Adoption has brought together thousands of beautiful families in the world, but it isn’t as magical as it appears to be. Parents considering adoption, especially transracial adoption, should be aware of the reality and the damage it can inflict on the child, especially in a racially charged United States.

Adoption is considered one of the most selfless things someone could do, but it can carry with it a dark reality for the adoptee: feelings of anxiety, self-loathing and a deeply unsettling feeling that you only exist because someone did not want you. This reality only complicated my own upbringing.

I think I was in fourth grade when someone first hurled at me the phrase, “You’re adopted!” I remember being confused; at the time, I thought this was just another fact of life; the sky is blue, and I’m adopted. 

Eventually, the insults stopped, but I remember still feeling deeply disturbed and shaken like someone had kicked my feet out from under me.

For the next 12 years, I would talk less, walk a little faster and shrink myself to seem smaller, which is tough to do when you’re Black in a predominantly white school district. 

According to a 2017 study from the Institute for Family Studies, 44% of the adopted children surveyed had a parent who belonged to a different racial or ethnic group. Transracial adoption has been going on for centuries, but only in the last 20 years have we started to reckon with its problematic origins.  

From health care to the military-industrial complex, white supremacy and racist ideals have infiltrated the very fabric of our nation, leading some individuals to hold a problematic belief that in many transracial adoptions, the child was saved by their altruistic — likely white — parents.

My life as a Black American adoptee led me to consume all sorts of narratives about my relationship with my family, including the racist idea that my parents saved me from a life of starvation in Africa despite the fact that they aren’t even white. My mom is Venezuelan, and my dad is half-white and half-African American. They both look very different than I do. My skin tone is much darker, my hair collier and I tower over both of them. If we were sitting together on the subway, it would be hard to tell that I was their kid. 

From the stares I would get in public to customs asking 6-year-old me if I was being trafficked by my parents, I’ve always known I was different from them. But the issues I’ve faced with my transracial adoption go much further than appearance. 

Yes, I was Black, but was I Kenyan or African American? Could I call myself African American even though my ancestors did not descend from slaves? Was I Afro-Latino because my mom was Venezuelan and I spoke Spanish before I knew English? These questions plagued me, and to this day, I still don’t know the answer. 

I was adopted in Nairobi, Kenya, in 2003, when my dad was working as a foreign correspondent there. Sometime that year, my mom happened to be at an orphanage somewhere in Nairobi volunteering to help feed the children. As the story goes, she heard from a nurse that a newborn was coming in and that he was available for adoption. And the rest is history.

Coming into my own as a Black child was difficult. I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened to me if I had been sent to a different orphanage or if I hadn’t been adopted because my mom was missing a form. What would life have been like if I hadn’t been adopted?

I’ve since reconciled my issues with my adoption by focusing on the love my parents have for me, but it wasn’t easy getting there. That being said, I do not think people shouldn’t adopt children of other races. Instead, I urge parents-to-be to be cautious and aware of their child’s identity. 

To responsibly parent a child who is of a different race means to not treat their identity as an afterthought and, most importantly, not to make a spectacle of their identity. In an age of misinformation and racially charged politics, it is imperative that those looking to adopt dismantle any notions of saviorism that they possess.

I had a great childhood. Through every piano recital, soccer practice and toothache, my parents were there. They nurtured me and taught me what it means to be a good human, and that transcends blood. 

Let my story teach you that transracial adoption needs to be done responsibly. Even the best parents can be blind to the damage that transracial adoption can do to a child. Do the work and adopt responsibly.