On Family, Identity, and Sitting With the Unknown

Last week was quiet here, and I wanted to share why.

I took a step back because I learned something that shifted the way I understand my own story, my story I thought I had finally began to fully understand. I found out that the man who raised me—my “father”—may not be my biological dad. It’s a sentence I’m still getting used to writing, let alone fully understanding.

This information came to light after I started exploring my family history through an Ancestry DNA test, in addition, to commentary that has been made by two individuals very near and dear to my “father”. As mentioned, I don’t have a relationship with this man, haven’t for the last 6-7 years or so. With both of my parents no longer here to answer questions, I wanted to learn more about where I come from. What I didn’t expect was that my DNA results wouldn’t line up with the family narrative I’ve always known. Names began appearing—matches I didn’t recognize, connections that didn’t make sense. When I reached out to my mom’s sisters for clarity, one of them gently told me the truth, saying it was time I knew, especially since I was already looking. Now, the frequent question I’ve been receiving is “how could they not have told you?” The answer is simple. They promised my mom, their sister, with a secret that was not theirs to tell. Even though my mother is gone, she made to promise them that I am to know only if I inquired about who my father is. Then the truth would be told.

Since then, I’ve needed time. Time to sit with the information, to feel everything that came with it, and to give myself space to process without rushing to conclusions or explanations.

Discovering something like this doesn’t just change a fact on paper—it touches identity, belonging, and the stories we tell ourselves about who we are. It’s brought up grief, confusion, curiosity, and moments of quiet sadness. It’s also made me more aware of how deeply our mental health is tied to our sense of origin and connection. Some days I feel grounded, and other days I feel like I’m standing in unfamiliar territory, learning how to orient myself again.

What I do know is this: I’m not walking through this alone. My husband has been unbelievably supportive, steady, and kind as I navigate questions that don’t yet have answers. My siblings and friends have shown up with patience, love, and space—no pressure to explain, no demand for updates, just reassurance that I’m held.

I’m continuing the search for my biological father, wherever that leads. Whether the man who raised me is biologically related to me or not, the truth doesn’t erase the life I lived or the experiences that shaped me. It simply adds another layer—one I’m learning how to carry.

I’m sharing this not to overshare, but to explain the pause and to be honest about where I am right now. Some seasons require us to slow down, to feel deeply, and to give ourselves permission not to have everything figured out.

Thank you for being here, for your patience, and for allowing me the space to process this chapter as it unfolds. I’ll talk to you soon.