Every March, as the world turns green and messages of "luck" fill the air, I find myself reflecting on the complicated relationship between adoption and the four-leaf clover. For years, I’ve written about the "lucky leprechaun dust" society sprinkles over adoption to mask its inherent loss. But this year, in my conversations with adoptive families, a deeper, more practical theme has emerged: the complexity of connections to family of origin and the true meaning of openness.

For an adopted person, "luck" is a double-edged sword. We are told we are lucky to have been "chosen" or "saved" by the adults parenting us, yet there is an undeniable "unluckiness" in not staying with the people we were born to—regardless of the circumstances of that separation. This tension is never more palpable than when we face the realities of our original families—families who may be navigating lives connected to incarceration, addiction, poverty, or the bittersweet reality of parenting other children while we watch from the outside.

I often hear adoptive parents say, "I’ll help them connect when they’re older and they ask for it." But let me offer some truth from my lived experience as a 54-year-old transracially adopted person in partial reunion: When parents wait for the child to ask, they are inadvertently giving the child the job of managing the adults’ discomfort. If we don’t talk about a mother of origin who can’t stay in touch, or a father of origin who is "unreliable," the child assumes those people—and by extension, those parts of themselves—are "unlucky" or "bad."

The data reflects this necessity for transparency. During my time at the Donaldson Adoption Institute (DAI), we released a landmark report, "Openness in Adoption: From Secrecy and Stigma to Knowledge and Connections," which fundamentally changed the conversation. The research emphasizes that openness helps children resolve "genetic bewilderment" and that adolescents with ongoing contact report higher satisfaction with their adoption than those with no contact.

Essentially, even when contact is "complex," having the information and the connection is what allows a child to build a healthy, integrated identity. Research consistently shows that "communicative openness"—the ability to talk freely about the hard stuff—is linked to better self-esteem. Yet, while roughly 95% of domestic infant adoptions now involve some level of openness, the "quality" of that openness varies wildly when life gets hard. It’s easy to be open when families are "doing well." It takes a lot of courage and work to stay connected when they aren't.

To navigate this, I’ve developed a L.U.C.K.Y. framework for parents to use when the family of origin feels like a burden rather than a blessing:

• L – Listen to the Complexity. Don't try to "fix" the fact that birth parents didn't call. Listen to the disappointment while managing your own, and validate that it is hard.

• U – Understand the Loss. Recognize that even if your home is a sanctuary, the "unluckiness" of the original separation remains a foundational piece of your child's experience.

• C – Create Agency. Don't wait for them to ask. Bring up family of origin in natural ways. "I wonder if your birth mom liked this kind of music, too?"

• K – Keep the Connection (Where Safe). Even if physical contact isn't possible, keep the narrative connection alive. Share the "good" they carry forward from them.

• Y – Yield to the Journey. Accept that you cannot control the outcome of these relationships. Your job is to be the steady anchor while you and your child navigate the layers of their origins.

Ultimately, as the parents, you are in charge of keeping openness in the many layers of adoption.  This includes making sure you are proactively keeping track of where family of origin are and how they are doing before there is a reconnect with the children you are parenting.  This may include staying in touch with family of origin even when the child entrusted to you wishes not to be.  

In my own journey, I found my mother of origin as an adult, only to learn that physical violence was part of my conception and she wasn't in a position to embrace me. It was gut-wrenching, and it didn't feel "lucky" in any way. But over time, with a lot of work I did without my adoptive parents, I can see the humanity in her struggle to include me in her life—both in the beginning and when I finally found her.

We are not defined by the worst circumstances of our beginnings. We are shaped by the honesty, humanness, and love with which we carry those experiences forward. This March, let’s stop looking for the pot of gold and start honoring the rainbow—in all its colors, even the dark ones.  I wished my parents and society had helped me learn this so much earlier in my life.  

Join TRJ for our next all-family session where you and your children are welcome to join.  For camp families, you’ll see familiar faces including beloved counselors.  For new families, you’ll get to know our community and we can’t wait to meet you.  

by April Dinwoodie
TRJ Executive Director

February holds Valentine’s Day and Black History Month, making it both tender and complex. It carries messages of romance and belonging alongside reminders of racial harm, resistance, and resilience. It holds celebration and grief, connection and questions—often all at the same time.

