful clash of interests. A seeker approaching her genetic father may be seen as threatening by that father, or by that father’s wife, or by the children he raised. There may be shame, guilt, and embarrassment on the part of the genetic father or mother. The decision not to have a relationship with a child or to even speak about having had a child may have been made fifty, sixty years ago, in far different and perhaps desperate circumstances. These are such sad and difficult situations for everyone. In a perfect world, there would be family mediators to help with those initial conversations, and mental health counselors to help everyone—those discovering family secrets, and the keepers of those family secrets. I am heartened to see a growing community of mental health professionals specializing in DNA surprises.

See our review of The Lost Family.BEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page for more articles about the search and reunion, 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.

By Jess Kent-JohnsonI radiate a warm glow in the photo—a farmer’s tan from hours of playing outside in the Texas sun. A neighborhood friend had documented the moment via disposable camera. It’s hard to remember what occasion we were marking—an eleventh birthday party, perhaps, or the end of the school year. Whatever the event, my smile is wide, genuine, and my brown eyes are scrunched into happy almonds in a heart-shaped face.

This photo never meant anything special to me then, but now I wonder how could I—how could my family—not have questioned my true heritage? I’m 34 years old and I’ve just discovered by way of an at-home DNA test that I’m 25% Japanese. This revelation launches me into a frenetic investigation—activating an old Ancestry.com account, sending cryptic text messages to my parents and brother, and diagramming possibilities on the back of a napkin.

After all, my maiden name sounds like a type of sausage, and Mom is a freckled redhead, clearly the offspring of Scottish-Irish farmers. Growing up, I’d never been questioned about my whiteness, although there were comments that I tended to tan in a more olive tone than did my younger brother. Since we played outside for 6 hours a day in the southern heat, no one thought twice about it.

After hours of frantic speculation, I get a text message from my mother, with whom I have shared the surprising ethnic breakdown. She says, “Can I call you later?” It’s on this phone call that she shares the truth—there was an ex-boyfriend who was half-Japanese just before she and Dad got married. She’s Googled him to find an obituary from 2012. He’s survived by a brother, a wife, and his Japanese mother. Mom sends me the link.

The need for information consumes me. Through the names and locations in the obituary, I construct a new family tree at Ancestry.com, searching through other public trees for details or connections. I message someone who has posted a photo of herself at my biological father’s wedding—it turns out she is his sister-in-law. She puts me in touch with my surviving uncle in Texas—states away from my current home in Wisconsin. Initially he’s generous with details and sends a few photos of my father and grandmother. After a few months, however, the connection trails off. He claims to be busy with other family affairs. I’m cautious. I try not to ply him with too many questions, afraid that I may fray the tenuous connection we’ve had thus far. He tells me that while my grandmother is still alive, she has severe dementia and has completely lost her sight. I might never meet this woman, and even if I do, it’s potentially damaging to her to explain the circumstances of our relationship. I try not to be dismayed. The facts he shares: my grandfather was a GI in World War II, he and my grandmother met in Japan, they married and  divorced, and my grandfather died in a tragic farming accident.

So what’s a girl to do when she’s been flung out into the ether, isolated and spinning without any tether to who she is? Ordinarily, I might visit cultural festivals or historical societies, or enjoy cuisine from my new culture at a traditional restaurant. Unfortunately, I’ve learned this ground-shaking news amid a global pandemic, during which survival requires that I keep a distance from both strangers and friends.

Instead I use Ancestry.com to find the ship manifest that shows my grandmother’s departure from Yokohama in 1952 and her arrival in San Diego. She was 22 years old. I search for books about World War II and its aftermath in Japan and discover John W. Dower—a historian who has written extensively about America’s occupation of the island nation. Japan had been racked by air raids, poverty, and a diminished population of young Japanese men. GIs were friendly and laden with chocolate or cigarettes to share. Women who married these men became “Japanese war brides.” I understand the allure of traversing the ocean for the possibility of better prospects.

From each book I keep a meticulous list of hyperlinks, notes, bibliographies—following these details like bread crumbs that will lead me home. My research leads me to a documentary, “Fall Seven Times, Get Up Eight,” the story of war brides who endure the otherness of being Japanese in an American world. Their families in Japan often discouraged them from marrying American men. They dealt with U.S. segregation and the bitterness of Japanese Americans who had survived U.S. internment camps and perceived the women as entitled and lazy.

I form a composite picture of my grandmother based on similarities among the women of the film. All have done the best they could to survive, learn English, work, and raise children in an unfamiliar land, the side effects of which were often domineering personalities, high expectations, and subdued emotion.

The cocktail of emotions I experience as I pore through these resources is jarring. Some days I grieve that I can only conjecture whether my grandmother’s personality aligns with the women in these stories. My uncle is not yet willing to share more intimate details of their childhood, and my mother has no more information than what the Internet provides.

In other moments, I wonder if I should feel relief that I will never meet my grandmother. What if she was unwelcoming to me, scarred too deeply by past trauma to extend empathy to an adult granddaughter born out of wedlock? In these fraught moments, I look back at my childhood photo—the smiling, carefree daughter—and I try to still my mind with gratitude. I may not have first-hand knowledge of this person and the culture from which I’ve sprung, but I do have courage. Perhaps the best way I can emulate my grandmother is to continue my own voyage into a culture I’ve never known.Jess Kent-Johnson is a writer, actor, and musician. She lives in Madison, WI with her husband, Alex, and dog, Arrow. Find her at www.jesskentjohnson.com or on Instagram @surelyyoujesst.

By Jodi Klugman-Rabb, LMFTLife changing events such as grief and trauma have a way of changing relationships, too. Discovering a DNA surprise known as non-paternal event or not parent expected (NPE)—such as an adoption not previously disclosed, donor conception, or misattributed or falsified paternity—has been shown to have serious effects on family relationships, often pitting families against one another as secrets are uncovered and motives are questioned. The prevalence of commercial DNA testing in the last ten years has made possible the revelation of these secrets and contributed to a surge in grief, identity crises, and conflicts within families. Psychotherapy is catching up to this phenomenon, poised to be a source of support and skill building as clinicians gain training on the unique constellation of conditions these discoveries present. However, recently I heard this play out in the worst way imaginable on a podcast I never listen to. It was forwarded to me by a shocked friend who wondered what my response would be given my own experience and expertise on the subject.

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a radio personality well-known for her “no nonsense” style, per her marketing. She’s been dispensing advice in a sensational manner for decades, touting her ability to save marriages. But surprisingly, her professional help is delivered in a style akin to that of Gordon Ramsey or Simon Cowell. The last time I listened to anything from Dr. Laura I was in college 20 years ago; it was a curious foray with a friend into one of her local presentations. We were intrigued by her “tell it like it is” style, which, at the time, didn’t seem bullying or hostile. This episode, however, is shockingly abusive and appallingly unprofessional, reflecting poorly on the mental health care field.

In an episode of her podcast “Call of the Day” that aired July 7, 2020, Dr. Laura took a call from Torri, who stated she was unsure how to carry on a relationship with her mom after she discovered her NPE status in the fall of 2019. Before Torrie had spoken more than three sentences to describe her problem, Dr. Laura shut her down with rude, demeaning assumptions about the case and commentary about her as a person, telling Torrie “I would rather smack you across the head than anything else right now, you ungrateful little twit.” It was difficult to listen to this five-minute podcast, let alone imagine how Torri felt after hanging up.

There are many stereotypes of therapists, and there are many types of therapists spanning the spectrum of good vs. bad. I’m a marriage and family therapist (LMFT) licensed by the State of California and I have also discovered my own NPE status, also now being referred to as “not parent expected,” an attempt to soften the title. Even if I weren’t able to relate to this life-changing experience Torri has had, I still could have responded as a compassionate and ethical clinician, something Dr. Laura didn’t do. Unfortunately, Torri is not protected by the traditional terms of the therapeutic relationship because she willingly gave up that privilege when she applied to be a caller on the show. Worse, she may never feel safe to seek professional mental health help again because she, like others, may mistake her experience with Dr. Laura for real therapy.

The ethical obligations of practitioners in the mental health field exist to protect consumers from ill-trained and harmful clinicians, the worst example of which is the reckless sort of abuse presented as help from Dr. Laura, who’s listed as an licensed marriage and family therapist in various websites but who doesn’t list the licensing state. Rather than displaying a professional demeanor consistent with the ethics of our field, Dr. Laura’s unbelievable behavior toward Torri is equivalent to the sort of disgust with which family members often treat NPEs, using shame, extreme defensiveness, and threats to protect their secrets. I can imagine if Torri had been allowed to speak, she might have described a situation where her mom responded as Dr. Laura did, confusing her about her rights and the validity of her feelings, which triggered her need for advice to begin with. The reason for this reaction from the mothers of NPEs is a narcissistic shame many of them feel for offending cultural or religious dictates, especially if their pregnancies were the result of sexual assaults. What was confusing was why Dr. Laura reacted with such hostility; did the severity of her reaction suggest she was hiding something herself?

Wikipedia suggests that before her mother’s death, Dr. Laura had been estranged from her for 18 to 20 years. If true, it might help explain her unforgivable lashing out at Torri. Could she have been projecting her own issues onto a caller and used them to act out her own frustrations about unresolved personal issues?

