Dear Adoptees, Why DNA Testing is Ultra Essential Before Building Relationships

Even when it's shattering, living with the truth is better than living a lie. Healing can happen, but living in the unknown doesn't provide this luxury; it robs adoptees of it.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I have cried a million tears when writing about adoption to try to help other adoptees and validate their experiences by sharing my experiences. This article is challenging to share, but hopefully, it supports an adoptee out there to avoid making the same mistakes I have. If so, the tears are worth it, but writing about such personal topics takes hard work and extensive emotional labor. 

I found my birth mother in 1995 when I was just 21 years old. While meeting her one time was the best day of my life, it was the worst day of hers. Besides the day I came into the world, I'm confident I messed her life up just by existing. She wasn't a young mother, and she had choices. 

Arlene Frances Bettis Around 25 Years old - My Birth Mother

I was a reminder of an affair with a married man, a friend of the family, and eight years older than her. She hid the pregnancy from everyone, even my birth father, and she went to work until the day she had me and returned the next day. She checked into the hospital under an alias at nine months pregnant and walked away babyless. I am confident that I cried for days until my spirit broke, waiting for a "forever family" to call my own. 

I plan on writing about my experience meeting my birth mother soon. Still, for now, I will say that waiting my entire life to find her and meet her turned out to be the biggest disappointment of my life when I ultimately learned she wasn't searching for me; she didn't want to meet me, nor did she want to keep me. 

Consider Reading: Being Found vs. No One Looking. 

Fast-forward to spending a lifetime wondering who my birth father was, and once I finally found him in 2010 at 36 years old, he too didn't want to be found. My birth mother tried to tell me, "He didn't know about you, and he didn't want to!" but I didn't listen. I had to see it for myself. I had to see it myself because I was told he had died many years earlier, but it never suited my spirit. If he died, I wanted DNA testing to prove he was my father, and I wanted to stand over his grave and see for myself. I don’t think that was asking too much, considering the circumstances. I deserved this! Every human being does.

I hate I have had to spend most of my life trying to find my truth. It's been soul-sucking, exhausting, and downright brutal of a process. It's almost killed me many times over. 

I never stood over his grave because that was a lie to detour me from ever searching for him. How many adoptees are spoon-fed lies to detour from searching? Countless of us have. That's traumatic all by itself. However, I was wise enough to know that adoption is typically rooted in secrecy, lies, and half-truths, so I didn't believe them and set out to prove them wrong! 

The day after my birth mother's funeral, I received confirmation of who my birth father was, and I ultimately drove to his doorstep and introduced myself. In 2010, DNA testing wasn't as widespread as it is now, so we had no idea what it would reveal. However, I knew by looking at this man that he was my biological father. It was the first time I finally knew who I looked like. It was a life-changing experience. 

Jimmie L. Jones, Leon, Iowa - My Birth Father

While my birth mother was correct that he didn't want to know about me, I still feel I had a right to look into the eyes of the man who brought me into this world. I was dying inside, not knowing who I was or where I came from. I thought finding her would be enough, but it wasn't. I had to pursue finding both of my birth parents because I wouldn't survive if I didn't. 

When it was all said and done, I saw my birth mother twice alive and once in 2010 in her casket. I saw my birth father twice in 2010 and 2011, and he shut me out forever. He passed away in July 2022, just six months before my adoptive dad. I was told there was no funeral for him. Recently, I learned I wasn't invited to his celebration of life, which has sucked, but I get it. I'm forever an outsider.

On the first visit with my birth father in November 2010, I asked him if I had any siblings out there. He said he had a son, Greg L., who lived in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, but there was one problem. He hadn't had contact with him in many years, and he said there was more to the story with Greg, but he didn't indulge. By learning my brother's name, I set out on another search. I had done this before, and I knew what to do. 

"Hi there, I hope this message finds you well! My name is Pamela, and I am searching for Greg L. of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. I have been told he is my brother, and we share the same biological father, Jimmie L. Jones of Leon, Iowa. Do you know Greg L.? Can you please share contact information if you do, or can I give you my contact information to share with him? I don't want anything from him, only to get to know him. Thanks for your time!" - Pamela 

Notice I didn't say anything about being adopted? That is the quickest way to get the door slammed in your face as an adoptee when searching, and I knew not to mention that part! 

