Chameleons change the colour of their skin to suit their environment and blend in.

It's one thing to live your life and do the best that you can. It’s another thing to feel like you’re a train on the edge of flying off the tracks.

The other day some social workers were talking to me about You Don’t Look Adopted. One of the women asked, When do you think you’ll heal?

I am sitting here writing this so I won’t go to Carmax.

Last night in the car, my daughter gave me an overview of Taylor Swift’s breakup songs. It was the quickest drive from Maine to Massachusetts ever.

This is my second summer in New England since moving away to go to college, and last week, feeling ready, I had taken on poison ivy.

So as not to ruin the experience, I had to keep reminding myself not to make stories out of my body’s feelings.

My friend and fellow adoptee and writer, Andrew, texted and sent me a Father’s Day episode of the podcast Honestly by Bari Weiss. “These motherfuckers are fucking lying,” Andrew wrote. “Start listening at minute 33.”

Live like a narcissist.

I truly feel as if I’m wringing myself—my self—out as I write about what it’s like to finally start trusting and feeling at home in my body.

Sometimes I think being adopted is like wearing a condom all the time. You get to feel, but not completely, and both your vital energy and the ability to connect with the vital energy of others is blocked.

Like a good adult, I’ve been practicing being a better listener for a long time, with highly mixed results.