I discovered my own NPE story in 2017 and it has played out in both good and bad ways, a fact I have been very forthcoming about in my journey. I utilized my professional knowledge to build a first of its kind curriculum especially for the DNA discovery population, but as a therapist I didn’t need the personal experience with it in order to access my compassion and ethical training. I use my personal experience to help train other clinicians on how to combine skills to appropriately treat this unique population—an approach I call Parental Identity Discovery™. 

The overwhelming majority of therapists are skilled, ethical, supportive professionals who could never imagine harming a person the way Dr. Laura harmed Torri.

NPEs and adoptees can learn how to make sense of their overwhelming feelings and their grief and discover how to rebuild their identities. They can learn communication skills to work with family dynamics and create a plan of action as their journeys continue. There will be people to support them—new and existing family as well as friends they haven’t met in person but who are there in support groups to listen and lift them up.

If you or someone you know has discovered a surprise DNA, help is available. If your life has changed, please seek help and be assured you are valued. See the sidebar for sources for help in coping with DNA discoveries.Jodi Klugman-Rabb, LMFT, is a licensed marriage and family therapist and licensed professional counselor in California. She sees NPEs in person in her private practice and via teletherapy throughout the state. She also offers virtual coaching for those living outside California, including a virtual support group for NPEs. She cohosts a podcast, Sex, Lies & The Truth, for NPEs and their families so they can feel connected to a larger community and learn about themselves as they go. In her Finding Family blog on Psychology Today, she writes about the unique aspects of being an NPE—what she now calls Parental Identity Discovery,™  the term she uses to title her certificate curriculum.RESOURCES

Adoptees, NPEs, Donor Conceived & Other Genetic Identity Seekers

Adoptees Only: Found/Reunion The Next Chapter

DNA NPE Fellowship 

Jodi Klugman-Rabb, LMFT

NPE Only: After the Discovery

Right To Know 

Severance MagazineBEFORE YOU GO…

Look on our home page https://severancemag.comfor more articles about the NPE experience

• Please leave a comment below and share your thoughts.
• Let us know what you want to see in Severance. Send a message tobkjax@icloud.com
• Tell us your stories. See guidelines athttps://severancemag.com/submission-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 athttps://www.facebook.com/groups/402792990448461
• And like us on Facebook athttps://www.facebook.com/severancemag and follow us on Twitter and Instagram @Severancemag

By Julianne Mangin

Mom’s stories about her family history were like bursts of steam from a pressure cooker—brief, tantalizing, and, at times, disturbing. She started telling me her disconnected anecdotes when I was about eleven years old. The most frequently repeated story in her canon went something like this:

      My mother had an uncle who set her up in business running a delicatessen. During the Great Depression, the business failed. When I was seven years old, my mother became mentally ill and was sent to a mental hospital. I was taken from my father and put into the county home.

In just a few sentences, Mom would sum up a family tragedy that was Dickensian in proportion: a girlhood weighted down by financial disaster, her mother’s insanity, and separation from her father. When she finished telling the story, Mom would evade the inevitable questions the story prompted with facile explanations and the occasional shoulder shrug. Although she admitted that her father had divorced Grandma while she was in the mental institution and that he had never tried to get my mother out of the county home, Mom professed that Grandpa had been the most wonderful father ever. It made no sense to me.

Mom became interested in genealogy a few years after Grandpa’s death in 1966. Over the years, she worked on it intermittently while she and Dad raised six children. Genealogy didn’t interest me. Looking at the pedigree charts and family group sheets filled out in Mom’s distinctive scrawl, I was unable to make any more sense of the past than I had by listening to her stories. After all the work she’d done, I expected that they would have become more detailed and connected. But Mom continued to tell the same old tales, which were unaltered by anything that she might have uncovered in her genealogical research.

What I wanted was a more coherent narrative of Mom’s childhood. A lifetime of listening to her brief and disjointed stories hadn’t given me that, so I had no expectations of getting it out of genealogy. It wasn’t until I was in my fifties that I gave her genealogy a closer look.

In 2011, I retired from the Library of Congress. Around the same time, Mom, then a widow, went into assisted living. The unit was too small to accommodate her genealogy research, which was stored in boxes full of binders and file folders, pedigree charts and census sheets, certificates and photographs. All of that came to my house, where I stored it in my basement, intending to hang on to it until someone in the family expressed an interest in genealogy. But the librarian in me couldn’t resist peeking into the boxes and organizing what was there. I didn’t know at the time that I was on a slippery slope from being a reluctant genealogist to a relentless family historian.

There was something fishy about Mom’s research. For all the years that she’d worked on it, there were surprising gaps, especially regarding events from her childhood. There was nothing about Grandma’s time at the state hospital, except for its name: Norwich State Hospital. After a brief Internet search, I located the hospital records department at the State Archives at the Connecticut State Library and I requested Grandma’s patient record. After proving I was her descendant, I received not only her record, but those of three other women in the family who had been patients there. Following the clues in the records, I was able to upend some of Mom’s stories, especially the one about the delicatessen, the mental hospital, and the county home.

In Mom’s version of her family history, her parents had separated in 1922, not long after they married. However, her father returned, as she put it, “when he found out that I was on the way.” The truth was it was Grandma who had left Grandpa and went to live with her married aunt. They were separated for two years. In 1924, Grandma announced that she was pregnant. Her aunt’s husband—the uncle in Mom’s story—set her up to run a delicatessen where she and Grandpa could live together in the apartment over the deli. The family lore was that they had continued to see each other during their separation.

What I found in Grandma’s patient record was a different story. She told the hospital staff that her uncle by marriage had forced her into a sexual relationship. “He said it was nothing as we were relations and I felt it was the only way out.” The moment I read her statement, I suspected that the uncle might be my mother’s father rather than Grandpa. I surmised that my grandparents were probably set up in the delicatessen to deflect suspicion that anyone else might be Mom’s father.

Mom was born in 1925 and spent her early years living at the delicatessen. During that time, Grandma began to exhibit the psychotic symptoms that eventually got her committed to the state hospital. She laughed and cried inappropriately, accused Grandpa of having sex with other women, and physically assaulted him. My heart went out to my mother—a toddler with a mother whose mind was spiraling out of control.

In 1931, the delicatessen failed. According to Mom, it was due to the Great Depression. Grandma told the hospital staff that after nine years she finally told her uncle she wouldn’t have sex with him anymore. His response? He threw Grandma and her family out of the delicatessen—including the daughter he must have suspected was his own.

Grandma continued to accuse Grandpa of cheating on her. Her delusions about his infidelity were perhaps symptoms of her paranoid schizophrenia. Grandpa, for his part, was a disabled World War I veteran who suffered from shell-shock (now known as PTSD). He didn’t know how to handle her rantings or his own violent impulses. Their marriage devolved into physical abuse. In 1933, Grandma told him about the relationship she’d had with her uncle, which meant the violence only got worse. Mom, eight years old at the time, probably witnessed many of their fights. I cringed the first time I realized that she may have heard Grandpa say that she wasn’t his child.

In 1935, her parents had a terrible fight, after which Grandma was sent to the state hospital. Mom was taken away to the county home for her own safety. Until the age of ten, Mom had lived in a household full of violence and secrets. As tragic as this story is, I was glad to learn the truth. Finally, the stories Mom told made sense. Of course she had to insist that Grandpa had been a wonderful father and that it wasn’t his fault that the state wouldn’t let him raise her. To think otherwise would have meant acknowledging the pain of having been abandoned by him. If she suspected that the uncle had been her father, she was dealing with a second fatherly abandonment and a great deal of shame as well. This might explain why she’d been so rigid about the details of her story. 

In July 2013, I sent a sample of my DNA to Ancestry.com to find out who Mom’s father was—Grandpa or the uncle. In April 2014, I got a DNA match that answered this question. Ancestry estimated that this match and I were 1st or 2nd cousins. When I looked at her tree, I saw that her great-grandparents were the parents of Grandma’s uncle-by-marriage. The only way we could be second cousins was if these were my great-grandparents, too.

In her book, The Secret Life of Families: Truth-telling, Privacy and Reconciliation in a Tell-all Society, Evan Imber-Black, PhD, says, “Living with a toxic secret can feel like living in a pressure cooker. The need to tell the secret can build and build until it explodes in an unplanned and hurtful way. Or the secret can leak out through seemingly inadvertent clues that force someone else to discover it.” In Mom’s case, the principal leak in her story was that whenever she talked about her childhood, she never failed to mention the uncle who had set Grandma up in the delicatessen. She never had anything else to say about this uncle. After researching the secret I found in Grandma’s patient record, I realized that the uncle didn’t just set her up in business and then walk away from it. As her boss, he would have been a weekly, if not daily, presence at the delicatessen. There would also have been the times he came to Grandma to demand sex from her. If Mom had found it necessary to erase him from the story of her childhood at the delicatessen, why hadn’t she erased him entirely?

Mom’s insistence on naming the uncle in her story calls to mind Chekhov’s famous advice to writers: “Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.” Mom knew, consciously or not, that the uncle in her story held great significance. And because he was always mentioned, it was only natural that this uncle would be one of the relatives whose story I would verify once I set out to explore the family’s past. My research took the proverbial rifle off the wall, and by sharing what I learned, I fired it.

