The Wo[man] in the Mirror

I’ve never had a good relationship with my mirror. It shows the wrinkles, the stray hairs, gray hairs, and flaws in my physique. In the mirror, everything is backwards to me. Because I’m used to seeing only my reflection, photographs look off to me. My hair is parted on the wrong side. I just look a little different.

Truth be told, I don’t like many photographs of myself either – for much the same reason as I don’t like my mirror much.

This past week, though, I had an unusual experience – I saw myself in the mirror and I LIKED what I saw. In fact, I liked what I saw so much that I took a picture of myself. I took that picture and placed it side-by-side with a picture of myself near my heaviest weight. I even had my husband take photos of myself from every angle.

Looking at that comparison, I saw, for the first time, the remarkable changes that have taken place during my journey thus far. I realized that because I tend to avoid mirrors and looking at full length photos of myself, I have a skewed self-image.

In the shower, I see the way the skin sags and the remaining fat rolls. I see each part in isolation. Although I live my life in this miraculous machine – my body – because I’m am in the inside looking out, I do not see myself as others see me.

I shared one of those comparison pictures on a facebook group for members of DDP Yoga with thousands of members. It even showed my tummy, but I was so thrilled that I didn’t care. I didn’t worry about judgment. I knew the people in that community would be supportive.

Comment after comment referred to my transformation as “inspirational,” and I resolved, in that moment, to try to see myself as others see me.

This week, a wall of mirrors went up in my workout room – my “fortress of solitude.” I look at the woman in the mirror. She has skinny collarbones, and I can see a hint of definition around her abs. She smiles at me – and I smile back.

From WWE to WDW – The Pro Wrestler and the Princess

Posted by BecomingBetty

Today is a really proud day for me. Today I was featured by the DDPYoga team for their Transformation Tuesday posts on Facebook and Twitter. I will be appearing soon on their “works in progress” section on the website. I am an enthusiastic spokesperson for the plan, and I have not been paid for my testimonial. The lessons I have learned are far better payment than money.

The seeds for my journey to good health were planted in 2012 when I saw a video about the remarkable transformation of a disabled former paratrooper who used DDPYoga to completely transform his life. I watched that video over and over with tears streaming down my face as Arthur fell down over and over, but ended up throwing away his crutches and learning to run again.

Former WWE wrestler Diamond Dallas Page was in that video talking about helping Arthur. I googled Diamond Dallas Page Yoga and found the website for DDPYoga (formerly YRG). I ordered it immediately, then I received an email link sending me to TeamDDPYoga.com, a website for support where I found others who had watched the “Arthur Video” and were desperate for help, too.

I weighed at least 322 pounds (that’s the highest my doctor recorded), with an ankle injury and arthritis in both knees that frequently required me to use a cane to get around, I was desperate. In my 30 years as an overweight adult, I have spent thousands of dollars on infomercial products, aerobics classes and diet meetings. I never stuck with any of it.

When I received my discs, I began my transformation. I learned to get off the floor without using a chair. I learned to change the way that I ate. I learned to stand on one foot. I made great progress. I lost 30 pounds, and then life got complicated and the discs went back into the drawer. Although I didn’t gain back all of the weight, I stopped progressing.

I re-booted the program a couple of times, but it wasn’t until I listened to the rest of DDP’s message – that life is 10% what happens to you and 90% what you do about it – that I began the real transformation. In March 2014, I hit a real low spot in my life. It was a low time physically, emotionally and spiritually. After a scary spell at work (a panic attack that I believed with my whole heart was a stroke), I committed to making the changes that would lead me to where I am today.

I do a lot of running. I never ran as a young person. I believed that I couldn’t run. watching Arthur run ignited a burning desire to prove everyone (including myself) wrong. I took the first tentative steps on the treadmill and never looked back. Nearly a year and a half (and 796.4 miles later), I have learned to call myself a runner.

