Holding Two Truths at Once

If you’re new here, I noted last week how a potential truth unraveled itself regarding my biological father. If you’re coming back, thank you for joining me! \

This journey of finding who my biological father may actually be is still unfolding. It hasn’t slowed down. It hasn’t become lighter. If anything, some days it feels heavier as I begin to have more questions, more emotions, more pieces of my identity shifting in real time. I know that the man who raised me very well could be my dad. I see some of myself in him, but the piece that consumes me the most is that I don’t see most if not more of myself in him.

It would be easy to let this take over everything.

And in some ways, it has taken over parts of me. The quiet moments. The late nights. The mental spirals when I’m deep in research or staring at DNA matches. This isn’t a small thing. It’s a life-altering realization. It’s grief and curiosity and hope and anger and confusion all layered together. Even then, I think I’m on a wild goose hunt that doesn’t mean anything and that I’m just making all of this up, and for what reason, I would have no idea.

But here’s the other truth: my life is still happening.

I still go to work.
I’m still working toward my master’s degree, showing up for school assignments and deadlines.
I’m still sitting in bleachers at practices and games for our kids, cheering them on like nothing in the world is unsettled.
I’m still making dinner. Folding laundry. Answering emails. Being present.

And surprisingly, that normalcy has become grounding.

February in the Midwest has gifted us a stretch of temporary nice weather — the kind that tricks you into believing spring might not be that far away. I’ve been soaking that in. Standing outside longer than necessary. Letting the sun hit my face. Breathing in cold-but-not-bitter air.

I’ve been reading. Crocheting. Keeping my hands busy when my mind wants to wander too far.

Staying busy isn’t avoidance. It’s balance.

I am allowing space for this search. I am honoring how significant it is. I am feeling what needs to be felt. But I am also intentionally choosing not to let it consume me in its entirety.

Because my children still need their mom.
My husband still needs his wife.
My responsibilities still require my focus.
And I still deserve joy — even in the middle of uncertainty.

I am learning that it’s possible to hold two truths at once:

I am in the middle of a life-changing identity journey.
And I am still fully living my life.

This search matters.
But so does everything else I’ve built.

And maybe that’s the quiet strength I’m discovering — not in having all the answers, but in continuing to show up anyway.

Still here.
Still present.
Still me.