This year, February arrives in a moment when life in the United States feels especially unsteady. We are witnessing more public harm to Black and Brown communities, more overt racism in leadership, more family separation, and more fear layered into daily life. Children are not shielded from this. They are seeing it. They are absorbing it. They are asking questions—out loud and silently, through their behavior, their bodies, and their relationships.

For parents who deeply love the children entrusted to them through adoption, this is not the moment for silence.

Growing up, my parents loved me deeply. They did not realize that as a Black child raised in a white family, I needed a different kind of protection than my siblings who were white and born to them. That gap between love and protection is not about blame—it is about awareness, history, and responsibility. And it is one that many transracially adopted people carry quietly into adulthood.

Many adopted people grow up hearing, “You were so loved.” Love is often named as the motivation for adoption—by parents of origin and by adoptive parents. That can be true and still deeply incomplete. As an adopted person, I wanted proof. I was told my mother of origin loved me, but my adoptive parents had never met her. How could anyone know something so important about someone they had never known? And what about children separated from family because of abuse, neglect, poverty, or systemic failure—can love exist alongside fear, shame, or harm? How does a child build a grounded understanding of love when so much of their beginning is unknown, simplified, or withheld?

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This is why love must now be practiced as protection.

Many transracially adopted people grew up in majority-white environments where they were included but not truly protected. Racism showed up in daily life—sometimes loud, often subtle, always cumulative—and adults missed it, minimized it, or explained it away. Protection was not just about slurs. It was about the accumulation of moments: being stared at or singled out, comments brushed off as “no big deal,” teachers misreading tone or intent, friends’ parents treating you differently, being the only one who looks like you again and again.

There is another layer families don’t always name—sexualization and exposure. Black and Brown children, especially Black girls and mixed-race girls, are often treated as older than they are, watched differently, commented on differently, and perceived through stereotypes they did not create. In white spaces, they can be invisible and hyper-visible at the same time. This is not oversensitivity. It is a lived reality.

So love must ask a harder question: Is my child protected—not just inside our home, but in the spaces our home sends them into, and in the world they are watching unfold?

There is another truth transracially adopted people often carry quietly: Black children raised in white households need to see their parents loving Black people—not just loving them. Because loving your child is not the same as loving Blackness. It is not the same as loving Black community. It is not the same as being safe or trusted in Black spaces. Children can feel the difference.

So I want to ask a question that may land hard, especially at this moment: White adoptive parents—have you ever loved a Black person? Not admired from afar. Not worked alongside. Not supported in theory. Have you loved a Black person in a way that required something of you—accountability, consistency, humility, change? Have you stayed in spaces where you were not centered? Have you loved in a way that cost you comfort or approval?

If the answer is no, this is not a shameful question. It is a protection question. Because if your child is the first Black person you have ever deeply loved, your child may also become your first teacher, your first mirror, your first real proximity to Blackness. That is too much for a child to carry—especially in a world that is already asking too much of them.

This moment calls for activist love. For white adoptive parents raising Black and Brown children, being “not racist” is not enough. Being nice is not enough. Private love is not enough. Racism is not private, and children cannot love their way out of systems that were never built to protect them.

Activist love is not performative. It is daily and practiced. It shows up in believing your child the first time. In interrupting racism even when it is uncomfortable. In advocating in schools, faith spaces, teams, neighborhoods, and extended family. In choosing your child over other people’s comfort. In building real, mutual relationships with Black adults. In repairing harm without asking children to carry it.

February reminds us that love is something we feel and it’s something we must practice. And in transracial adoption, love must be practiced as protection. Let this month be both an invitation and challenge. Choose love that tells the truth. Choose love that stretches beyond your child. Choose love that becomes action.

Because your child deserves more than celebration. They deserve a family willing to stand between them and harm—with courage, consistency, and a love big enough to act.

This post is from our January 2026 newsletter. If you would like to get our newsletter in your inbox each month, as well as information about our annual TRJ Family Camp and our monthly Zoom call providing support for our transracial adoption parents, please subscribe.

by April Dinwoodie
TRJ Executive Director

For many, January is the month of the "clean slate." But for adopted persons, the start of a year is rarely a blank page. Instead, it is a layer of a much larger, more complex reality. As we open our calendars to 2026, we are invited to look beyond dates and into the profound reality of belonging and adoption.

The Reality of Belonging

Lived experience and research show that finding a sense of belonging is one of the most persistent challenges for adopted persons. Unlike children raised in their biological families, we must navigate a sense of belonging that spans family of origin, adoptive family, systems, communities, and the world at large.