This search was in 2010 when Facebook charged $1.00 to send inbox messages to people you aren't friends with. I sent over 100 messages to anyone in the Dallas/Fort Worth area with the same last name as my lost brother. I waited and waited and waited. Internally, it created an open wound and itch, if you will. I would never be able to rest or find peace until I found my brother! I deserved to know him, and he deserved to know me. And even if he didn't want to get to know me, he deserved to make that choice himself. Adoptees, read that again. Every person should get to make that choice themselves. 

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned into months, and almost a year after my first message, in November 2011, I finally received a response from someone! 

"I know the Greg you are speaking of. He's my half-brother; his father is Jimmie from Leon, Iowa. I will give him your contact information and relay the message." - G.L.

I was beyond excited to finally find the last puzzle piece of my journey, as the agony of the unknown was tearing me to shreds. Little did I know I would be trading one kind of pain for another, and it might just be more painful than the unknown. Within a few hours of Gary reaching out to me, I received a phone call from Greg L. 

"Hello," I said as I quickly answered the phone with a 214 area code. I knew it was Greg.

"Hi, this is Greg, and I was given the information to call you. I hear you are searching for me and that we share the same father, Jimmie Jones, from Leon, Iowa." 

"Yes, that's correct. I saw Jimmie recently, and he mentioned you being his son. I asked him for as many details as possible, but he said he didn't have contact information as he hadn't talked to you in years, so I had to search for you, and it's taken me a whole year." I said. 

"I haven't seen Jimmie in over 20 years. He wasn't a part of my life other than spending two Thanksgiving holidays with him when I was younger. My stepfather raised me, and that's who I considered my dad. What is your experience with him?" said Greg. 

"So sorry to hear he wasn't involved in your life. Well, I was given up for adoption without Jimmie's consent, and a little over a year ago, my birth mother passed away. I was in Iowa for her funeral and received confirmation of who my birth father was, so I decided to drive to his home to meet him. This is when I learned that you existed, and Jimmie shared your name with me. I have only met Jimmie one time. As soon as I learned of your name, I started searching for you a little over a year ago." I said.  

And the ball is rolling on me getting to know my newly found brother. I was enthusiastic, and gradually, Greg opened his heart to me, and I opened my heart to him. We compared baby pictures, childhood photos, hobbies, and more, and there was no doubt that we were siblings. We even looked a lot alike and had many of the same mannerisms, skin complexion, height, hair color, etc. 

Greg L. & Pam K. in Texas 2013

Within a few weeks, he flew to Kentucky for Christmas in 2011, and we met for the first time. Besides my kids, this was my first Christmas with my biological family. To say I was over the moon would be an understatement. Greg was now known as "Uncle Greg" to my kids, who looked up to their newfound uncle. The following year, Greg invited my kids and me to Texas for his annual family crawfish boil, and my kids and I drove across the country to attend. I got to meet his family, who also embraced my kids and me, and we embraced them. 

The following year, he flew back to Kentucky again for Christmas. The following year, in 2014, he invited my kids and me to Texas for Thanksgiving. We packed up the car and, once again, hit the road to Texas. It was no secret in my world that finding Greg was the best part of my adoption search and reunion. 

At that time, I was heavily involved with the church (ex-evangelical now), and I would tell every adoptee I could, "Don't give up hope! Sometimes God saves the best for last!" I truly believed Greg was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I would talk about him to everyone I knew and boast about the fantastic relationship we were building. I would smile ear to ear, talking about Greg and our meeting, similarities, and how much we had in common. He was high up on a pedestal as the big brother I never had but dreamed every day of my life about having. He meant everything to me. 

My heart finally felt connected to someone other than my three kids for the first time. I felt tethered to a person, and spending five years building a relationship with Greg was terrific. We would talk weekly, send photos, and keep up with how one another is doing. We talked about returning to Iowa to surprise our birth father, Jimmie Jones, but Greg had a different outlook on that because we have different experiences. He seemed content with Jimmie, as he had his stepfather, who played the father role in his life. 