My mother, who passed away in 2017, endured a dysfunctional family and was separated from her parents at the age of ten. Still, she somehow managed to thrive. She earned two college degrees and had a 56-year marriage with the kind of stability that she’d never experienced as a child. It was no wonder Mom always emphasized the importance of education. It had been her ticket out of poverty and dependence on the state. 

However, she was not a warm or emotionally supportive mother. But now, when I look at her family history, I ask myself: What were her parental role models? She had a schizophrenic mother, an absent father, and surrogate parents she shared with dozens of children at the county home. I learned through Grandma’s patient record that she too had a mentally ill mother, a missing father, and had been sent away from the family home. I’m grateful that Mom managed not to repeat this pattern for my generation. She was the best mother she could have been under the circumstances. But there was often tension between Mom and me—tension that might have been alleviated if we’d been able to discuss the family trauma.

Julianne Mangin is a family history researcher, blogger, and former librarian and web developer at the Library of Congress.  Since her retirement in 2011, she’s been uncovering genealogical and local history mysteries. Mangin lives in Silver Spring, Maryland with her husband Bob, an artist. For more information about Mangin, check out her blog. 

By Kara Rubinstein DeyerinUsually, when we think about people opening a Pandora’s box by taking a direct-to-consumer DNA test, we’re thinking about NPEs (not parent expected)—people who learn through such a test that their parent(s) is not genetically related to them. But now donor-conceived (DC) people are wondering if when they test they’re opening a different sort of Pandora’s box.

The decision in a legal case called Teuscher vs NW Cryobank in January 2020 caused some members of the DC community to pause before spitting into that little vial. If you’re considering a test for your DC child (under the age of 18), it’s important for you to know the ruling should not affect your decision.

First, let’s talk about terms. NPE is used here to broadly to include anyone who learns their parent(s) is not their genetic parent(s). This can be due to donor-conception, adoption, a tryst, or an assault. The term DC is used here because it’s the most widely used, even though the term “donor” conceived is very problematic. Most DC people were not conceived by a donation. Assisted reproduction is an industry. People were paid for their sperm or eggs. A better term hasn’t emerged yet. “Donor” disguises the complex issues that arise from creating a human in this fashion. Maybe “dealer conceived” is better if we try to stick with the DC initials. But I digress.

A short overview of the facts of the Teuscher case: Danielle Teuscher gave birth to a daughter after conceiving with the use of sperm (Donor #2744) purchased from NW Cryobank. She specifically requested an open ID donor so her child at 18 years old could know who her genetic father was. When her daughter was four, Teuscher purchased a direct-to-consumer DNA test with 23andMe to learn about her daughter’s genetic health factors as well as her ethnicity. While men who sell their sperm to fertility clinics are asked questions regarding their genetics (health and ethnicity), there are plenty of examples of misinformation or omission of information. In today’s legal climate, there are no consequences for such actions. As a mother, Teuscher should be allowed to have access to all of her daughter’s medical information to make informed decisions about her daughter’s health.

When the results arrived, her daughter matched with a close relative, likely a grandmother, who indicated she was open to contact by her matches. When Teuscher reached out to the possible grandmother, the match responded that she was unaware of Teuscher’s daughter’s existence and requested no further contact. Teuscher did not contact the grandmother again.

Shortly thereafter, as reported here previously, Teuscher received a “cease-and-desist” letter from NW Cryobank. The company demanded she stop reaching out to the donor and his family, as this was in violation of her contract. To add insult to injury, it also informed her she would no longer have access to its sibling registry and the other vials of sperm she’d purchased for future use. NW Cryobank seized Teuscher’s stored sperm because it believed she had violated the terms of the contract by connecting with Donor #2744’s family and, therefore, the remaining terms of the contract were void. Teuscher sued NW Cryobank to ensure Donor #2744 remained classified as an Open ID, since that was the term under which she purchased that specific sperm. She also wanted to regain access to the stored sperm, to Donor’s #2744 medical updates, and to the sibling registry. This case was brought in Spokane, Washington in Federal Court because that’s where NW Cryobank is physically located.

On January 31, 2020, Judge Thomas Rice ruled on the case. He dismissed Teuscher’s claims for emotional distress and violation of the Washington Consumer Protection Act for changing Donor #2744’s status after use of his sperm. However, the judge did not rule on claims for violations of the contract due to the seizure of the sperm Teuscher purchased for future use as well as all claims for wrongdoings against her daughter. This leaves the case open for Teuscher to argue for her daughter’s rights under the Consumer Protection Act and against what essentially is the seizure of her property. This case still is in the beginning stage and has many rulings to come. Once the judge has ruled on all claims made by Teuscher and her daughter, Teuscher may decide whether to appeal any of the rulings.

An appeal of the Consumer Protection Act ruling would benefit the DC community since NW Cryobank acted outside the scope of the contract by adding a penalty—the seizure of the stored sperm—that was not specifically outlined in the agreement. Leaving the verdict as is may embolden fertility clinics to add additional penalties for any similar breaches in the future.

Our legal system in the US is a common law system and, therefore, relies on court precedent in future decisions. When a person brings an action for breach of contract because one side added a penalty that was not enumerated in the contract, the judge will rely on previous judicial rulings with similar facts. Each side will cite prior cases to bolster its argument on why it should win. Both sides will also try and differentiate their cases from prior cases where the ruling does not support their arguments.

While there are many ways to differentiate this verdict, going to court is expensive. If Teuscher appeals her case and wins, this would let fertility clinics know they must remain strictly within the terms of the contract. In addition, NW Cryobank changed the donor’s designation after the contract was signed. If a seller in any other type of business acted in such a manner, it would be considered an unfair business practice.

So why did the judge’s ruling lead people to wonder whether DC children younger than 18 could still legally take a direct-to-consumer DNA test? Many are afraid of repercussions from the fertility clinic if they purchase tests for their DC children. The heart of the ruling is the judge’s discussion of whether Teuscher’s contract was unconscionable. A contract is unconscionable if it is so one-sided that one party has no real bargaining power or if some part of the contract is so unjust that it shocks the sensibilities of the court and society. Right to Know believes a contract such as that offered Teuscher is unconscionable.

Here’s what the judge had to say.

First, consider the bargaining power side of the discussion. The judge indicated that while Teuscher may have lacked bargaining power, the contract was simple, she had time to review it, she didn’t have to purchase the sperm, and she could purchase sperm elsewhere. Because she had a “meaningful” choice, could have consulted an attorney, and chose to enter into the contract, the judge found the contract was not unconscionable due to one-sided bargaining power. His discussion of the issues shows how little he understands infertility and the fertility industry. This could be pointed out in future cases to differentiate his ruling.

Those who are unable to conceive but who desire to have children may go to great lengths and spend thousands of dollars to find a way to have a child. Teuscher didn’t have a choice about whether to use fertility services because she wanted to have a child and was unable to do so without such services. Most, if not all, fertility contracts utilize the same language, restrictions, and penalties in their contracts. If Teuscher indeed had purchased her sperm from another fertility clinic, the contract likely would have been the same. This means consumers/buyers have no real choice when deciding to use the services of a fertility clinic. We must educate our lawmakers so they have a meaningful understanding of these issues.

If any part of Teuscher’s contract is so unfair that we as a society would say it goes against the public good, it would be considered unconscionable and, therefore, void. We are making humans here. A person has the right to know their genetic identity and history. In the world of adoption, over the years we’ve come to understand it’s in the best interest of children to know they are adopted as well know their genetic identities. Why should this be any different for DC children? The judge does not understand the psychological ramifications of not knowing where you come from.

The judge states, “The promise to honor the donor’s privacy interests is clearly reasonable given the contact.” But is it? Anyone who’s taken a direct-to-consumer DNA test knows you can figure out who matches are with little effort because even if your father hasn’t done a DNA test, it’s likely his uncle’s cousin has. With this information, you can determine your own matches. The court obviously does not understand this shift. And neither do fertility clinics. For the health and well-being of the child, we must move toward “open” use of sperm and eggs, because it is no longer possible to remain anonymous—that cat’s out of the bag.

The ruling states a DC child can discover genetically relevant medical information without seeking ancestry or other information that would destroy anonymity. Clearly, the judge does not understand how these tests work. You cannot separate medical and ancestral information. What is ancestral information? Teuscher’s daughter’s ethnicity? Clearly she should be entitled to this information. It’s likely the judge meant knowing who her relatives are when he referred to “ancestral information.” If a fertility clinic tries to rely on Judge Rice’s opinion here, opposing counsel should be able to easily differentiate the new case from Teuscher’s, since the judge’s language and use of terminology is not clear.

The judge’s ruling finds that Teuscher should not have reached out to the grandmother match since she agreed to not contact Donor #2744 directly or indirectly, but she had every right to the genetic information available. This means if you have a DC child, you can use a direct-to-consumer DNA test for your child. However, you cannot reach out to their relative matches. Remember, it’s only the parent(s) who are parties to fertility contracts, not the children. When a child is younger than 18, the parent is legally responsible for the child’s actions. When DC children become 18, they can reach out to any matches.