For transracially adopted persons, this is further intensified by the "transracial adoption paradox." It is the experience of feeling like an "invisible majority" within the safety of our homes—where we are loved and known—while simultaneously being a "visible minority" in the world. This paradox can make a simple walk through a park or a first day at a new school feel like an exercise in managing other people's perceptions and questions.

Studies indicate that 58% of transracial adopted persons report experiencing racial microaggressions in school settings, highlighting the importance of building identity safety early.

The Threads of Belonging

The thread that ties our 2026 Parent Guide and our Conversation Cards together is the belief that belonging is not a destination we reach once; it is a daily practice. Research consistently demonstrates that when parents move beyond a "color-blind" approach and actively acknowledge adoption-related complexities, their children report a significantly stronger sense of belonging. By naming these differences—including race, culture, and origin—we create a family culture where truth can live alongside love. Mapping what matters in January is our first step in ensuring that no part of a child's identity has to disappear to fit into the family rhythm.

3 Ways to Map Your Year with Intention

1. Honor the Origins: Mark special days connected to your child's family of origin, even if the exact dates are unknown. Use language like: “Without them, there is no you.”
2. Center Cultural Rhythm: Don't just wait for a specific "history month" to celebrate your child's race. Integrate cultural holidays and heritage markers into your year-round plan so they are part of your family’s everyday fabric.
3. Prepare for the "Tender" Days: Identify the days that might bring "big feelings"—anniversaries of transitions, birthdays, or losses—and build in extra gentleness. These may not be days to "fix," but days to notice.

Building the Skills for Dialogue

We know that this level of openness can feel difficult. It requires a specific set of skills to talk about separation, identity, and race without fear or defensiveness. That is why we are so committed to our 2026 Virtual Parent & Family Group pilot program. These sessions are designed to be a practice ground where you can develop the vocabulary and the courage to meet your child exactly where they are.

As we map out this year, let’s commit to making our calendars a shared space for noticing feelings and naming differences. The brightest path to belonging begins with you.

Listen to "Calendar Conversations: A Guide for Adoptive Parents" by April Dinwoodie

Join Us on the Journey

Don’t navigate these complexities alone. Join our first virtual session of the year on January 14th at 7:00 PM EST as we dive deeper into "Mapping What Matters." We will discuss practical ways to integrate the family of origin and racial heritage into your family’s year-round calendar.

Register For A Year-Round Community of Learning, Support, and Connection for Adoptive Families

January is a time when folks traditionally take stock of where they are and may even make some resolutions for a new diet, more time exercising, or commitments to spending quality time with family and friends. For families that extend through transracial adoption, January can offer a time to think about the year ahead and together as a family, continue the expansive journey of authentically navigating family and differences together with purpose and joy.

Related article for parents' reflection: January: Honoring Family Connections Through the Calendar

TRJ Conversation Cards

Our Executive Director, April Dinwoodie, has created conversation cards that help families make space for ongoing conversations about adoption and differences of race and culture. The TRJ card deck contains 3 cards for each month that the children use to ask their parents questions, that parents can use for quiet reflection. Some families leave the deck somewhere visible and pick a card at random, some families follow the monthly prompts. No matter how you use your cards, you’ll find a pathway to a more active and authentic holding of the complexities of transracial adoption so you and your family can live with authenticity, purpose, and joy. Below are the questions for January. Before getting started, read the parent tip. Families that attend our annual camp receive a set of the cards and if you’d like a set please email [email protected].

January Tips for Parents: Do some pre-planning so that you have time to process some of the harder anniversaries or days on the calendar before discussing with children. Have some ideas to share for new dates to mark on the calendar so your children can react and be inspired to think about what they’d like to add as well.

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Transracial Adoptee Conversation Cards

Transracial Adoptee Conversation Cards

Transracial Adoptee Conversation Cards

CARD ONE: Identifying with the calendar as individuals and as a family

• What are your most and least favorite holidays and why?
• What are some of your most and least favorite times of year and why?
• Are there holidays that you’d rather not acknowledge but feel you have to?

CARD TWO: Relationships

• What are ways you can celebrate the happiest days of the year?
• How can you honor the saddest days and find ways to prepare for what might be hard?

CARD THREE: Embracing and Facing Differences of Race and Culture

• What are some holidays that you have not traditionally celebrated that you could add to the calendar?
• What do you need to know about any new holidays that you might add to the calendar?

