You can’t destroy families and then expect the country to thrive. Until we reckon with the policies that severed origins, identity, and belonging, we’ll keep seeing the same fractures play out across generations.

Agreed! See- The Hazards of NCFA’s Biased Half-Assed Advocacy in Adoption: Unmasking the Risks of Half-Assed Advocacy - #naam #adopteevoices #nationaladoptionawarenessmonth #mentalhealthawareness #bias #corruptsystem #familyseparation

medium.com/thoughtless-...

It’s the grief of being unmade before you began. Of loving people who don’t carry your face. Of carrying a mother’s absence like an inherited scent. Of learning that even joy tastes faintly of loss — because the one who should have witnessed it never did.

Other days it burns — the kind of grief that doesn’t weep but tightens your jaw, makes you forget to breathe, makes you want to crawl out of your own skin just to stop feeling the distance between what is and what should have been.

It feels like falling through time — as if part of you is always reaching back toward a warmth that once was, while another part keeps pretending you don’t notice the cold. Some days, the ache is gentle, almost tender.

You can build a life around it, decorate it with love, success, even laughter, but it remains — the hollow behind the heartbeat, the catch in the breath when someone says you were chosen.

It’s grief without a grave. There’s no body to mourn, no ritual to contain it. Just a vast, unfinished silence that hums through the marrow — a loneliness that doesn’t always hurt, but never leaves.