As part of my therapy, I wanted to resolve the feelings I had around my adoption. I was adopted as an infant, which my parents never hid from me. However, when I first began asking questions my mom could have handled it better. For a long time, I thought that I was angry at my biological mom. I have come to the realization, that I was never mad at her.           

I had been mad at my adoptive mom the entire time. I resented that she couldn’t accept her daughter as she was. Then it dawned on me, the root of the disdain she had for me was because deep down I wasn’t hers. I was never going to look like her, my talents were different, my ambitions were different. I was a square peg, she was trying to fit in a round hole. My adoptive mom always views herself as the northern version of a Southern Belle. I on the other hand never saw myself that way, nor did I want to be.           

I was always going to be a feisty temperamental Puerto Rican. It’s in my DNA. I am sassy just like my biological mom. My adoptive mom did everything she could to style my hair like the girls she wanted me to be like. The fact of the matter is I have curly, frizzy hair that is coarse in nature. My hair will never style the way she wanted without torturing me for hours.           

I know that there is the nature vs nurture debate. As someone that can compare the two it’s about a 50/50 split. Half of me is the product of the household I grew up in. I see that as the shattered part. Why? Because that is the part of me that was molded and shaped by systematic abuse. Then there is the other half, I view it as perfection. It is exactly who I was at my core, my biological mom’s daughter.

Now you know why I call my blog Shattered Perfection. I am shattered and broken and underneath all of that is perfection. There is beauty in imperfection because the core fills the cracks with gold.

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