If we think Teuscher should have the right to reach out to her daughter’s relatives, then we need to change the laws to reflect this. At this time, the fertility industry remains relatively unregulated. There are no consequences for donor or fertility clinic fraud, which leaves DC children and their parents—as well as anyone seeking services from a fertility clinic—vulnerable. If someone lies about the color of a car they are selling, it’s not that big a deal. But if a seller lies about a medical problem and then sells his sperm and creates a child who develops a medical issue, that is a big deal. Parents using fertility services must have access to accurate information and all of the information our technologically advanced society can provide regarding donors and assurances they are receiving the agreed-upon goods.

Let’s not forget what we are talking about—the creation of human beings. We must do better as a society. We must work to change our laws to ensure the DC community has access to all relevant information and that there are consequences for failures to disclose, for providing false information, and for improper handling of specimens.

So, go ahead and open a Pandora’s box. See if you should be wearing lederhosen or a dashiki and find out what those health reports have to say.By Kara Rubinstein Deyerin, co-founder of Right To Know, a nonprofit organization that educates the public and professionals on the complexities of the intersection of genetic information, identity, and family dynamics. It advocates for people whose genetic parent is not their supportive parent—not the person who raised them or their legal parent.

By B.K. JacksonThe 1953 discovery of DNA’s double helix and the 2003 completion of the Human Genome Project not only have transformed medicine but also have led to the advent of direct-to-consumer DNA testing, an unforeseen consequence of which has been that many people who test unearth long-buried family secrets.

I’m one of them. When I was an infant, my parents divorced and my mother disappeared without a trace, so I’m well acquainted with the yearning for an unknown parent. I felt abandoned anew when, 50 years later, a test revealed that I’ve never known either of my genetic parents—that my father wasn’t my father. At the same time, I discovered I’m Italian, not Russian; my family was Catholic, not Jewish; and my fear of the cancers rampant in my father’s family was unfounded.

My story—at least the second chapter—isn’t unique. A 2019 PEW Research Center survey found that 27% of home DNA test users discover unknown close relatives. Of these, those whose tests reveal misattributed parentage are known as NPEs—a name referring to the circumstances of conception—a non-paternity event or not-parent-expected.

These surprising results and their ripple effects illustrate what Libby Copeland, in her new book on the subject, The Lost Family, calls the “profound and disruptive power of DNA testing.”

Devastated to learn they have no genetic connection to their kin, many NPEs, like adoptees, become desperate to identify and contact their biological families. Some are welcomed into the fold, while others are ignored or spurned. Some, shockingly, are rejected even by the families in which they were raised.

This NPE experience, often hidden in the dark and shrouded in silence, must be brought into the light and made the subject of conversation. Why is this important? Because we can extrapolate from adoption research that identity confusion, stress, and rejection can render NPEs, like adoptees, vulnerable to potentially severe emotional turmoil and increased risks for depression, addiction, and other behavioral health issues. Discussion will bring much-needed attention to the dearth of resources and trained professionals needed to help them cope. And further, because with greater public awareness of the emotional impact, families—rather than close the door on NPEs—might be better able to respond empathetically and, thus, mitigate trauma.

When we receive unexpected DNA results, boughs of our family trees break. Our heritage evaporates. We’re not who we thought we were and we don’t know where we come from. We grieve for the families we may never know, yet this grief goes unacknowledged, as if it isn’t legitimate.

Like adoptees, we may suffer from genealogical bewilderment, a condition described in 1952 by psychiatrist E. Wellish as the alienation resulting from being disconnected from biological relatives. A relationship to one’s genealogy, he said, is “an inalienable and entitled right of every person.” The right to know one’s parents is also recognized as fundamental by the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. 

And yet, about our new DNA status we’re routinely asked: What difference does it make?

That roughly 30 million people have taken DNA tests to discover their heritage and millions more are obsessed with genealogy is proof that people care—deeply—about where they come from. If blood ties didn’t matter, parents would take home a random infant from the nursery; instead they choose the newborn who carries their genes. But NPEs are expected not to care about DNA.

Adding to the trauma of shattered identity may be the pain of rejection. Because most NPEs are born of affairs or donor conceptions, when they reach out to biological family members they may expose long-guarded secrets and repressed shame. Fathers may reject their offspring for fear they’ll expose their infidelities or donor status, and siblings may want nothing to do with children conceived under these circumstances. But NPEs didn’t choose how they came into the world.

It’s true that people on the other end of this experience—those approached out of the blue by strangers—may also feel blindsided. It’s understandable, but is it an excuse to deprive people of their birthright?

It raises a fundamental question about whose rights are paramount and what responsibilities come with creating a human being. Are individuals entitled to secrecy when secret keeping affects the wellbeing of others and denies their truth? When paternity is established at birth, fathers are morally and legally responsible for their children; to reject such responsibility is actionable and considered contemptible. But the passage of time gives men a pass to pretend their children don’t exist.

Before DNA tests became available, I discovered and was welcomed by six brothers and sisters—my mother’s children. When later, through a DNA test, I discovered I was an NPE, it took an agonizing 18 months to discover who my biological father was and learn he’d been survived by a son. I wrote to this half-brother, asking only if he’d share a photograph of our father, tell me about him, and advise me about any preventable risks for heritable diseases. This is all most NPEs want.

To some degree, I understand my brother’s disinterest and failure to reply. Unlike me, he had nothing at stake. Yet I wonder what it would have cost him to respond—how he could have been unmoved by my request. I find it hard to believe a grown man might be so disturbed by his father’s unfaithfulness that he’d reject a sister. Perhaps, like many, he erroneously believes DNA results are unreliable. But the science behind DNA testing is unassailable. And since I enclosed a photograph of myself, he couldn’t have failed to see an unmistakable resemblance. I know that likeness exists because I was lucky enough to find cousins willing to give me what my brother would not. Their eager embrace and kindliness were healing and lifechanging. Thanks to them, I saw a photograph of my father—my own face looking back at me. These cousins could have shut the door on me; instead they gave me the gift of my own truth.

It’s possible that the ball on what Copeland calls “the roulette wheel of some unexpected revelation” may land on you or someone close to you. If an unknown relative contacts you or your family, consider that if you’ve seen your father’s face, you can’t imagine what it means to her to never have had that opportunity. Consider, too, that she’s not responsible for the circumstances of her conception and is without shame or blame. Ask yourself, if the tables were turned, wouldn’t you feel as if you’d been sucker-punched? If you learned you had a father whose name and face you didn’t know, wouldn’t you want to find him? If your religion was no longer your religion and your ethnicity no longer what you believed it to be, wouldn’t you feel adrift? If happened to you, wouldn’t you hope your biological family would respond with empathy and grace?

This isn’t to say you owe her a relationship. But the only decent, compassionate response is to acknowledge your genetic connection and provide a medical history. It’s the least a human being should expect from a blood relative. Understand that DNA matters to her, as it does to everyone else.B.K. JacksonBEFORE YOU GO…

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By B.J. OlsonI was born William Joseph Olson in Sioux Falls, South Dakota on September 27, 1979, when my mother was only 20 years old. Because she’d been intimate with two men, she couldn’t be certain who my father was. One of the men, Brent, had been her senior prom date, and the other, Howard, was eleven years older—a man she saw when he was home on leave from the military. Her father despised him, and though she prayed he wasn’t my father, she suspected he was, thinking she remembered the night I was conceived: Christmas Eve 1978.

Howard had already been married and had a daughter, but my mother believed he was divorced at the time she became involved with him. A dental technician, he was the older brother of my mother’s close friend Alice from high school. During his visits to Lennox, he’d take my mom out on dates, usually to the races. When he wasn’t drunk, my mother says, he was a great guy.

When it came time for my mother to fill in the birth certificate, she chose to leave the father’s name blank. That decision profoundly influenced my life and my self image.

As a poor single woman, she needed state assistance, but the state required her to provide the name of the person who might be my father. She named Brent, but a DNA test ruled him out. That could only mean the man my grandfather despised—Howard—was my father.

When the state agency again asked for the name of a potential father, she then gave them Howard’s name and tried to reach out to him directly before the state would. Howard did everything he could to avoid contact with her. In 1983, she wrote to his commanding officer in the Army, where he was stationed at the time. He wrote back on January 23, 1984 to assure her he would take care of the situation. A week later, she received a letter from Howard’s lawyer telling her not to contact Howard directly again and advising her that all further communications had to be directed to his legal office.

My mother didn’t have the means to hire a lawyer. She’d been under the assumption that since she had to give my father’s name to the state, the situation would be taken care of. It would take the state’s Department of Social Service until August 2, 1996 , when I was just shy of 17 years old, to send a letter to Howard requesting that he take a DNA test to determine paternity.

On January 15, 1997, Howard was finally served papers requiring him to take a DNA Paternity test. The court documents stated that should he be shown to be my father, he’d be responsible for $368 per month in back child support—$79,488—along with half of all medical bills accrued for a problematic birth, tonsil surgery, and a five-day intensive care stay for a concussion I suffered playing football, not to mention all the miscellaneous doctor, dentist, and eye appointments. Another letter, dated March 6, 1997, indicated that he’d be permitted to take the test in Huntsville, Alabama at the Columbia Medical Center and that he wasn’t required to report for the test until April 10, 1997. It took almost six weeks until Howard received a letter from Social Services excluding him as my father.

It was bad enough that my mother was an unmarried woman in a small town, but now, with the only men she’d ever been with ruled out by DNA, she had no clue who my father was. For the next 20 years, she believed she must have been drugged and raped and thus couldn’t recall who the father was. She couldn’t think of another explanation. This had a powerful impact on her, affecting her ability to trust others and contributing to bad decisions in her relationships with men.

