When I breathe and pay attention to my heart, it feels like I’m trying to find someone I lost at the mall.

I discovered something when I finally, after over thirty years of trying, I wrote my story: the hardest work was yet to come. I was going to have to find a way to give myself permission to thrive.

Want to play a game? Go find an adoptee and start asking about his or her preferences. What I have noticed in myself and in many of the adoptees I know is that we will first try to find out what you prefer and then go along with that choice.

In French, the term, “I miss you,” is “ tu me manques.” Literally, that is something akin to “I am missing you from me.”

I think it started the first time I saw my mother’s legs in stockings.

Resmaa Menakem, in his talk with Krista Tippett on her podcast On Being, said the tears of a white woman have a certain kind of power.

We talked about my father. She wasn’t exactly sure of his ethnicity or race.

I read a plea recently on Twitter by an adoptee asking adoptive parents to say something positive about their (adopted) children.

I stayed up late last night, waiting to see if anything was happening with the protests.

There is a part of the brain that deals with something called executive function.

What can you do as a white parent?

In school I tried writing like a boy in my grade who was smart, and always kept his desk neat and tidy.