Four Years Ago, I Turned Black

Let me explain…

From a young age, I felt a profound disconnect between my identity and how others perceived me. I persistently questioned my parents about my ethnicity, driven by a sense of not fully fitting in with my family. The love, support and connection were there, but on the surface, I simply didn’t look like the rest of them.?

My earliest memory of this curiosity was at 8 years old when I noticed a classmate who resembled me but not his white parents. I was convinced we were somehow meant to be together or, at the very least, related due to our similar hair, skin and eyes. Experiences similar to this came and went over my younger years, ultimately piling up in the filing cabinet in my mind, throughout college and beyond.?I shared a bit about my experience with race and identity while at the The University of Alabama as a guest contributor for The Winters Group, Inc. Inclusion Solution blog a few years ago.

Donald Trump’s interview at the National Association of Black Journalists (NABJ) conference and his comments about Vice President Harris’s mixed race identity, on top of his comments about Nikki Haley , Barack Obama , dredged up all the feels around identity and insecurity of being “other” or just different from someone else’s version of “normal” in America. I’ll never understand humans who dis and downright dismiss another human’s experience or existence. Who would I be to judge someone’s else’s choice of how to identify, where to worship or who to love?

This isn’t about politics; it's about people.

After multiple miscarriages and a hysterectomy, my mom (who had a cat and was sadly and unexpectedly kidless for anyone keeping count) opted for adoption. I was raised and loved by supportive Caucasian, conservative-ish, Christian parents. My desire to understand my ethnicity and my biological roots didn’t stem from lack of love but was fueled by the frequent questions I faced from friends, colleagues and even strangers like “Why don’t you resemble your parents” and my favorite, “Where are you really from”. For most of my life, I couldn’t answer these questions without saying, “I’m adopted.” The questions, coupled with my curiosity, evolved into a lifelong journey of searching and self-discovery.?

In life, we frequently encounter questions about our race for various reasons—employment forms, mortgage applications, and government requirements. For many, this process is straightforward, but for me, it was challenging to articulate and became a deeply painful and profound quest for self-understanding. Ethnicity-based genetic testing? For some, a scientific miracle; for me, a complex concept. How many pokes and additional medical tests are required when you literally can’t answer the questions?

After college, as a flight attendant, I was exposed to a diverse world of cultures and experiences. Traveling extensively, I interacted with individuals from different backgrounds and instead of not knowing where I fit, I began to see reflections of myself everywhere in the people I met and the places I visited. This global exposure challenged the identity narrative that was given to me along with a pile of paperwork when I arrived with my new family. The story, or so I was told, was that I was a white Christian baby girl of Russian descent, born to a young, unwed mother and as for my father? Supposedly unknown.

On July 31, just four years ago, a DNA test revealed that my ethnic background was far more diverse than I had known. I discovered that I am 50% Eastern European Jewish on my biological mother’s side, with roots in what is known as modern day Ukraine and Belarus, and 32% West African from my biological father. This revelation was compounded by the realization that my adoptive parents had been aware of my bi-racial heritage but had not disclosed it to me. (I penned a personal essay on my blog here if you’re interested in additional context.)?

So yes, on paper, four years ago I "turned” Black. Because no one that held the whole truth prior had the chutzpah to tell me.?

The truth I uncovered that day was not merely about my racial identity; it was about understanding how to live going forward with the layers of secrecy and misinformation that had shaped my life. How to reconcile the identity I had embodied up until that point. Even well-intentioned omissions can perpetuate misunderstanding, hinder growth, and skew self-awareness.

Protection? Maybe.?Racist? Hell yes.?

This journey has been one of reconciling my past with my present. The truth hidden in plain sight with racist roots and tones. My very being represents a bridge between Black and White, Jewish and Christian. I unapologetically advocate for a more inclusive understanding of both self and others. The beauty of this advocacy work is that we have the ability and permission to extend it to others, even those whose identities differ from our own.

In a world that seems to seek to divide us, define us, it’s not an either-or situation. I am both and. It is our collective responsibility as human being to confront, converse, and embrace our differences, take care of ourselves and each other, focusing on creating a world where everyone is seen, valued, and heard.

As my friend Dr. Kanika M. Sims, MD, MPH reminds us, diversity is not a dirty word .

This is our moment for a generational movement. This is our opportunity to engage in meaningful change and stand together for a more inclusive future.?

Which side of this moment are you on?