I grew up very ashamed of not knowing who my father was. I feared meeting new people who would ask who my parents were. I never had a full answer. People who haven’t experienced this would be surprised how many times you get asked about your dad. I dreaded the first day of school every year when we would have to stand up and tell the entire class about ourselves. I would try to avoid the topic of my father, but it never worked. Until I was 38 years old, I felt my mother was always hiding something from me. I wasn’t sure who she was protecting or trying to protect me from. Naturally, I resented her because I felt she was the reason I didn’t have a dad.

On August 12, 2015, an Ancestry.com commercial lured me into spending $88.95 on what I referred to as my spittoon of hope. Finally, I thought, there was technology that might answer some questions. I was so excited the day the box arrived that I spat in the vial as soon as I was able to muster the saliva. I registered the kit, sent it off, and patiently waited for the results. When at last they came in, my excitement quickly died because there were only distant matches which meant nothing to an amateur like me. I logged off Ancestry.com and once again began to look at every man roughly 20 years older than me and wonder if he was my father.

Nearly three years later, on March 17, 2018, my daughter wondered how substantial our Irish bloodline was, so I logged back in to look at my results. My jaw dropped. I had a new first cousin match, Joanna, whom I didn’t know. I immediately called my mother to ask who the heck she was. A few days later, I received a message through the Ancestry app from Joanna’s daughter, who managed her DNA test. After communicating with her, I learned that Joanna had been raised to believe her grandmother was her mother and her mother was her sister. But in fact, the woman she thought was her sister was her mother. She’d had an affair with Howard’s father when she was very young. Because of her age, her mother decided to raise the child who resulted from that union—Joanna—as her own. Joanna, then, although she didn’t learn about this until much later in life, was Howard’s half sister. The existence of this close match seemed to lend weight to the idea that Howard was my father, but since Joanna was only a half sister, it left room for doubt.

My mother and I were astounded by this discovery and had many questions. We needed to dive deeper. To confirm this Ancestry.com match, my mother reached out to her high school friend—Howard’s younger full sister—who agreed to take a test from Health Street, a Lab Corp company. On April 20, 2018, the results demonstrated that she and I were a 99.9718% relative match.

Although I finally had confirmation about who my father was, I also then knew the sad truth that I’d never get to meet my biological father. If my father had been someone other than Howard, there might have been I chance I could have met him. But Howard had died in Sioux Falls, on April 5, 2010, less than 10 miles from where I lived at the time. Immediately I was angry and I wanted more answers!

Once I knew I was certainly related to Howard, I felt more confidence about contacting his famiIy. I knew he had a daughter and I reached out to try to find out more about him and to see if she’d take a test that would further confirm that we were siblings. Within minutes of receiving my message, she emailed me the original 1997 DNA test results from her deceased father and asked me not to contact her again. It struck me as odd she responded so quickly and happened to have that documentation, which I now knew was erroneous, at the ready.

Since I got nowhere trying to get information from my sister, I thought I’d connect with other members of my biological family. I’d known these people all along. Lennox was a small town of roughly 1,000 people when I grew up there. My family owned the local hair salon. Everyone knew everyone. Howard’s mother—whom I now know to be my grandmother—was our cleaning lady. His brother was our garbage man. His sister-in-law was my music teacher. The catcher on my baseball team and a classmate throughout all four years of high school were my cousins. I had relationships with all of these people prior to knowing that Howard was my father. Once I’d made my discovery, they all shut me out.

I had uncovered a big secret that no one wanted to talk about. The family had a pact, created by Howard’s closest brother Harry, to avoid all contact with me and my mother. Except for Joanna, all family members I discovered ultimately rejected me.

Even though all signs led to Howard, I continued to seek further evidence that he was my father. Since my relatives wouldn’t cooperate, I hired a genealogical private investigator who tracked my ancestry back a couple hundred years. The genealogical trail led to the same conclusion as did the DNA—that my ancestors were Howard’s family. It indicated that my grandparents were Howard’s parents, which meant that one of their sons was my father. But, like Howard’s daughter, none of his brothers would speak with me.

After I hired the investigator, Howard’s daughter sued me for $50,000.00 in the state of Texas for invasion of privacy and for stating that Howard had an illegitimate son. She noted this caused her and her family anguish. Just as her father had decades earlier, she tried to use lawyers to silence me.

I did not cave. I fought back to have her drop the suit. After I spent several thousand dollars in lawyer fees she finally did, and I made it clear to the family that I will not let this rest until I get the answers I deserve.

I’m not looking to expand my family, get invited to more family events that I don’t have time for, or even to take my father’s name. I just want an identity. I want my story to be known. I want to draw attention to the errors and deception that affect how vital records are created and maintained and assert that we should have the ability to correct vital records based on science.

I have been denied access to my father’s family history, his military benefits, and his medical history. I will continue to use my loud voice until I can make a change for everyone whose rights have similarly been denied. I intend to work to bring awareness about the situation of NPEs—to change laws to give NPEs the right to correct their birth records based on scientific evidence.

Since I have come forward with my story on my Facebook page @deniedaccessDNA and website DeNiedAccess,  dozens of people have come forward to share similar stories. I’m not alone in this battle, and I look forward to the day when people realize the truly innocent victims are the those who did not ask to be born and who are just trying to clean up everyone else’s mistakes. There is no QUIT in my DNA!!!

Any surprise can be traumatic, but a DNA surprise raises one of life’s most fundamental questions: Who am I? Your very identity is made up of your memories, your shared stories, and experiences with family and friends. When you find out that something is not true, or not exactly true, it is a major shock to your emotional system.It is easy to tell yourself, “This is no big deal. I should be able to handle this.” But “handling something” is a process. And that process may involve feeling upset and expressing various emotions. Like any trauma, the emotional reactions can come in waves and when you least expect them. You and your family members both may minimize your experience by emphasizing you had good parents, you shouldn’t be upset, or even that you’re being selfish by looking for answers. I tell people that I don’t know what qualifies as an overreaction to news that changes your understanding of your world. Your reaction is not a sign of emotional weakness—it’s a sign that you are in touch with reality enough that you react when reality changes. I suggest you accept your reactions, your feelings, as being there. Accept that they are what you need to feel in the moment. There’s no need to try changing them—that doesn’t work anyway. You need to work through the process.There can be depression, with low mood and irritability, loss of appetite, difficulty sleeping, poor concentration, and an inability to focus on work. There might be anger. Part of what makes this kind of trauma so difficult is that you might think it’s not really that big of a deal—others have it worse. And it’s true, others have it worse. But trauma is not a contest—you can have all the emotions anyway. You are not weak.Yes. Sometimes you just can’t process everything at once and you will feel disoriented and unable to concentrate. The news can be so big that it’s like your circuits are overloaded.Yes. Research has shown for many years that stressful life events (both good stress and bad stress) have an impact on our health. It is important that you allow yourself to experience your emotions and not waste energy on fighting them. You might look at the Holmes-Rahe Stress Inventory.It’s important to accept our reactions as normal. The more we fight them or argue that there’s something wrong with us for reacting, the longer it will take to move forward, the longer it will take to heal. Journaling can be immensely helpful. Write down what you’re feeling, even if it seems extreme or overly dramatic. It isn’t. It’s the reality of what you are feeling in the moment. Meditation can be helpful, but if you can’t slow your mind down, that’s ok. Notice and accept that your mind is racing. If you’re able to exercise, that’s a great way of dealing with stress and clearing the mind. Reaching out to understanding friends is important. And there’s a large community online going through similar things. (Use the Resources tab on the Severance home page to find some of these.)I encourage people to move slowly in the process—think of yourself as writing a novel. What information do you need to make the characters more interesting, to make them sympathetic. Is there a way that you can make their behavior understandable? For example, a teenage girl that became pregnant in the past may not have been allowed much say in whether or not to keep the baby or put the child up for adoption. Going back even further in time, a single female may not have had the opportunity to earn a living wage and therefore couldn’t provide for a child. A father may not have known of a child’s existence. There are many more examples I can give. On the other hand, what you learn now becomes part of your story and, if you’re someone reading this, you’re likely the kind of person that wants to know your whole story. Being understanding and sympathetic toward others doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to experience your own emotions, though.

The most important thing is to take care of yourself. Ask yourself what you, yourself, need. Try to find a way to meet that need, but keep in mind you can’t control other people.

