The Man in the Mirror

I was 45 years old when I learned of my NPE status. Both of my parents were dead, and everyone I asked about my paternity either felt sworn to secrecy, outright lied, or had no idea who could possibly be my father. Most people really wanted me to know that my birth certificate father (BCF) loved me. That felt strange.

It was strange because there was nothing else I previously thought I was more confident about. I immediately started to wonder if I should question my dad’s love for me. Do I still refer to him as “dad” or will people be confused all of a sudden. The thoughts were endless. In all honesty, I was not completely caught off guard by my discovery. My whole life I intuitively knew that something was off, I just had no idea what it was. I knew that I didn’t really look like anyone in my family. I knew I didn’t act like them either. I knew my parents loved me deeply, so it wasn’t love I was searching for. I wanted to know whose face I had. More importantly, I wanted to know whose personality I had.

One of the most unsettling things about learning that one (or both) of your birth certificate parents is not genetically related to you is losing your identity. It is impossible for people to understand this experience if it hasn’t impacted them directly. All of my friends from college call me “Price,” and after being married a few times, they all still refer to me by that name. I’ve never had an issue with it. It was my daddy’s name and I was proud of being a Price. In my community my name signaled who my family was. It was part of my identity.

What happens when you lose your identity?

Well, I can tell you what happened to me. All of my siblings stopped talking to me. In fact, they all were furious with me. They believed that I should “leave well enough alone” and still think that I was bringing shame to the family with my discovery. I couldn’t have felt more different.I wasn’t ashamed. I was stressed. I was under pressure to keep secrets that I did not want to keep and I was threatened with the idea of being rejected once I found my birth father. Due to stress, I ended up in the emergency room thinking I had appendicitis. Thousands of dollars later, I learned there was nothing physically wrong with me. It was actually an anxiety attack showing up in my stomach and it hurt like hell! All my hair fell out. I could hardly focus and for one of the first times in my life, I could not sleep. The people I loved were worried about me. I was worried too. I thought I would never identify out who my real dad was. Yet, after a productive therapy session and a snotty, ugly cry at my kitchen countertop, I joined a support group on social media. Nervously, I shared my story. Within minutes, I was comforted by several comments from people who absolutely understood me. Not a single person said, “What has changed?” They all knew that everything had changed. Then someone in the chat thread told me about the DNAngels, who then helped me narrow my list of potential fathers down to four men. Within two weeks, we had found him.

I walked into an assisted living facility, paternity kit in tow, and met a 77-year-old man whose eyes seemed familiar in an odd way.

Me: Hello Mr. Richardson.
Him: smiling Hello.
Me: I’m Nicole.
Him: looks like he’s seen a ghost
Me: My mama is Gertrude
Him: still looking
Me: Do you know my mama?
Him: Yes.
Me: Did you date her?
Him: Yes
Me: bracing myself Are you my father?
Him: Yes, I am.

Written by Dr. Nicole Price
The Man in the Mirror