Middle and high school were the hardest years. I struggled with feeling unattractive, out of place, and unworthy. I prayed for God to make me white, not because I hated being Black, but because I thought it was the only way I’d finally belong. That prayer was never answered. I am still, undeniably, unapologetically Black.
My healing didn’t come all at once. It came slowly, through faith, through time, and through other people who walked this same road. Connecting with other Black adoptees, especially those who were also raised in complex, contradictory spaces, helped me realize that I wasn’t alone. Our stories may not have the same words, but they have the same sound.
For those of us in the foster or adoptive world, identity is layered. It’s more than race, more than who raised us, and more than where we came from. And while some Christians will quickly say, “Your identity is in Christ, and that’s all that matters,” I want to gently say: that’s not the whole story. Yes, our identity in Christ is foundational, but He also made us with culture, personality, and story. Every layer matters. Every thread is sacred.
So, if you’re reading this and wrestling with your own story, if you’ve ever questioned where you belong, or why you are the way you are, I want you to know: you’re not alone. You don’t have to simplify your story to make others comfortable. You don’t have to pick between being Black, being adopted, being faithful, or being fully you.
There’s room for all of it, and there’s room for you.
Identity stands at the heart of what it means to be human. But for those of us who were adopted or grew up in foster care, identity often feels like a puzzle with missing pieces, fragmented, complicated, and sometimes painful to hold. While others may take their roots for granted, we live with those same lingering questions that follow us from childhood into adulthood: Who am I? Where do I come from? Why did this happen to me?
For adoptees and former foster youth, the question of identity isn’t a passing curiosity; it’s a lifelong search. It’s not just about preferences, hobbies, or goals. It’s about navigating the realities of growing up with more than one family story, and often, more than one truth. There’s the family that raised us, sometimes loving, sometimes strained, and there’s the family that birthed us, whose absence might speak louder than their presence. Then there’s the cultural identity that may have been lost, reshaped, or kept at a distance through no fault of our own. In many ways, we live between worlds: loved yet longing, seen yet sometimes misunderstood.
In that in-between, many of us search for something steady, an anchor that grounds us when the rest of the world feels untethered. For some, that anchor becomes faith. For others, it’s found in a chosen family, reconnecting with cultural heritage, or rediscovering what was taken, hidden, or left behind. Whatever that journey looks like, it’s deeply personal, and it rarely fits into neat boxes.
The challenge is learning to hold all the contradictions together: embracing who raised us, honoring where we come from, and accepting who we are becoming. For those of us who are Christians, anchoring our identity in Christ gives us a foundation, not as a way to erase our past, but as a lens through which we can make sense of it. Our faith doesn’t erase our questions. Instead, it gives us space to ask them with honesty and hope.
Some well-meaning people will tell us, “Your identity is in Christ, and that’s all that matters.” Our identity in Christ is our foundation, but that’s not all we are. God meets us in the fullness of our humanity: in our culture, our race, our history, and our lived experience. Being rooted in Christ does not erase these parts of us; it affirms them. Our spiritual identity and our cultural identity are not in conflict; they are held together in the image of the God who created every part of us with purpose. That includes our race, our losses, our longing to belong, and the cultural markers that define us. These layers are not obstacles to faith but parts of the story that God is redeeming.
Living as an adoptee or former foster youth means living with tension. It also means learning to tell our story with courage, learning to see God’s fingerprints even in the broken places. Identity is not a destination; it is a journey of continually understanding more of who God has made us to be. And in that journey, we begin to see that all the pieces, no matter how scattered, can come together into something beautiful, sacred, and whole.
This is an excerpt from Mary Ann McMillan‘s new book, Bridging Resilience.
Keep diving into the topic of identity with this podcast featuring Blair Linne.
About Mary Ann McMillan
Mary Ann McMilllan is a former foster youth and adoptee whose life has been shaped by the realities of family separation, identity rupture, and the lifelong search for belonging. Now a professor, researcher, and global advocate, she writes and teaches at the intersection of trauma, justice, and healing. She holds a doctorate in education and teaches courses in human rights, criminal justice, and international relations. Her academic work focuses on vulnerable children, both in the U.S. and globally, including time spent in Rwanda researching family systems, orphan care, and post-conflict restoration.
A follower of Christ, Mary Ann is passionate about integrating spiritual formation with therapeutic insight. She speaks regularly to churches, universities, and conferences, offering honest, theologically rooted conversations around adoption, foster care, orphan care reform, and human rights. Through her work, Mary Ann invites readers to listen to those who’ve lived through the system, to parent with sacred responsibility, and to believe in a kind of healing that holds both truth and grace.