Therapy can be very helpful at any point in the process. A good therapist helps you reflect on who you are and who you want to be. Ultimately, you are the author of your story, no matter how many plot twists get added to that story. I would consider therapy necessary and would encourage you to seek help if you’re having symptoms of depression or trauma—low mood, irritability, sleep or appetite problems, inability to concentrate, relationship problems.Searching for answers can be all-consuming. We live in an age in which we can binge-watch on Netflix and learn the answer to a mystery on a television show within hours. When it comes to family mysteries, we have search engines, DNA, and genealogy services. There’s a lot we can learn quickly. But definitive answers can take a long time. Others may not understand our obsession—even others affected by the discovery of a family secret may not care like you do. It’s a very personal thing. It’s important to keep in mind that we can’t necessarily find answers quicker by working harder. As an example, I have spent two years searching for my grandfather’s birth parents. I found his likely father fairly quickly, but could find nothing on his mother. I gave up for a while and came back to the search and found I had earlier ruled out a group of people for some reason. This group has turned out to offer my best leads in my search. It’s important to take care of yourself. Meditate, exercise, sleep, stay in touch with your friends, get out of the house. All of these things will make your search more efficient. Taking care of yourself helps you think more clearly. All of these strategies are part of accepting our humanity, accepting that we don’t control how our bodies and minds react. This includes accepting that other people may be doing their best—we just don’t always know their stories, why they react the way they do. We need to take care of ourselves so we don’t lose ourselves in the process.Keep in mind that what you find in the search will trigger all kinds of emotions. You may find people who share DNA with you, but nothing else. A newfound relative may have no interest in a relationship, or on the other hand, may want more of your time and energy than you want to give. It’s a process, and you may not know what you want until you start finding answers to the secret, until you find these relatives. Don’t assume they’ll want the same things you do. Also, it’s important to keep asking yourself: “What is it I really want? What am I searching for? What values of mine will this search, and its possible answers, satisfy?”We are all ultimately seeking connection and belonging. Unfortunately, life is not clean. We don’t all fit into perfectly designed family trees. It’s estimated that 7% of Americans are adopted or in foster care. Add on top of that all the individuals who grew up in a “nuclear” family but were conceived outside of the marriage or through donors. That’s a huge percentage of us. It is important that we work to remove the stigma of this. We didn’t choose how we came into this world. It’s important that we not stigmatize ourselves. We are just as legitimate as anyone else.

We also need to keep in mind that we may be rejected by newfound biological parents. We need to keep our fantasies in check. These biological relatives are human beings, with strengths and with flaws, just like everyone else. Other people may not understand our need to search and they may have no desire to know the answers themselves. We need to accept that.

Greg Markway, PhD, is a clinical psychologist in St. Louis, Missouri. He became interested in genetic genealogy while searching for the roots of his grandfather, who came to Missouri from New York on an orphan train in 1896.

Read more about shock and trauma related to DNA surprises here and here, and return to the home page for more articles about genetic identity.

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By B.K. Jackson

Libby Copeland

Just over a decade ago, when autosomal DNA tests first hit the market, offering consumers a new tool for advancing genealogical research and a way to discover genetic cousins, few imagined how popular these tests would become. In this short span, more than 30 million Americans have traded a hundred bucks and a spit or swab sample of DNA for a backward glimpse into their ancestry.

The majority of testers get precisely what they pay for—a pie chart indicating their ancestral heritage and a list of DNA cousin matches. They learn from whence and from whom they came—information that makes them feel better connected to their forebears and more knowledgeable about themselves in some essential way. Countless others, however, get much more than they bargain for and—sometimes—more than they can handle. For these consumers, DNA testing leads to a genetic disconnect from their families and the erasure of an entire swath of their self-knowledge. They discover that they’re genetically unrelated to one or more of their parents.

Even more shocking than the existence of these genetic disconnects is their sheer numbers. Although no one knows exactly how many testers have discovered misattributed parentage—and estimates within the general population are likely overstated—headline after headline and the swelling ranks of secret Facebook groups devoted to supporting those disenfranchised from their families suggest the numbers are significant.

These genetic seismic events are only part of the reason many view direct-to-consumer DNA testing as a Pandora’s box. Just as no one could have guessed how many genetic identity crises might arise in the wake of testing, the depth and breadth of the potential repercussions were unimaginable, as were the contours of the ethical and moral dimensions.

More than anything, the widespread availability of DNA tests has created a nation of what Libby Copeland, in her extraordinary new book, calls seekers. Although rigorously researched and dense with information, “The Lost Family: How DNA Testing is Upending Who We Are,” is a page-turner. The author, an award-winning journalist, crisscrossed the country talking to industry leaders, educators, and influencers. She immersed herself in the wide world of DNA testing, followed debates on social media, and attended conferences, and yet she wondered whether the velocity of change in the industry was so great that even she couldn’t keep up. And at the same time, she worried that the media saturation about DNA testing was so thorough that what she’d learned was already old news. “But then I would remember that I was in a bubble,” she writes. “The people who were getting DNA kits for Christmas had no idea what was coming for them. And the ramifications of what they might find would not be short-lived; rather they amounted to a fundamental reshaping of the American family. It was something they would deal with for the rest of their lives and pass on to the generations that follow.”

I thought I knew a great deal about DNA testing and had a reasonable grasp of its myriad ramifications until I read “The Lost Family,” in which Copeland expertly drives home how much bigger the subject is than most of us—even those of us deeply affected—realize. She takes readers through the history of genetics and all of its promise, then explores equally its dark side—eugenics and the dangers of genetic essentialism—and considers the broad range of ethical minefields planted by present day DNA testing. “One of the central conundrums of spitting into a tube is the way one person’s rights so often collide with another’s after the tube is sealed and sent in,” Copeland observes. And so many rights are at stake—from the right to privacy with respect to genetic data to the right of offspring to know who their parents were and what their health risks might be.

As she delved deep into her research, Copeland came to believe “we are embarking on a vast social experiment, the full implications of which we can’t yet know.” But what follows suggests that the boat left the dock some time ago and is churning in choppy waters. While the full implications are beyond imagining, the author does a stellar job of exploring the implications that have become apparent. She dissects DNA testing and explores it from every aspect, mapping the perspectives of all involved—the test makers and takers, the lawyers, the genetic and forensic genealogists, the ethicists who ponder the ramifications, and the people who are on the receiving end of contact from test takers—and shows what the stakes are for each.

As intriguing as all that is, Copeland is nowhere more captivating than when she’s telling the stories of the seekers—the “people obsessed with figuring out just what’s in their genes”—and follows them down the rabbit holes that swallow them as they try to figure out where they come from. She categorizes seekers into three groups: avid genealogists for whom DNA testing is just an extension of their research; those propelled by suspicions that something is off-kilter in their families or who know they have biological family to find, such as adoptees, donor-conceived people, and other NPEs; and the hapless folks who tested for “recreational” purposes and were rocked by a finding they never saw coming.

Copeland spoke to more than 400 such seekers during the course of her research, and she braids many of their stories throughout the text to illustrate why and how people seek and the ways their lives are changed by the pursuit of truth. There’s the geneticist who found that the man she believed was her father was not genetically related. There’s the foundling who had been placed in a basket and left in front of the home of a pastor. There are the seekers who search and are shut out by their biological relatives. There’s the woman in her fifties who developed symptoms that might have been related to ovarian cancer. She’d recently been given information suggesting she was half Ashkenazi Jewish, which meant she might have a BRCA1 or 2 variant, increasing her risk of breast and ovarian cancers. A medical grade DNA test didn’t suggest that she had the variants, but her doctors thought a radical hysterectomy was still warranted by her Ashkenazi heritage. She took a DNA test to learn more about that heritage, and the results showed she had no Ashkenazi ancestry. She discovered she’d been adopted. The worst part, perhaps, was that others in her family knew and didn’t stop her from having the surgery.

But the anchor of the book is the story of Alice Collins Plebuch, a super tech nerd who used her exceptional skills in a two-decades’ long quest to learn more about her family history only to stumble on a spectacularly thorny family mystery. “It is a strange thing to look in the mirror at the face you’ve grown old with and find you don’t quite recognize it,” she told Copeland.

And through Alice’s efforts to understand her unexpected DNA test results, Copeland, weaving her story throughout the book, traces the genesis of a seeker. “Even if you didn’t mean to ask the question, once it’s asked, it will be answered. And once it’s answered—well, for many people, there’s something pretty compelling about knowing there’s a mystery man out there who gave you half your genetic material. How do you not open that box? How do you not want to see your face in his, or to hear the timbre of is voice? How do you not wonder: Would he like you? Would he be glad you came into his life? This is how seekers are made: One question lead to another.” But, she’s quick to observe, there’s no telling how the objects of one’s quest will respond to those questions—an uncertainty that drives an enormous amount of anxiety and, potentially, trauma, for which, she adds, there’s a dearth of supportive services.

These stories involving DNA testing, Copeland says, reveal “how it can delight—and how it can disappoint.” And through them she’s able to pose the big questions:

Is it better to know the truth a test reveals?

Who owns a secret?

What does it feel like to have been lied to?

What is it that forms identity? Is it cultural or biological?

What is it that makes family? Is it blood or care?

Oddly, one of the book’s numerous strengths is that it raises many questions Copeland can’t answer but that provoke thought and debate. “The rise of consumer genomics poses questions about the emphasis we put on genetic identity and what we do when DNA test results come into conflict with the narratives we’ve long believed about ourselves,” she says. “How much of your sense of yourself should scientists and algorithms be allowed to dictate?” And further, “Who decides what story we get to tell?”

Legions of test takers will nod in recognition when Copeland acknowledges the fundamental pain many seekers experience. “Secrets, we are all discovering, have a propulsive power all their own, and time and complicity only make them more powerful.” She manages to look at the toxicity of secrets from all sides. “DNA testing has brought the past forward to the present, forcing us to grapple with decisions made long ago in different, often desperate, circumstances. If forces us to think about the people whose truths have been hushed up for decades—the teenager consigned to a home for unwed mothers, the medical student who contributed his sperm, never dreaming that sperm would become a person knocking on his inbox five decades later.”