Through my journey, I’ve met scores of awesome people – people who, like me, believed that they would never be able to reach a healthy weight – never be able to run. I receive messages that said, “You inspire me,” and I am so grateful for the opportunity to show others that it *is* possible to overcome bad diet, physical injuries, thyroid problems, PCOS and arthritis pain to build a better life.

Last February I participated in the 2015 Disney Princess Half Marathon at Walt Disney World. I wasn’t able to finish, but the fact that I even STARTED is testimony to the fact that by owning your life, you can make tremendous changes. I’m going back next year to finish what I started.

DDPYoga is “not your Mama’s Yoga.” There are no mantras, no meditation, no soft music or incense. We end each workout with a BANG!

DDPYoga is but one facet of the wellness program that I have adopted, but it’s an important one.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”

God uses many teachers to show us the way. DDP is one of the teachers who have shown up in my life when I needed it most.

The Secret Ingredient to Major Life Changes

Posted by BecomingBetty

My invisible (online) friends are awesome. We know the painful secrets we don’t tell the people in our real lives. We lament the difficulties of dieting in our secret facebook group. We have supported each other through divorces and miscarriages, puppies and empty nests.

This week I saw one of them post in our secret group reserved just for motivating each other on our fitness journeys. It read,

You keep getting smaller and I keep getting bigger. I hate myself

Eureka! That’s the problem!

I’m going to let you in on the secret ingredient for successfully making a major change in your life. I’m not going to charge you a million dollars – not a red cent. I’m going to give you the gift of the knowledge that took me 48 years to learn.

Are you ready?

[drumroll]

You cannot make lasting, drastic changes in your life when you hate yourself. You must love yourself. That is the secret.

Think about it! If you hate someone, the energy you spend on that person is not utilized to build them up or make them better. Hatred, loathing, and disrespect for someone lead to destruction. Hatred causes us to focus in the wrong way.

In order to lose 100+ pounds, I have had to make some major life changes. Some have required a lot of time. Others have required a lot of money. Still others have required me to put my feelings above someone else’s.

To lose weight and get healthy, I have devoted hundreds of hours to running and working out. Those are hours I could have used many other ways. To make that kind of time, I had to put myself first. I had to learn to say no to other things. If I hated myself, it would be far easier to convince myself that I’m not worth the time away from my family that it takes to be active.

I have had to change the way that I eat. I love myself enough to cook whole foods from scratch – another 8 to 10 hours per week (not including grocery shopping). I cook according to my food plan – not according to my family’s food preferences. They are welcome to add or subtract from my menu, but I don’t cook what I can’t eat. I love myself enough to ensure that the food in my house is healthy and wholesome. If I hated myself, I could continue to sabotage myself by buying processed and prepared foods. Buying whole foods is often more expensive than buying junk. I love myself to spend the extra money to buy the food that I need.

I love myself enough to risk hurting someone’s feelings when they offer me food that isn’t on my meal plan.

I love myself enough to spend the money to buy proper equipment to avoid injury while I run. I economize in other areas of my life in order to afford good running shoes, a GPS watch and fees for races.

This is the third time in my life that I have lost 100 pounds. The difference this time is that I love myself. I don’t hate my body. I don’t hate my loose skin or my stretch marks. I love the person I am. I love the person I am becoming, and I value the lessons that I learned through being morbidly obese.

The secret ingredient to successfully making a major change is love. You must love yourself enough to put in the work to achieve the goal.

All The Colors of the Rainbow (An Unbiblical Marriage)

Posted by BecomingBetty

My husband and I have been married for 15 1/2 years. We have a child together. We disagree sometimes. We make up again. We have been through some real trials and tribulations, but we have weathered the course and I can say with all sincerity that I think our love and our commitment to each other is stronger than ever.

With the marriage equality issue squarely in the limelight right now, I have devoted a lot of thought to the issue of marriage.