On the other hand, he knew why I was far from settled with it all. It came down to Jimmie saying he didn't have proof that Greg or I were his biological kids, so I thought, "So, is that all you need to embrace us as your biological children? Proof?"

While I already knew Jimmie was my biological father because I could finally do DNA testing and his mother's maiden name appeared in my highest DNA matches on Ancestry, I had never shared these results with Jimmie. I had an idea that I brought to the table. When I visited Texas for Thanksgiving, I would take an extra DNA test and see if Greg would consider taking it, not for him, but for me. 

I was dying inside, knowing the truth had never been presented to my birth father, and we all deserved to know the truth. The truth was that we both share DNA, and the only common denominator was him. Why not submit Greg's DNA, and then we compare our DNA and send the proof of shared DNA to Jimmie so he could finally see that we are, in fact, his biological children—it sounded simple and harmless to me. 

Greg expressed that he didn't need to do this for himself but understood and respected that I needed to do it. He agreed to spit in the tube and release his sample of DNA to me so I could send it off and then use GedMatch's feature to see how much DNA you share with someone. Then, I could print it off and mail it to Jimmie, and this whole thing would be over once and for all. 

I hung onto high hopes that something would change with Jimmie. Maybe he would want to get to know and build a relationship with us. Unlike my birth mother, perhaps he would change his mind about me and crack the door open. It was only a matter of weeks before the DNA truth would be presented, and we all know that while people can lie, DNA does not. I drove back to Kentucky with my kids and mailed the DNA test off. The clock was ticking, and another waiting game was on. (I fuc*king hate waiting)

Greg and I spoke by phone many times during this waiting game. It was the holidays, and I knew Ancestry was slammed then, so I knew it might be 4 to 6 weeks from Thanksgiving that I heard any news. Around January 5, 2015, I received the email with Greg's results of DNA. I could hardly wait to open the email and compare the results so we could confirm what we already knew: that we were biological siblings. Anticipation raced through every fiber of my being. Finally, the truth! 

Well, something that started with pure intentions to fix a horrible mistake my biological parents made turned into one of the biggest heartbreaks of my life. The DNA showed that Greg and I shared no DNA. I literally couldn't even believe it. 

"There is no way this is true! This must be wrong! I refuse to believe this!" I said to myself. 

But the reality was that DNA doesn't lie, and I knew in my heart of hearts the DNA test was accurate. But before I could accept this, I reached out to Priscilla Stone Sharp, a blogger and first mother I had on my social media platforms, and I followed her and looked up to her. I knew she had helped with many prominent searches over the years, so I begged her to help me verify that I was reading this accurately. 

She was kind enough to help me. I will never forget that day when Priscilla also verified that we shared no DNA, which meant we weren't siblings at all! My heart ripped to shreds, and I immediately collapsed and sobbed my heart out. I have difficulty expressing how this moment and experience flipped my whole world upside down, but it was an open door to a very dark place in my personal adoptee journey and my life. 

You mean I wanted to find my family so bad that I was naive enough to open my heart to a stranger, drive across the country many times over, and think I was spending my first holidays with my biological family. Yep, that gaping hole adoption leaves puts adoptees in very vulnerable situations. 

Yet, the reality was that I was sitting around a table of strangers with whom I share no DNA. Omg, the mental mind fu*k this whole experience had on me was highly disruptive to my life, and I honestly didn't think I was going to make it out alive, nor did I want to stay alive. This hurt beyond words I can find to share. I felt robbed and duped.

I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Sadness, grief, and loss took over, and I slipped into a deep depression no one on this earth could understand. I told a few close friends, and most of them didn't get it because they weren't adopted. (This is before Adoptees Connect, Inc.) Most days, I just wanted out of my mind and body, and I wanted the pain to go away, but it wasn't going anywhere. 

This was my life and my story. This was my truth. The best and most amazing part of my search and reunion was snatched away from me just like that. To say I was heartbroken is an understatement. 

