Last night I had dinner with another adopted person. We both struggle with depression, and we talked about wanting love, wanting a partner who felt like an equal. We talked about our hearts, the tightness of them, and the fear that we will die without having bloomed.

I had this idea when I was working with my memoir-writing group because I didn’t want these writers, at the end of the year when they are done with their project, to feel the way I did when I finished You Don’t Look Adopted.

I want you to know that you are good and real and perfect, even when you have dirt under your nails and you think about fucking.

Here is a guest blog post from my friend Karri. You are welcome. xox

I am so grateful to learn about “the other side” of the coin of relinquishment and loss and birth and mother and child and etc. I want to know everything about what it’s like to be a first/birth/natural mother.

I asked some questions of adopted people on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter. If I misquoted you, left off your answer by mistake, or if you want to add a response, please email me at anneheffron@gmail.com.

What do you want?

You know how birds fly into windows? It’s a terrible noise, that thunk. People walk into windows, but not as often, I’m guessing, as birds fly into them.

I wanted to give you, dear readers, a gift, so I asked my friend April Dinwoodie if she would write a post for my blog. I knew the would hit it out to the park because she is a walking heart. She lives with a fierce, wild courage that is always informative and surprising and often deeply subversive and funny.

I love the words mystery and wonder, but sometimes I forget just how important they are to me.

If you want to write but feel stuck, crawl for a while. Make lists instead of sentences. Take naps. Dream about the things you want to write.

I have noticed something about adopted people. Many of them (uh, me) cling to the narrative that no one held them after they were born.