I’ve been delving into the scriptures, and I realized that I have the privilege of being married to my wonderful husband only because the State does not put Biblical constraint on heterosexual marriages. You see, I have been married before. I was married at age 19 and divorced some 8 plus years later. Both my first husband and I have moved on. We are each married to new partners. If, however, the State had taken the position that is consistent with the scripture, I could not have remarried.

In 1 Corinthians 10-11, Paul stated, “10But to the married I give instructions, not I, but the Lord, that the wife should not leave her husband 11(but if she does leave, she must remain unmarried, or else be reconciled to her husband), and that the husband should not divorce his wife.”

My husband and I eloped. The only “guests” at our wedding were the other people waiting at the little chapel for their turn to state their vows. We did not have to seek approval of clergy. We did not go through pastoral counseling (not that it would have been a bad idea), we just paid our money, said our vows and signed on the dotted line.

I have close friends in the gay and lesbian community. I attend services at a church that has taken an “all are welcome” stance on the issue. They have welcomed my divorced and remarried self with open arms. Their love has shown me what I have been missing in my life as I worshiped in solitary.

I have witnessed first hand in both my personal and professional lives the havoc that can result when a gay person marries a straight person who is unaware of their sexuality. Although those marriages are Biblical, they can leave broken hearts in their trail, and frequently do.

As a sinner, I leave the judgment to God. I have never attended a gay wedding, but I will if invited. Perhaps gay marriage is not sanctioned by the Bible. Neither is remarriage after divorce. Perhaps there are florists and bakers who would have refused to cater my wedding reception if I had planned one. They’re not making the news, though. I respect the right churches to refuse the rites of marriage to those couples whose unions are inconsistent with that church’s teachings. I expect we will see more on that issue soon.

I thank God for my husband. I thank my family, who may or may not have agreed with my decision to remarry, for accepting us and encouraging us. I realize that on this issue, we may not agree. I learn from them, and I am thankful for every opportunity for me to consider my stance on issues where law and faith intersect. They have always been respectful when disagreeing with me, and I am confident that will continue on this issue. I love them, and I know that they will continue to love me, just as they have in the past when we have disagreed.

I quietly celebrated yesterday. I have many men and women in the LGBTQ community who I am honored to call “friend.” They welcomed me with open arms into their circles. They did not care that I was once divorced, an unwed mother, or a morbidly obese person. They simply called me “friend.”

Just as they do not refer to me as their “obese, divorced and remarried heterosexual friend Betty,” I do not think of any one of them as “My gay friend Max,” or “My lesbian friend Sally” – they are simply my friends. I love them. I will celebrate with them.

I am an Ally. I am a welcoming Christian. I have chosen not to discriminate in my business or in my friendship. I cannot personally use the scripture to deny the right to marry to anyone whose union doesn’t comport. I gave up that right when I chose my own path.

Everyone’s Faster in Canada

Posted by BecomingBetty

I could hardly wait to get to the track last night. My husband bought me an early birthday gift – a “real” (purple) running watch. I spent a few minutes selecting the functions that I wanted to display on the watch face, then I put on my bright coral and red shoes, a wild orange shirt and my black headband emblazoned in bright yellow with “Suck it Up Buttercup.” I was ready to tear up the pavement.

My husband was heading that direction anyway, so he dropped me off at the high school track a half mile from my house. I carefully propped my neon blue water bottle where I could get to it, then I adjusted my teal and black headphones, started my music, and adjusted my hot pink phone band (yes, I was a very colorful sight).

I did my warm-up lap around the track, and then I pushed the RUN button on my new toy. As I began my first “fast” interval, I was amazed – my colorful watch and new shoes had enabled me to shave a lot of time off of my previous record. I was puzzled. Was the Nike app that inaccurate? Was MapMyRun telling me I was a turtle when I am really a (very fluffy) cheetah?