This post is from our January, 2026, e-newsletter. If you would like to get our newsletter in your inbox each month, please subscribe.

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by April Dinwoodie
TRJ Executive Director

Growing up as a mixed-race Black child adopted into a white family, the holidays were full of excitement — the lights, the treats, the special once-a-year traditions.

But they were also exhausting.

Exhaustion from wondering about my family of origin.
Exhaustion from not seeing myself reflected anywhere around the table.
Exhaustion from hearing racially or culturally insensitive comments from extended family members.
Exhaustion from pretending everything felt the same for me as it did for everyone else.

What I needed wasn’t more gifts —
it was more understanding.
More curiosity.
More emotional support.
More space for all of who I was.

As I plan for the holidays this year and revisit the principles of Kwanzaa, I’m reminded that this celebration offers more than cultural practices — it offers a framework. A way of thinking. A grounding tool for families formed through adoption.

Created by Dr. Maulana Karenga, the seven principles of Kwanzaa — the Nguzo Saba — offer a meaningful structure for connection, reflection, and building family practices that honor identity and belonging. Kwanzaa isn’t something to “add on.”
It’s something that can support us.
It helps families reflect, reconnect, and remake traditions with intention.

And the best part?
You do not have to do all seven principles perfectly.
You can return to them every year, adjusting as your child grows and your family evolves.

Every family is at a different point in their journey.
The work is simply to stretch as far as you truthfully can toward deeper belonging.

Here’s how each principle can gently guide you.

NGUZO SABA FOR ADOPTIVE FAMILIES

(The Seven Principles of Kwanzaa, created by Dr. Maulana Karenga)

1. Umoja — Unity

Meaning: Making sure everyone feels they belong.
Adoption Lens: Unity grows when every child’s identity is honored.
Practice: Ask: “What helps you feel included during our holidays?”

2. Kujichagulia — Self-Determination

Meaning: Being proud of who you are.
Adoption Lens: Let children express and shape their identities openly.
Practice: Explore new holiday traditions and invite children to choose one that reflects their culture or interests.

3. Ujima — Collective Work & Responsibility

Meaning: We build things together.
Adoption Lens: Traditions don’t have to be inherited — they can be co-created.
Practice: Hold a quick “Holiday Check-In”:
What stays? What shifts? What’s something new we create?

4. Ujamaa — Cooperative Economics

Meaning: Supporting our community.
Adoption Lens: Community helps children feel culturally anchored.
Practice: Choose one local Black-owned, Indigenous-owned, or culturally relevant business to support together.

5. Nia — Purpose

Meaning: Knowing why we do what we do.
Adoption Lens: Traditions should support identity and connection, not pressure or performance.
Practice: Ask: “Why does this tradition matter? Whose story does it tell?” Adjust with intention.

6. Kuumba — Creativity

Meaning: Leaving things better than we found them.
Adoption Lens: Creativity helps families navigate complexity and build meaningful rituals.
Practice: Create or adapt one holiday ritual that honors your child’s culture, family of origin, or personal truth.

7. Imani — Faith

Meaning: Believing in ourselves and each other.
Adoption Lens: Children need adults who trust their truths and hold hope for their futures.
Practice: Offer this affirmation:
“All of who you are belongs here.”

As a child, I didn’t have language for what felt missing.
But I knew what belonged — and what didn’t.

This year, let Kwanzaa be an invitation. A tool. A path forward for families willing to stretch toward honesty, identity, and belonging. Because when adoptive parents do even small things to honor the fullness of children.
when they create traditions with them instead of for them — the exhaustion can soften.

And that is the work of remaking what matters.

Practical Tips for Parents

(Choose one or two — a little truly goes a long way.)

• ? Start small. Pick one Nguzo Saba principle to explore this year.
• ? Be honest with yourself. Notice where traditions limit belonging.
• ? Invite your child in. Even one question opens connection.
• ? Adjust as you go. Holidays should evolve with your child’s needs.
• ? Revisit yearly. Belonging grows in layers, not all at once.
• ? Stay curious. Curiosity is more important than getting it “right.”

Most of all:
Stretch as far as you truthfully can — your effort builds a child’s bright path to belonging.

This post is from our December 2025 newsletter. If you would like to get our newsletter in your inbox each month, as well as information about our annual TRJ Family Camp and our monthly Zoom call providing support for our transracial adoption parents, please subscribe.

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