How Does It Feel To Be Adopted? – Melissa Guida-Richards

blog picBIO: Melissa Guida-Richards is a 25 years old stay at home mom that discovered she was adopted at nineteen years old. She created the blog to be a helpful resource to other mothers dealing with chronic pain, the challenges of motherhood, and the struggles of being adopted. Melissa is also an aspiring children’s picture book author, that creates own voices stories that will touch the hearts of many. Her Bachelors of Arts in Psychology and Criminal Justice has helped her learn so much about mental health in our society, and she hopes to help many families affected.


Lo siento, no hablo español.

By: Melissa Guida-Richards

Imagine waking up every day looking different than your parents

Asking yourself who you look like

Why your skin color is darker

Imagine working in a store and people coming up to you speaking a different language

“I don’t speak Spanish, I’m sorry”

And you are truly sorry

But not for them but yourself

Imagine they give you the look

You know what that look means

What kind of Hispanic doesn’t speak Spanish?

Imagine hating yourself because you know more Italian

You eat pasta almost every day

You hate rice and beans

Imagine not fitting in with your family

Imagine hating them but yet loving them all the same

Imagine coming to college and trying to embrace your true culture

But being so embarrassed because you don’t fit in with other Hispanics either

Imagine a fellow hermana asking you where you’re from…

Imagine the look you get when you tell her or anyone else that you’re adopted, I don’t speak Spanish



Speak Spanish

Imagine asking your parents why they lied to you for so many years?

Imagine understanding but yet not forgiving them…

Imagine being Italian and Portuguese for 18 years of your life

Imagine finding out that they reason you’re darker is because you were adopted from Colombia

Imagine your family saying racist things about your culture

Imagine them not understanding why it’s wrong

Imagine crying because you don’t know where you belong

Imagine #thestruggle

Imagine what I want:


Imagine it being that simple

No more looks

No more questions

No more awkward moments when I say I’m adopted

No more wanting to hide who I really am

Imagine it being that simple

Because it really is that simple

Melissa Guida-Richards

Authors Note:

Adoption is not a one sized fit all puppies and rainbows situation. Their is definite trauma, stress, and anxiety. It has taken me over six years from my late discover of my adoption to work through a lot of negative feelings. I’m still affected by it to this day, but over time I have come to terms with it. It is important to talk about your situation so you can help yourselves process, so please do not hesitate to reach out to others, even just a Facebook group.

Connect with Melissa via Email, Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter.

Check out her article on The Mighty.

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3 thoughts on “How Does It Feel To Be Adopted? – Melissa Guida-Richards

  1. Mary McCormick

    Thank you for sharing your story. I’m a birth mom to 39 yr. son. His was a closed adoption, but I searched and found him when he was 10. His has always been wonderful to me. He’s always known he was adopted. We met when he was 23 and stayed in contact for about a year and reconnected again about a month ago. We live very far apart which makes it pretty much impossible to visit face to face, but I’m so grateful for anything. Even with all this, he struggles with being adopted. It broke my heart, trying to imagine how hard it must have been for you.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. gazelledz

    Melissa, I am an older adoptee who at your age of 25 had lost the first person who I ever remembered looking like me to congenital heart disease, my daughter who lived but 4 months. This prior to having multiple spontaneous abortions.

    Before that I hade been abused and abandoned by my own parents, separated from two siblings, adopted and abused by the adopters. Denied my own identity ande my siblings, and knowing not only that I didn’t belong, ruled by the DNA that knew my origins and drew me towards all that I am through the genome of my DNA-food, preferences of any and everything, music, intellect, horsemanship, everything my ancestors gave to me including my unknown Neanderthal great x infinity grandmother who mated with my h sapiens great x infinity grandfather. My maternal haplogroup originates in North Africa an is now confirmed to be of Berber origins.

    If I listed all of the traumas of my life I would have a whole library of tomes on the subject that is me plus the assortment of kings, queens, emperors, knights, ladies, founding fathers, and so forth scientists, philosophers – all from that haplogroup… they and those who cam before them and after have migrated in every continent save Australia, making me and my siblings lost to me children of the world.

    I was 37 before I ever knew more than my father’s surname, and 66 before I ever saw a photo of my mother, my father and my two siblings, photos belonging to a paternal uncle who had kept them in case one or all of us would retrun… my brother di but left only to die not so soon afterward. It wasn’t until January of this year that I realized that I looked like my mother-except she was dark of eye and hair as I am light of eye and hair…the perfect original Berber of Algeria..

    So yes, I can too well imagine the loss of cultures and language and religion and family .. too well. but my own DNA kept me grounded and helped me find my heritage. There are things that we cannot change and of what we have no control. when we realize that and begin to look for positives rather than dwelling on negatives, we are better able to move forward and look past ourselves. In fifty years from now you will most likely understand what I have shared.

    I knew from the day I was adopted that I was an adoptee, and screamed at a judge for daring to take my identity and name from me, and worse for keeping me apart from my younger sister. My sister, who was only about 7 months old when we were separated in 1948 probably to this day does not know that she is an adoptee-despite that there is little chance that she looks like her adoptive ‘parents’. I am hoping that she will have her DNA analyzed, but iot appears that she has no reason to do so. She does not know that she has two sibs or even what her birth name is. But I sincerely hope that her life has been far better than mine or our bother’s.

    Good luck, my dear. Just remember that you are not alone, and that others have it far worse than you or I ever imagined. And they are not adopted.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Mark Bradley

    Melissa, thank you for your article. Although, I was not adopted, several of your words resonated with me.
    I thought that my sisters and I had the same mother and father. We did not have the same father. My mother had divorced their father and changed states. I was born so much later. I never added up the years to easily figure out that it would’ve been impossible for us to have the same father. In the seventh grade I completed a government form, placing their father’s name in the blank for parent. My older sister matter of factly told me that he was not my daddy. It was in this abrupt way I learned my real father’s name. Things were uncomfortable the next day at school when I turned in the form. The teacher called me to his desk and asked me to explain why I had written two different last names for my parents. I whispered as best as I could, I was still shocked myself and embarrassed.
    You said that you had lived a lie…that’s how I felt.
    I did not change my name to my father’s last name. I have relatives, they didn’t know that I existed. They are nice, but I feel like an outsider.
    I forgave my mother for never telling me the truth.
    Thank God, I did get to meet my father, he died shortly thereafter.
    Well, I thank you very much for your article…bless you.


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