The laps and miles flew by. I got faster and faster. Woo Hoo! I’m flying, I’m flyyyyying. My hour ended and I ran home, feeling victorious. I downed a big glass of water and plugged my watch into the computer cradle, ready to review the full set of stats for my miraculous run.

I synced the watch with the app and pulled up the session, only to see that I had run it at my typical pace, after all. It only felt fast. I scratched my head – why did it tell me that I could run like the wind while I was on the track, only to tell me that I’m still only slightly faster than a turtle wading through peanut butter at home.

I looked at my shiny toy again, and realized that my results were displayed in metric. Maybe I should move to Canada. I like the way my stats read in metric. I’m “faster” in metric. My weight is a smaller number in metric. Oh – and there’s that free healthcare thing.

I’d miss my dog, though. He’d be faster in Canada too, though, eh?

That Kind of Friend

Posted by BecomingBetty

I consider myself extremely fortunate. I have a large body of friends, some of whom I see in real life only a handful of times in a year, some I see twice in a decade, and some of whom I have met only in online forums. Friends from all of these categories have cheered me on as I discovered running, shed some pounds, and approached life with a renewed joy. Others aren’t part of my online universe at all.

Recently I had a meeting with one such friend. The last time I saw him, 4-5 months ago, he said, “there’s something different about you…oh, you cut off your long hair. I like it short. It looks good!” I didn’t tell him that it went beyond that – that I had shed 50+ pounds and trained for a half marathon. I simply thanked him for the compliment and we continued our meeting.

Several weeks ago business took me back to his office. This time he said, “there’s STILL something different about you. What did you do?” When I told him that I had lost nearly 100 pounds, he asked how I did it. We commiserated about growing older and expanding waistlines, elevated blood pressure and climbing blood sugar levels. The next week when I returned, his wife dropped by to see my changes for myself and to give me a huge hug.

Yesterday I saw a friend who had been missing from my real life world for five years. I was delighted that I could keep up with this young, fit woman. We climbed stairs at a museum and strolled the halls as we chatted as if we’d seen each other only the day before. At one point in the day, I mentioned how wonderful it was to be able to climb stairs without pain and without being out of breath. I mentioned that when we last saw each other, my weight had climbed to nearly 350 pounds. She said she had no idea. To her, I was just “Betty.” I was just her friend.

I’m extremely grateful for the encouragement that I receive from my online community. Some days, a comment or a like can make the difference between giving myself an excuse to have an extra snack or skipping a workout or holding myself accountable. Those friendly interactions are extremely valuable to me. Some people discovered me because I have made changes. Those people are valuable. Some people follow me because they want to make changes themselves, and I value that opportunity.

However, I know that I have a special person in my life when I can pick up after 5 years and have an afternoon where conversation flows freely. In those rare friendships, differences in age, differences in size, differences in experience don’t change the core of the bond. I was always just “Betty.” I remain just “Betty.”

I can’t imagine ever being 300+ pounds again and struggling with life the way that I did. It’s a beautiful gift to know that I had and still have so many people in my life who saw beyond the “insulation” and valued me for who I have always been inside. That kind of friend cared about me before I learned to love myself. I hope that you all have that kind of friend. I strive to be that kind of friend, as well.

Love,

The Destructive Power of Anger

Posted by BecomingBetty

I try very hard not to hold a grudge. I know how much energy it wastes. Worse yet, while I’m wasting energy and feeling miserable, the person on the other end of the grudge is blissfully unaware of it. Someone dear to me once told me, “don’t let someone take up space in your head without paying the rent.” I’ve remembered that and try to live by it.

Last year, someone who I had to deal with on a regular basis did some things that made me angry, then they said some things that hurt my feelings. The result wasn’t pretty. To his great credit, he has extended an olive branch and tried to mend fences on several occasions. Although I said the words, “I accept your apology,” the truth is that I never really let go of the incident.

