In 1978, when I was just five, I discovered that I was adopted. My mom, in a gentle manner, read “The Chosen Baby” by Valentina Wasson to my sister and me—she was adopted too—every night until we grew out of bedtime stories. The narrative etched into our minds was clear: we were special, chosen, and part of an exclusive club of cool kids. Adoption was never a source of shame for us. We were as much a part of our family as our older brothers, who were our parents’ biological sons. The family mantra was simple: we didn’t grow under our mom’s heart, but in it, making us special without a shadow of doubt.
Being adopted set me apart, but it didn’t shield me from the challenges of life. As a child, I was inquisitive, always asking “Why?” and eager to learn more. My curiosity was boundless, and I often overwhelmed my parents, teachers, and friends with my questions and energy. I became known as “too much”—a label that followed me from kindergarten, where I was seen as a show-off, through to high school. This reputation as a challenging child stuck with me, much like an unwanted shadow.
Our family was devoted to our faith, attending church regularly. Sundays were dedicated to Sunday school and services, while Wednesdays centered around family worship and fellowship. This routine was the hallmark of our Baptist faith. The same year I learned about my adoption, I also accepted Jesus into my heart, feeling chosen not only by my birth mother and adoptive parents but by God Himself. Baptism soon followed, symbolizing a new chapter. Yet, this sense of belonging was disrupted when disagreements with church leadership led to our family being asked to leave the congregation. This exclusion from a prestigious church left us feeling like outsiders in our social circles.
We attempted to find a new church home, but nothing ever quite fit. Over time, church attendance dwindled to major holidays, and my belief in the teachings of the church waned. By the time I reached college, my interest in Jesus Christ had diminished, and I found myself adrift in a sea of religious apathy.
During high school, I excelled academically and in extracurricular activities, presenting an image of the quintessential all-American girl. However, beneath this exterior, I struggled with body image issues. I learned from my adoption file that I had a genetic disposition towards obesity, and I fought hard to maintain a slim figure. My self-worth became intertwined with my ability to manage both my personality and my appearance, leading to a cycle of shame and self-critique.
Body image issues can be particularly harsh and pervasive, especially for young girls. They can drive us to dark places, fostering harmful behaviors like disordered eating and self-harm. These actions often serve as misguided attempts at penance for perceived inadequacies, rather than a spiritual journey towards self-improvement. The internal conflict between being a “special chosen child” and the fear of not fitting societal beauty standards created a cognitive dissonance that was hard to reconcile.
After high school, I moved around a bit before settling in Erie, Pennsylvania, where I began attending Penn State Erie. The academic environment there exposed me to critical theories and radical ideas that were gaining traction on university campuses. Influences from thinkers like Freud, Marx, and Darwin challenged the Christian beliefs I had grown up with. In this new intellectual landscape, I began questioning the validity of Christianity, seeing it as a patriarchal construct designed to suppress women.
Feminist voices like Mary Daly’s resonated with me, suggesting that traditional religious narratives were a means of control. I found myself drawn to these ideas, unable to defend my dwindling Christian faith against the critiques I encountered. This period of questioning led to a sense of awakening, as I embraced the feminist perspective and began to see myself as both a victim of and a voice against patriarchal oppression.
The exploration of new ideologies was intellectually stimulating, yet it also brought emotional turmoil. I had to test my newfound beliefs before completely abandoning my old ones. Slowly, I began resisting the constraints of Christianity, viewing it as a moral straitjacket that limited my personal growth and liberation. I believed that true freedom and empowerment for women lay outside of traditional religious structures.
For years, I was ensnared by the seductive yet nihilistic allure of Marxian feminism. This ideology, although appealing, also brought with it feelings of condemnation, doubt, and fear. It led me into a mental and emotional trap that was difficult to escape.
During this tumultuous time, I grappled with the contradictions of my upbringing and the new beliefs I was adopting. I sought understanding and clarity amidst the chaos of conflicting ideologies. This journey was not just about rejecting old beliefs but also about finding a voice and identity that resonated with my true self.
Ultimately, the journey of self-discovery was complex and fraught with challenges. It involved questioning deeply held beliefs and exploring new perspectives. While it was a path of liberation, it also required careful navigation to avoid falling into the traps of dogmatism and extremism.
My story is one of transformation, marked by the search for identity and meaning in a world filled with diverse ideologies. It underscores the importance of questioning, exploring, and ultimately finding a balance between tradition and progress, faith and reason, individuality and community.