Now, I had to find enough strength to tell Greg the truth. A few days passed, and I placed the dreaded call. I broke the news that the DNA test revealed that we shared no DNA, and he was dumbfounded. I believe he didn't want to consider the results in my heart of hearts because he knew how much he meant to me and that he was the best part of my search and reunion. It was easier not to believe the results. However, I knew deep down that DNA didn't lie. 

It put me in a challenging situation on top of the heartbreaking DNA results. Now, Greg wanted to do a different test to prove that this one was wrong, and he insisted that one day, in the future, we would do that. Internally, I was full of confliction to my core. People told me, "He can still be your brother; DNA doesn't mean anything! We can choose our family." 

Their intentions were pure; however, hearing this did me little good. Spending a lifetime fighting the world for my truth, I couldn't consent to the role that we will now be "pretend brother and sister." But this is what Greg now wanted, and the struggle to fall into alignment with this was exceptionally significant. I was crushed, heartbroken, and felt defeated in this thing called life. No one understood how gigantic this pain was, and there were no words to describe it. 

When I started sharing the news with a few close friends, I would say, "I found out my brother isn't my brother," which summed up what had happened. Still, to this day, I don't have words to describe how this situation made me feel. 

It almost took me out, literally. The pain was so significant it smothered me. I was convinced that after the double rejection from both birth parents and now the loss of my newfound brother, I was going to die from a broken heart, and there was nothing anyone could do to convince me otherwise. 

I was ready to go.

The following year was an emotional roller coaster. I spoke to Greg a few times and realized that a new can of worms had opened up in his life. The DNA test also revealed that who he thought was his biological father and who his mother told him was his father was not his father at all. Even if he didn't believe the results, I am confident he internally was wondering who his father was.

I had no idea this DNA test would prove so much shattering information, but welcome to adoption. Where our adoptive parents and birth parents lie about who we are and where we come from, and they even co-sign for it! And then, the explosion of truth is uncovered, and the adoptee is left to pick up the pieces and spend their entire lifetimes trying to piece the puzzle back together. And then, they only partially fit, if they fit at all. 

The real question is now, WHO WAS GREGS BIOLOGICAL DAD? With him not cooperating with accepting the results, it wouldn’t be easy for me to figure that out. He still believed Jimmie J. was his father. I was so consumed in my heartbreak that I couldn't focus on that part, but I hoped to help him figure it out in the future. 

As if all of this wasn't shattering enough, I received a call from Greg's half-sister on May 23, 2017, while I was at work to let me know he had been in a horrific motorcycle accident and wouldn’t make it. My heart shredded into even more pieces, and I could hardly believe this was happening. I ran out into the hallway at work and sat on some steps to digest the news. I didn't want anyone to see me having a meltdown.

While it was unclear to me how much of the DNA results Greg had shared with his family, I knew he didn’t believe the results or didn't want to. I knew he felt the same about me because he told me so. To him, I was still his sister. To me, I was fuc*ed around. I don't say that lightly. 

Photo by Sandy Millar on Unsplash

At that moment, I was allowed to say some final words to Greg over the phone before they took him off life support. This was one of the hardest things I have ever done in my entire life, but I am eternally grateful for the opportunity. I told him I was so sorry things had ended this way, that I was thankful for our time together, that I would always cherish the memories we created, and that he would always be my brother. I cried, more like sobbing, and I hung the phone up. 

My life has never been the same. 

His family chose not to list me in his obituary, even when I knew how Greg felt about me and how I felt about him. This felt like a knife in the heart, just like not being listed in my birth parent’s obituaries did. I have never cried so hard in my life. Did they know about the DNA results? I will never know. This entire experience hurt beyond words. I decided it would be in my best interest to abandon contact and communication with his family as I didn't see anything beneficial coming from keeping that door open. No matter what, they can’t take away the relationship I had with Greg and the love we had for one another.

Finding myself in a deep, dark hole, I couldn't see the light most days following this experience. Within three months, several MAJOR adoptee-related situations happened that were extremely heavy to me. The feelings were so big I just wanted to leave the world. No one understood my pain, and I couldn't see the joy in life that everyone was talking about. 