I went to the gym this morning to run a couple of miles on the indoor track. I set my app to remind me to run for two minutes then walk for 60 seconds. My favorite playlist was playing, I felt “fast” (for me), and I was having a great run. The first half of the 2 mile run was great. I thought about what I would do when I finished my workout. I thought about the fun I had over the weekend. I could feel the grin on my face. People were smiling and waving.

Then, at 1.27 miles in (I happened to look at my running app), last year’s “incident” popped into my head. As soon as I thought about that person and what had happened, I got frustrated. I mentally told myself, “you must forgive him.” I tried to just say the words, “I forgive,” and I couldn’t do it. I felt I wasn’t ready to forgive him. I somehow NEEDED to continue to be angry with this person. I felt my mood continue to darken, and realized that I had begun to scowl instead of smiling.

I continued to argue mentally with myself for a few more minutes, and grudgingly thought, “I forgive you.” I continued to run/walk and soon I began to think of possible ways to not mend fences with this person (fences keep people out), but instead to build bridges. I felt the bounce return to my step and the smile come back to my face.

I finished my run, got back home, and I got curious. I pulled up the chart of today’s run and scrolled the bar to 1.27 miles. While I was filled with anger, I was slower. You can see it clearly. I went from “green” peaks to only “yellow” peaks as soon as I began harboring resentment. Stewing on old hurts slowed me down. I was 37 second slower on mile 2 than on mile 1.

I couldn’t ask for a clearer demonstration of the power that negativity / anger has over me. It kills our joy, saps our strength and robs us what we are working to achieve.

Thankfully, I feel much better. It’s my turn to extend the olive branch. I will never again underestimate the destructive power of internalized anger.

Can’t We All Just Get Along?

Posted by BecomingBetty

I took back my life a little over a year ago. I began exercising regularly, I improved my diet, I made a vow to try to focus on the positive instead of the negative, and my life has improved drastically as a result. Although I am still quite overweight, my health and fitness have improved to the point that most of my limitations are gone. It’s a great feeling.

As a part of the changes I joined a number of facebook groups filled with others who are facing or have faced similar challenges. As a result, I see a lot of articles about “fat shaming,” “fit shaming,” and “fat acceptance.”

I’m not sure why we need all of these labels. Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just get along? No amount of fat shaming could make me lose weight. It made me feel even worse about myself, which led to poor self esteem and misusing food as a comfort device. fat acceptance isn’t terribly helpful either. Someone telling me that they love me “just the way I am/was” still made me feel like a fat slob. We don’t tell slim people “I love you despite your fitness.”

I’m encountering a new phenomenon online (not in my personal life yet) in which a once unhealthy individual is being shunned by friends after adopting a healthy lifestyle. That’s “fit shaming.” I don’t know whether the shunning is due to the individuals’ unpreparedness to face their own health issues or whether it’s because the newly fit person talks a lot about her new lifestyle (I know I’m certainly guilty) and the old friends can’t relate.

We’re all people. We all have strengths and weaknesses. There are people in my life who are suffering from lifestyle-induced illnesses just as I was. I accept them as people – not “fat” people. There are people in my life who get tired of hearing about my runs and races and my new shoes, I’m sure. I’m fortunate that they still talk to me anyway.

I feel accepted. Most of the time I felt loved and accepted at 300+ pounds. I don’t think people like me more or less because I’ve lost weight. I’m not ashamed of where I am. I’m not ashamed of where I was. Every step of this journey teaches me more about myself and about others.

Fat or fit, gay or straight, black or white, we are worthy of love and acceptance. Meet people where they’re at. Leave the judgment for God. Let’s all get along.

~Be~

Not My Circus, Not My Monkeys

Posted by BecomingBetty

I once read a popular book on relationships by John Gray, PhD. It was titled Men are From Mars, Woman are From Venus. The general concept that I gleaned from the pages was that men and women think differently. When someone presents a problem, a man’s tendency is to try to solve the problem rather than responding with empathy or sympathy. Women share their problems hoping for emotional support, rather than a problem-solving session. The failure of the woman to appreciate the solutions offers is unsatisfying to the man, and the woman feels slighted because the man hasn’t given her the emotional response she had hoped for. Chaos ensues.

