You find out information that rocks your world to the very core. You spend several days or weeks or months absorbing this news and realigning every thing you thought you knew about yourself, your parents, your siblings. Then you embark on a quest to rewrite your history and fill in a large hole at your very center.
Hello everyone... I am so happy to have found you! I want to make an introduction to my story through a podcast I did last year for The Dougy Center, a community for bereaved adults and children. I have had the fortune to be a volunteer facilitator with this center for over a decade, but a strange twist of events and a DNA test later, left me right back in the center of a new kind of grief. My father who raised me died in a car accident just before I graduated from high school. Two decades later, in 2014, a DNA test revealed he wasn't my biological father.
So today was my first session with a therapist. The first thing my daughter asked when she called to find out how it went was whether there was an exit room. No, not even close. When I pulled up to the building of the address I was looking for, there was not even a sign to tell me where I was.
I'm sure it's different for each different person, but right now, this is how it's feeling for me: my sense of self may be shattered, but as I begin picking up the pieces to fit them back together again, I find I'm holding in my hands new pieces that I never had before, and the new pieces seem to fit right where all the gaps in my old sense of self used to be.