Copeland has managed to unravel the enormous knot of a deeply complex subject—the “profound and disruptive power of DNA testing.” She’s broken it into comprehensible parts and parsed their meaning and import. “The Lost Family” is essential reading for everyone who has taken or is considering taking a DNA test, and it will be illuminating to anyone with a stake in genetic identity issues. But because Copeland’s analysis is so thorough and deeply thoughtful, and because it will humanize and contextualize genetic identity issues for those who haven’t yet been touched by them, the book should be read by everyone. No one is immune to the reach of DNA testing. Ultimately, everyone will be affected in one way or another by this phenomenon. The information contained in this excellent book will help readers make informed decisions about testing and, equally, once they’ve tested, will prepare them for the fallout when “the roulette wheel of some unexpected revelation” stops at their families.

Look for more reviews here, and return to the home page for more articles about genetic identity.

Joyful reunions have become a television staple. Less frequently told are the stories of the unsuccessful searches and unhappy reunions. Adoptees, donor-conceived people, and NPEs (not parent expected) risk being spurned when they reach out to biological family members, and rejection may cause significant distress. We asked Lisa Bahar, a licensed marriage and family therapist and licensed professional clinical counselor in Newport Beach, California, about how rejection may influence and interfere with interpersonal relationships, how individuals can help soothe themselves, and how therapy might help.Yes. If individuals ruminate and fixate on the thought of rejection, they may find they’re setting themselves for up interpersonal interactions that fall in line with their core belief that they are rejected and will be rejected. On the other hand, in a therapeutic environment or process, it may be a way to work through rejection and explore it for the purpose of gaining acceptance of self.It can produce general anxiety symptoms, depression, feelings of disconnect, and fear of intimacy.  Anxiety is a symptom of avoiding the discomfort of deep emotional pain that has not been worked through.Fear of getting hurt can set up you up for hurting others before they hurt you—a conflicted desire to get close, but then pushing away, rejecting other people’s love due to not feeling comfortable being loved. Sometimes it’s easier to be rejected. It’s known and familiar. A running theme in intimate relationships is looking to someone to accept you, and that may and most likely will turn into deep need, which can manifest in rage-like behavior when you’re left or not reassured that the person will return.Belonging would be about feeling accepted and willing to take a chance to make efforts to belong. It takes a lot of courage to work through the feelings of rejection. Learning how to let go of people is a significant step toward being accepted and belonging. Practicing that sense of freedom helps with interpersonal relationships and lets you create a connection that’s healthier and more fulfilling versus controlling, demanding, insisting, or guilting people into having you feel like you belong, which ironically sets up the cycle to be rejected.I would say try professional therapy relationships versus friends and family. It seems reasonable to turn to family and friends, however, starting with a therapist or maybe a trusted religion or spiritual practitioner may be a more effective alternative. Friends and family are well meaning, but they may not understand the depths of the disconnect that is at the core of the trauma of being rejected.Be willing to address it by noticing when you are feeling rejected. Set up a self-soothing kit that will calm your mind when you feel rejected, for example, warm clothing, soothing refreshment (not mood altering), sensory experiences that are comforting to the 5 senses to help you feel more connected to life. Creating a sensory experience might involve putting in your room flowers or a painting or work of art that’s pleasing to the eye, candles or atmospheric lighting, comforters that are attractive and warm, and bed linens that feel nice. It might mean having hot tea or another warm and soothing beverage for taste. For sound, it might mean playing music that’s calming, versus thoughtful or stimulating. Put together a list of books that will help you improve your feelings of acceptance, such as loving kindness or spiritual books. Learn about imagery so you can envision a place when you are feeling rejected. The comfort of a pet may help. If your pet appreciates being petted, you benefit and the pet does too. Practicing a loving kindness and compassion practice can help calm the mind. You remind yourself that you are safe, you are content, you are accepted. When practiced regularly, it trains the mind to accept yourself versus the negative negative self-talk. The mind is powerful and will accept what you tell it if you practice.Depending on the severity, most likely psychodynamic therapy will work with severe symptoms of abandonment. Object Relations and Gestalt therapies can be helpful. Psychodynamic therapy is a form of treatment that explores how an individual experiences symptoms of distress based on what is unconscious, and therapists work with clients to bring the unconsciousness into the conscious. This is important when working through jealousy due to the abandonment and the fear of rejection associated with this. This therapy focuses on childhood experiences as a way to understand current symptoms that are seemingly unhealthy. For example, a child rejected by his mother may set up an experience of rejection from others or even go so far as to reject his mate before she rejects him to avoid the discomfort of jealousy. And since many of these individuals have experienced trauma, EMDR and other trauma-informed therapies might also be helpful.I have had clients experience this. Rejection is a trauma and it deserves to be worked through. Therapy is essential, and the desire to find some kind of meaning from the experience would be the goal. Existential therapies can be helpful for this experience. Existential therapies look for meaning and purpose—why you are here. They also look at anxiety as an opportunity to be creative and face fears to create new experiences. Anxiety is seen as a launch to new beginnings.Learn to practice a willingness to turn your mind toward accepting that rejection is related to further acceptance of self. If you can love and accept yourself in whatever method you choose, then you will be equipped to deal with others who may reject you. The reality is, rejection is part of being in the world, and the key is not to try and avoid it, but rather to see it as an opportunity to explore parts of yourself you want to accept, change parts that don’t fit with your meaning and life purpose, and discover ways to be gentle with yourself when this inevitable experience occurs. Someone one told me, “If everyone likes you, you have a problem.”Lisa Bahar is licensed marriage and family therapist and licensed professional clinical counselor. She specializes in dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) and provides psychotherapy to individuals, couples, and families. She’s an adjunct faculty member at Pepperdine University’s Graduate School of Education and Psychology Master of Arts in Clinical Psychology program with an emphasis in Marriage and Family Therapy.

Read more about rejection here, and return to our home page for more articles on genetic identity issues.

Many of us are preoccupied with the question “Who’s your daddy?” and pin our hopes on science—a DNA test—to provide clarity. According to Nara B. Milanich, author of “Paternity: The Elusive Quest for the Father,” the question has been asked for millennia, but it wasn’t until the early 20^th century that people looked to science rather than society for the answer. And while the conundrum has been debated through the ages and far and wide, it’s a far more complex matter than it appears to be, the author argues. Despite science, she insists, there’s still no consensus about who is a father or what it means to be a father.

While the need to pinpoint paternity has been driven for various reasons throughout history by a variety of stakeholders—mothers, putative fathers, potential heirs, lawyers, champions of eugenics—there are modern twists. “The orphaned and the adopted have asked this question in relation to lost identities,” says Milanich. “More recently, assisted reproductive technologies—gamete donation, surrogacy—have raised old issues in new ways.”

A professor of history at Barnard College, the author traces the history of the understanding of paternity across time and cultures and analyzes the many ways fatherhood is defined—socially, legally, politically, and biologically—and explores the consequences and implications of the different means of establishing paternity, observing that paternity bequeaths not only individuals’ names but also their identities, nationalities, and legitimacy.

Because a woman’s pregnancy and childbirth are observable, maternity historically has been undisputed. But before science developed the means to pinpoint with certainty the biological fact of fatherhood, it was well accepted that the mystery of paternity was impenetrable. And while paternity was understood to be truly unknowable or unverifiable, it could be assumed or claimed based on a man’s relationship to a child’s mother or his behavior toward a child. Paternity could be inferred from marriage. Likewise, a man’s acceptance of responsibility for a child supported the presumption of his paternity. In most cultures and throughout history, the role of father has been accorded to the men willing to perform it.

But the lack of certainty rendered claims of infidelity insupportable and legal actions to hold putative fathers accountable unprovable. At the same time, this ambiguity upheld certain social orders, for example, it gave cover to white slave owners who impregnated slaves with impunity.

In the early 20^st century, myriad methods were developed to attempt to scientifically determine paternity. They were efforts to prove the male’s body contained the evidence and to shift paternity from a social construct—a designation based on relationships and behavior—to one based in biology. These included hereditary blood grouping, crystallography, fingerprints, genetic paternity testing, and measurements of the electronic vibrations through the blood using a machine called an oscillophore. But it wasn’t until scientific testing techniques were refined and DNA testing reached a standard of reliability that the biological fact of paternity became indisputable. Paternity thenceforth would be based on genes rather than social or political determinations. Earlier notions of identity and kinship gave way to a new standard.

The use of science to yield conclusive proof of paternity, which, Milanich says, arose from eugenics and race science, had wide application and significant repercussions. It was desirable, for example, to government agencies that sought to reduce welfare spending by shifting the financial burden to the scientifically demonstrated fathers. These techniques might be used to hold a deadbeat dad accountable, shame an unfaithful woman and strip her of her rights, or uphold privilege and paternalism.

Contemporary headlines about fertility fraud and the ethical minefields surrounding assisted reproduction support the author’s argument that despite decades of efforts by scientists to determine the criteria for establishing and legitimizing paternity, the task remains as difficult as it’s ever been. Further, society has leaned back toward a view of paternity and parenthood dictated by behaviors and responsibilities, as demonstrated by the acceptance of same-sex parenting. The experience of NPEs (not parent expected), as well, demonstrates that DNA doesn’t settle the matter of paternity once and for all. Countless individuals who’ve discovered biological fathers through DNA testing have been rejected by those fathers and may have no legal recourse. And on the flip side, in many if not most cases, men who learn through DNA that they are not the biological fathers of their children continue to fulfill the social role and responsibilities understood as those of a father. They may do so through a sense of duty, because they’re legally bound to be accountable, or because all parties involved believe fatherhood is a matter the heart, not of cells.