By birth, I am a woman. By vocation, I am a lawyer. While I am still a woman (and happy that I am), my law school education changed how I respond to other people’s problems. I have developed a tendency to listen, identify the problem, and offer a solution. Sometimes I put hours of (unpaid) time into figuring out a legal solution to a problem that has been shared with me. Imagine my shock and horror when, instead of thanking me for doing free legal research and offering a tangible solution, the person with the problem got ANGRY with me.

While it is not uncommon for lawyers to be maligned, most of us are pretty nice people. We charge money for our time because it’s all we have to sell, but many of us provide pro bono services to indigent clients, help family members and volunteer our time for other good causes. Forget everything you learned about lawyers from reading lawyer jokes (please).

This week I had a conversation with a friend who was frustrated. Her frustration stemmed from problems in an area that I have training and experience with. As she shared her pain and frustration, my mental wheels started spinning. I had solutions to those problems! Just as I took a breath to deliver my well-thought-out plan, I heard a little voice in my head say, “Not your circus, not your monkeys.” I swallowed my words and said nothing. I listened. I realized that not only did my friend probably already know the legal solutions to the problems, but she was also not the person who needed to act. The situation was largely beyond her control. She was telling her problem to her friend – not her lawyer. Instead of giving in to the urge to fix the problem, I needed to offer emotional support to my friend. She just needed to vent.

I’ve been a worrier since I was young. If I’m not worrying about my troubles, I’ll worry about yours. I finally understand what Mom meant when she warned me, “don’t borrow trouble.”

I posted earlier about wearing many hats. Sometimes those many hats lead to confusion. I am learning that when I am wearing the “friend” hat, I need to put the “lawyer” hat in the closet. The lawyer hat tends to make me look like I’m from Mars, anyway.

Ohana Means Family. Family Means Nobody Gets Left Behind or Forgotten

Posted by BecomingBetty

I spent the day with family today. Legally, we have no relationship. On paper, we are strangers.

I was born in 1967 and surrendered for adoption. I grew up always knowing that I was adopted. I can’t remember learning the fact. My Mom always told me that she and Dad picked me. Some days that made me feel very wanted and very special. Other days, it made me feel sad, because for my mom and dad to pick me, someone else had to leave me behind.

Like many teens and young adults, anything that made me “different” made me feel a little awkward and self-conscious. Adoption was one of those issues. I sometimes wondered what my birth family would think of me if they could see me at that time in my life. Would they be proud when I won the lead role in the musical, or when I was accepted to the university of my choice? Would they have come to the football games to watch me march with the band?

When I gave birth to my first child and felt that bond like no other, I wondered what it must have felt like to leave the hospital without me. My birth mother didn’t have a face for me then, but she was not forgotten. She was a part of me, and I was sad for her.

I didn’t know much about my birth family. My Mom always told me that the adoption caseworker had told her that my birthmother wanted me. I hoped it was true.

I found my birthmother in 1997. In-home internet access was a relatively new thing. I was bored one evening, and I put the details that I knew about my birth into a database on AOL, never thinking it would lead anywhere. After all, adoptees often searched for years and spent lots of money on investigators to try to find their birth families. I was shocked when, a few short minutes later, I received a phone call advising me that someone in the database matched me, and asking if I wanted to speak with my birthmother.

I called off work and drove 30 minutes from home the next day to meet her. I was terrified, but as I stepped through her door, the fear melted instantaneously. She and I were wearing the same earrings. She gave me a glass of water in the same drinking glasses that i had in my kitchen cupboard. We had some of the same artwork hanging in our respective homes. The meeting convinced me that nature plays a strong role in development.