Sadly, I started to plan a way to leave, but I wanted it to look like an accident because I didn't want to burden anyone with my death like I did when I was born. So, in my mind, I was contemplating a plan for several weeks. But before deciding to put action behind it, I found enough strength to follow a glimmer of light.

Where was the light from? A vision I had for many years about creating adoptee-centric spaces created by adoptees, for adoptees where we could share our stories, struggles, strengths, and sadness when it comes to our adoption experiences. 

Photo by Julian Hochgesang on Unsplash

Over the years, I could hardly speak about the topic of my brother, who turned out not to be my brother. If I tried, my eyes would get watery, and tears would flow. It was painful and hard to express to those around me how I was feeling. I would say now that it was one of the most profound states of sorrow I had ever felt, besides the loss and rejection from my birth parents. 

Each day, I followed the light, felt the feelings, grieved the losses, and started planning the first Adoptees Connect group launched in January 2018. The light got more prominent, but talking about the situation with my brother was challenging for years to come. At the same time, I began to challenge my energy on building Adoptees Connect, Inc. 

Soon, I would find purpose in a lifetime of painful experiences from adoption. Some might ask me what I gained or learned from these experiences. I learned so much, but one of the takeaways I wanted to share is that I hope anyone reading realizes the importance of DNA testing before you build relationships with someone, especially in the adoption arena. I beg you to pause and use this story as a reason to rethink just jumping in there before DNA shares the truth. 

Yes, I am 100% in agreeance that family is who we make it. However, that hits a little differently in the context of adoption from an adoptee's perspective due to the nature of the circumstances. I have learned that my connection with Greg is a connection I had never felt before, and with him turning out to not even be biologically related, I could connect to him in that way, which was profound all by itself.  

I carried colossal agony that no one on earth could understand this level of pain. I learned that most people in this lifetime would never experience such heartache quite like this, so I could excuse them from my table of understanding. As soon as I realized they had never experienced something like this, I knew in my heart that even when they tried, they couldn't possibly understand. They had no idea how heavy this was.

I learned that there isn't much adoption can do to hurt me anymore. The best has already been lost, taken, or stolen. Between a lifetime of memories stolen, both of my birth parents, and now my newfound brother, I knew I would be processing the grief for the rest of my life. Trying to be fully healed no longer worked because I genuinely believe some wounds are too big to heal completely. Relinquishment & adoption trauma are two of those wounds.

Have I healed? Yes, some. But as soon as I accepted the pain from adoption and relinquishment was here to stay and it would be a lifelong visitor, it was the moment I started healing. I stepped into a space to learn more about grief and how I can process my grief in healthy ways. I began to sit with my sadness instead of running from it. I learned healthy coping skills and started sharing my deep feelings with my Adoptees Connect group and on my writing platforms. In this, I brought healing to myself and helped other adoptees heal.  

Spending a lifetime collecting fragments of my truth has allowed me the opportunity to paint a picture of who I am and where I come from. This has allowed me to go inward and get to know the true essence of who I really am and who I’m not. In that, my heart feels like it’s finally healing.

I will always be sad that my kids have had more life with a mom with a broken heart and a deep sadness, but I am making up for that, too. Currently, I am living my best life, but it has been extreme agony to arrive at this place. Healing is possible, but a lot of intentional self-work and we need our truth to know what we are healing from, even when it hurts.

A few days ago, I spoke to a new friend about this part of my story, and I noticed something new. I didn't cry or sob tears like I did for so many years telling the story. Little by little, my tears have started to dry up, and I know that a considerable part of that is because I have sat with my sadness and processed through it, and now, even when I still feel it, I can feel it and then let it go. I have accepted that my grief is a visitor and will be around forever. 

I have learned that sometimes my adoptee feelings are so gigantic I don't know how to share them with non-adopted people. Adoptees seem to get it, so I usually save my feelings for our Adoptees Connect group.