DNA testing has made it possible for many adoptees, donor-conceived individuals, and NPEs to discover their origins—a fundamental right asserted in the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. But Milanich also explores the darker side of what she terms biological essentialism, detailing the ways in which paternity science was used for baser purposes and in a discriminatory manner, for example in Nazi Germany to determine race, or in the United States during the Cold War to expose Chinese immigrants claiming bloodlines to U.S. citizens. This discussion is especially resonant in light of current events—the government’s plan to use new rapid DNA testing of immigrants in detention facilities on the southern U.S. border, for example, or the Israel High Court granting permission for the use of DNA tests to verify Jewishness.

Those who have had DNA surprises leading to genetic identity confusion may take issue with the way their experience is described as a repetitive story line in the media—”the trope of identity lost and found”—or with the author’s suggestion that what she calls “Big Paternity” has commercialized doubt and is involved in “creating and perpetuating narratives of rampant “paternal misattribution.” Nevertheless, she raises important questions that are worth examining. She concludes that DNA hasn’t settled the matter of paternity. “It was not a lack of knowledge that produced the quest for the father; the quest was always a social and political one. The truly significant question about paternity is thus not an empirical one—who is the father?—but a normative one—what do we want him to be? Which criteria whose interests, intentions, or desires, should define paternity?”

Milanich, a skilled storyteller, offers a fascinating social history, from the earliest times and across cultures to the rise of Big Paternity, as exemplified by the “Who’s Your Daddy?” truck that winds through the streets of New York City providing mobile DNA testing, and, of course, the ubiquity of direct-to-consumer DNA testing. This deeply researched and engaging exploration will likely challenge readers’ notions about paternity and shift their perspectives. As the author explained in a recent Barnard College interview, “Tracing the rise of testing illuminates changing ideas about family, sexuality, childhood, race, nationhood, and identity.”B.K. JacksonLook for more book reviews here, and find more articles about genetic identity here. Is there a book, film, or podcast you’d like to review? Check out our submission guidelines.

Facebook groups and virtual support groups can be lifesavers, but nothing beats face-to-face time with people who know how you feel and have been where you’ve been. That’s why Erin Cosentino and Cindy McQuay have begun organizing retreats for adoptees, late discovery adoptees, donor conceived (DC) people, and NPEs (not parent expected) at which participants can get to know each other and share their experiences in a relaxed setting while learning from experts about the issues that challenge them. It’s not therapy, but it may be equally healing, and undoubtedly more fun.

Since the day that Cosentino, 44, discovered at 42 that her father was not the man who raised her, her mantra has been “Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed.” McQuay, 56, has known her entire life she had been adopted. Both married with children and busy schedules, each devotes considerable time to advocating for people with concerns related to genetic identity and helping searchers look for biological family. And each runs a private Facebook group, Cosentino’s NPE Only: After the Discovery, and McQuay’s Adoptees Only: Found/Reunion The Next Chapter.

Among her advocacy efforts, McQuay, who describes herself as a jack of all trades, helps adoptees locate the forms necessary to obtain original birth certificates (OBCs). A strong voice for adoptee rights, she strives to enlighten non-adoptees about the often unrecognized harsh realities of adoption, helping them understand that “not all adoptions are rainbows and unicorns.” Countering the dominant narrative, she’s quick to point out that adoptees “were not chosen, we were just next in line.”

Cosentino and McQuay first encountered each other when they were among 30 participants at an afternoon meet-up in Philadelphia last March. “It was an awesome experience to be able to see and hug these people with whom we’d formed deep bonds over the Internet,” says Cosentino. “We loved that we were able to meet up with others, but felt that there simply wasn’t enough time to share with each other.” Further, she says, McQuay felt slightly out of place because she was the only adoptee in attendance and the agenda was geared more toward NPEs.

After the meeting, a group of attendees went out to dinner and Cosentino and McQuay began to talk about the possibility of creating a retreat. As a special educator, Cosentino says her go-to is always to teach, so planning a retreat where people affected by separation from biological family could gather and “learn and grow while healing” seemed like a great idea. Over the course of the dinner conversation, they’d decided to plan something longer and more inclusive, and, thus, says Cosentino, “the idea for the New Jersey Shore Round Table Retreat was born.”

They designed a program that would include all people facing identity loss and address their issues. It was important to McQuay, for example, to “make sure NPEs, LDAs, and DC people knew what adoptees have been living their entire lives”—how they’ve spent their lifetimes searching for familiarity in strangers’ faces, about the frustrations associated with the laws pertaining to OBCs, and the trauma and loss they’ve experienced.

Their inaugural retreat was held in Brigantine, New Jersey in October 2019 and was attended by 18 women and one man. “We initially and quite simply wanted more time together. We felt we wanted to provide a space where we could all—NPEs, DCs, adoptees, and LDAs—be together and share our experiences,” says Cosentino. The lone man attending felt fortunate to take part but wishes more men would take the opportunity to attend. According to McQuay, “Men may be hesitant to open up, but would be surprised to learn that the retreats are not women-specific. They contain activities that benefit everyone.

At the same time, they wanted to delve deeper into the trauma often experienced in the wake of the revelation of family secrets and so invited Susannah Spanton—a Reiki master and Bio-Energy practitioner as well as a trauma trainer at Lakeside Global Institute, which provides trauma-informed training—to speak about how the body responds and adapts to trauma. According to Cosentino, “Trauma changes a person, but we all respond differently to trauma. It’s a very individual experience. So we focused on asking thought-provoking questions and sharing meals, lots of laughs, and some tears as well. We just wanted to be around people who get it.” In addition, they broke up into smaller groups where they explored hard questions and also enjoyed time for meditation and reflection.Now they’re branching out and planning additional retreats—for starters, a spring 2020 gathering in Brigantine (with half the 30 spots already booked by previous attendees) and an autumn 2020 retreat, tentatively scheduled to take place in Pennsylvania’s Poconos, where participants can enjoy the mountains and the fall foliage. “We can’t help but think of the quote (from an unknown source)—‘Autumn shows us how beautiful it is to let things go,’—and it really is the perfect backdrop to heal, grow, and maybe not let go, but move forward,” says Cosentino. She and McQuay are open to the possibility of hosting retreats virtually anywhere if there’s a desire from people in other areas. Because Cosentino sits on the board of a cancer nonprofit organization for which she plans events in states remotely, it’s a seamless task for her.

The first gathering, says Cosentino, was their ‘guinea pig.’ “We learned from that first retreat what people liked and didn’t like, what they need, and even what they are not ready to experience. The second retreat will take a more therapeutic approach. “Our trauma specialist is returning, but we’ve enlisted the expertise of art and writing therapists as well—Elissa Arbeitman, MA ATR-BC and Chelsea Palermo, MFA—and a licensed social worker, Gina Daniel, DSW, LCSW, will be there as well to educate us on therapies that work for NPEs, adoptees, LDAs, and DC individuals.The most significant benefit to attendees, say McQuay and Cosentino, is togetherness. “We heal simply by being together in a safe place where we already know what the others are experiencing. But of equal importance and value is the opportunity to have trained professionals guide us through different therapies and approaches and provide strategies and opportunities to feel whole,” says Cosentino.

“The best thing was knowing you are not alone and being able to share and talk about your own personal story without judgment or someone saying ‘don’t worry, nothing has changed,’” says one attendee, Da Rhonda Roberts, a 56-year NPE and a human resources coordinator from Cherry Hill, New Jersey. “For me it changed a whole hell of a lot.” The trauma lecture was also informative and helpful for her not only for its relevance to genetic identity, but also because she’s a survivor of domestic violence. Many people with genetic identity loss have experienced other types of trauma, which may be amplified by the distress they experience after making difficult family discoveries, so strategies for addressing trauma are essential.

Not feeling alone was also a key takeaway for Heather Resto. A 39-year-old NPE from Connecticut whose older brother is also an NPE, she also credits the retreat with reassuring her that “it’s okay to feel everything I feel as a result of this discovery—anger, grief, shock, sadness, and joy connecting with new family.” The lecture on trauma, she says, validated her emotions. “There was something cathartic about sitting in a room with 17 other people going through the same thing. While our stories are all different and we’re all at different points in our journey to discovery, we are all connected as NPEs. We all get ‘it,’ while many people in our daily lives just don’t see how a discovery like this is traumatic and life changing,” Resto says.Learn more about the retreats at Hiraeth Hope & Healing, and join pertinent communities on Facebook: Cosentino’s group for NPEs, McQuay’s group for adoptees, and Severance’s group for anyone experiencing genetic identity issues.

Check back soon for more on how to start a retreat or symposium in your area.

Kara Rubinstein Deyerin learned about a year and a half ago that she’s an NPE (not parent expected). Listen to her story about loss, race, religion, and identity. Follow her on Twitter @UnexpectedlyJ and look for her blog, Unexpectedly Jewish in Seattle.