As our friendship grew, we began finishing one another’s sentences. My mom would always be my mom – she, my “mum” felt more like a big sister. Like many sisters, we had a falling out one day over something silly, and we didn’t connect again for years. Neither of us was still angry, but both of us were afraid of reaching out – afraid of rejection.

We connected several more times over the years. There was no anger, no hard feelings. There was only love. Somehow, years would pass between visits. Life got in the way. It’s funny how life does that.

This week, she asked me to lunch. I was delighted to accept, and excited that my grandparents, too, would be available. we spent hours and hours today talking. We didn’t talk about adoption. We didn’t talk about what it felt like to grow up somewhere else. Instead, we talked as parents or grandparents and the younger generation would talk. We talked about pets and experiences. We talked about travel and hotels and antique stores. We talked about first jobs and cooking.

My adoptive family is my family. My birth family is my family. My husband’s family is my family. “Family” is that affinity we have for others when we are tied together by blood, shared culture, or the bonds of marriage. Family is Ohana. I like the concept of Ohana – it is much broader than a mommy, a daddy and the children who reside in the same residence. Ohana signifies the respect and cooperation that family members should have for and with one another.

Finding my birth family forced me to reconcile some feelings. I still remember looking at my “new” family’s pictures and seeing faces that really looked an awful lot like mine looking back. I remember some of my adoptive family – the only family I knew – questioning whether I would still want to be a part of that family now that I had found my “real” family.

I took the search farther a few years later and found the other side of my adoptive family living in another part of the country. We haven’t met face to face, but they are a part of my Facebook world. They, too, are Ohana.

I was adopted into a big, big family. My concept of family already included ten aunts and uncles, their spouses, and a whole slew of cousins. It wasn’t difficult to mentally expand that arrangement to include a few more. Somehow, life kept the birth family from becoming a close-knit part of my family, but we were, and remain “Ohana.”

Although we didn’t discuss my adoption or the facts and feelings surrounding it on this particular occasion, we discussed it enough in the past that I knew that I was never forgotten. Although I was elsewhere, I was safe and loved. I was never truly left behind. Likewise, the family I grew up with remains my family. I love them dearly, and although I don’t see many of them often, either, when we talk face to face, it’s like we are picking up where we left off a month or a decade ago. Ohana means nobody gets forgotten.

Yesterday was a special day for adopted persons in Ohio. For the first time, thousands of Ohioans who were adopted between 1964 and 1996 can apply to receive a copy of their original birth certificate and adoption files. For over 400,000 of us, finding lost family is a viable possibility.

More than 400 people waited outside of the Bureau of Vital Statistics yesterday to apply in person to see where they came from. My birth family and I have never petitioned the court for an order unsealing the records to confirm that we are “Ohana.” I haven’t decided whether I will apply to open that record. Having found Ohana, there is a fear that when opened, the family I lost and then found again might not be on that piece of paper. I don’t think that’s the case, but it’s possible.

As was stated in the Disney Film, “Lilo and Stitch,” “Ohana means family. Family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.” In my world, it doesn’t take blood to make you family. It doesn’t take marriage. Ohana, to me, are those people who are a part of me. Ohana is stronger than friendship. Family are the people who care about you even when you mess up. They are the people who love you even when you say hurtful things or turn your back on them. We may be separated from family for a time, but they are not left behind. They are not forgotten.

As thousands of adoptees apply for their birth records, there will attempts to contact people separated for years – for decades. Some of those people will have happy reunions. Some will meet and be glad that they were able to fill in the blanks on their medical history forms. Some will have doors slammed in their faces and phone calls ended abruptly. I pray that those who don’t have a happy reunion will be able to cope with the fact that the rejection isn’t about them – it’s about facts and feelings over which they had no control.

My husband has finally figured out much of my complicated family tree. I had to draw him a picture. It’s okay. My tree branches like crazy. Some branches die off, and new ones grow. The ones that aren’t with us leave a mark. Nobody gets left behind or forgotten.

Ohana.