I have learned that I can find happiness outside my adoptee story in this lifetime. It's a piece of my story but not the whole thing. While it's taken up so much of my life, time, and joy, I plan to spend the rest of my days making up for what has been lost, stolen, and never seen again from adoption. 

For anyone who has made it this far, please know that this was a challenging article to write. I have had to step away from the keyboard more times than I can count to relive this entire situation, and this is the simple version. My experience can enlighten others who might be on the path of reunion as a way to promote DNA testing before building relationships. 

Photo by Google DeepMind on Unsplash

Do I regret finding out this truth and having Greg do the DNA test? 

No, I don't. I do regret the actions of my biological parents and adoptive parents, who didn’t seem to think this piece of my story was important. I have accepted that I traded one type of pain from the unknown to another type of pain from what the truth uncovered.

I will always work towards healing, but I must know what I am healing from. Even when it's shattering, living with the truth is better than living a lie. Healing can happen, but living in the unknown doesn't provide this luxury; it robs adoptees of it. Please consider this when you might have contact with an adopted person. The bag they carry is likely much bigger than you could ever imagine.

Consider Reading: A Deprivation of Resources Complicated By Adoption Secrecy Causes a Deficiency of Healing & Recovery for Adoptees.

Dear Adoptees, I hope sharing my heartbreak and heartache about this topic can save you from your own.

Q & A

For my fellow adoptees, has anything like this happened to you? How did it impact you? Have you done DNA testing? What was your experience like? Drop your comments below!

 I see you; I feel your pain for all the adoptees who feel forgotten, lost, and alone. Please don’t give up, and know you aren’t alone in feeling like you do.

I have compiled a list of recommended resources for adoptees and advocates. You can find it here: Recommended Resources for Adult Adoptees and Adoption Advocates.

Thank you for reading and for supporting me and my work.

Understanding is Love, 

Pamela A. Karanova 

Consider setting up a virtual one-on-one wellness table talk session with me if you need a lifeline or someone who understands. We can meet weekly, once a month, or once a year. You pick what works best for you. I added some more times for availability to accommodate those who want to navigate a healing journey and a better understanding of the adoptee experience. I am here to support you! Let me know if you need a different time than the listed ones, and I can set a specific time for you.

Click here to learn more and book your table talk today.

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Here are a few Adoptee Remembrance Day articles I recommend reading:

Adoptee Remembrance Day: Today by Light of Day Stories

Before a month celebrating adoption, a day to recognize adoptees’ trauma by Religion News Service

Adoptee Remembrance Day by InterCountry Adoptee Voices (ICAV)

Adoptee Remembrance Day by Adoptees On

Adoptee Remembrance Day by My Adoptee Truth 

Adoptee Remembrance Day Presentation by Brenna Kyeong McHugh

Adoptee Remembrance Day – October 30th by Bastard Nation

It’s Hard to Smile Today – My Tribute to Adoptee Remembrance Day – October 30th by Pamela A. Karanova

Adoption BE-AWARENESS and Remembrance By Mirah Riben

Adoptee REMEMBRANCE Day by Janet Nordine, Experience Courage

Adoptee Remembrance Day – October 30th YouTube Poetry Hosted By Liz Debetta

Listeners Acknowledge Adoptee Remembrance Day by Adoptees On

Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article and podcast are that of the author, Pamela A. Karanova. These articles are for educational and entertainment purposes only. Nothing shared on this platform is to be taken as psychological, medical, or legal advice. Reproduction of the material contained in this publication may be made only with the written permission of Pamela A. Karanova. While Pamela hopes that you find the information on her website valuable and informative, please note- the information contained here is for general information purposes only. Pamela A. Karanova provides the information to have the information up-to-date and correct; she makes no representations or warranties of any kind, express or implied, about the completeness, accuracy, reliability, suitability, or availability concerning the resources listed on the website or the information, products, services, or related graphics contained on the resources listed on her website. Therefore, any reliance on such information is strictly at your own risk. Through this website, you can link to other websites which are not under the control of Pamela A. Karanova. She has no control over the nature, content, and availability of those sites. Including links does not necessarily imply a recommendation or endorse the views expressed within them.