“Sometimes the journey home isn't about leaving your family behind.
It's about finally finding the person your family has always deserved.”
The following reflection is my own. It does not represent the opinions or experiences of other adoptees. As with all of my reflections, I want the Haneul audience to experience my own thoughts and perspectives as I continue my adoption journey. These are simply my thoughts and feelings this week.
The other day, I was lying in bed watching YouTube Shorts—something I typically do every day to relax. Allowing my mind to wander, without constantly thinking about the responsibilities of life, helps me find balance between the normal routines and the stressors of everyday life.
As I was lying in bed, my wife sat down beside me and called one of her friends. During the conversation, she was having difficulty hearing the other person, so she put the call on speakerphone.
While they were talking, her friend asked whether my wife was comfortable with me being away for so long.
I won't go into the specifics of their conversation. However, I will say that it became clear there was very little understanding of my situation or of why this upcoming trip to Korea is so important to me.
As I listened, it really made me question how little people understand my perspective and my own journey of self-identity.
One of the most common things I hear from people outside the adoption community is that this is simply a three-month vacation.
It isn't.
Yes, I am going to Korea to continue rebuilding my relationship with my mother and my siblings.
But I am also returning to Korea to reconnect with roots that were taken from me thirty-nine years ago—something that was never my choice in the first place.
I didn't ask to be adopted.
I didn't ask to be separated from my homeland.
But as an adult, I do have the opportunity to return to my home country and begin rebuilding a part of myself that was lost for so many years.
As a Korean adoptee, I have often struggled to understand where I truly belong in this world.
I have struggled with my identity.
I think many Korean adoptees may experience similar feelings, but I don't want to speak on their behalf. I can only speak from my own experience.
Throughout my life, I questioned why I was adopted and why I always felt different.
Why did I grow up in a town filled almost entirely with white families in a country so far away from where I was born?
As I grew older, I realized that some questions simply cannot be answered.
For many years, I struggled to fit into what I believed was "normal."
I wanted to belong.
Maybe that's why I wanted to be part of certain friend groups, play particular sports, eat certain foods, or even join the military.
At the time, I didn't understand why I was making those choices.
Looking back now, I think I was simply trying to blend in because I didn't know where I truly belonged.
The reason I bring all of this up is because it often feels like very few people truly understand my perspective.
Even those closest to me may believe they understand a little of my journey, but in reality, they may only understand a small part of it.
Even if I spend days or weeks explaining why I am traveling to Korea for three months, the conversation often ends with the perception that I am abandoning my family or running away from my responsibilities in America.
I am honestly tired of hearing that what I am doing isn't fair to my family.
That, as the head of the household, I should simply stay home and focus on my responsibilities.
But I always find myself asking the same question.
Why?
Why is that the perspective people choose to see?
Am I truly abandoning my family by doing something that I believe is essential to understanding myself?
With every trip to Korea, I return with a deeper understanding of who I am.
“With every trip to Korea, I return with a deeper understanding of who I am.”
In many ways, I feel as though I am slowly finding pieces of myself that were lost many years ago.
And if I am finding myself...
If I am slowly putting those pieces back together...
Then am I not becoming a better friend?
A better husband?
And most importantly, a better father?
After my last trip to Korea, I came home with a better understanding of myself.
But I also came home with more questions.
Those questions left me feeling completely lost.
Many people don't know this about me, but after returning from Korea, I fell into a very deep depression.
I felt hopeless.
The world around me felt empty.
Even though I was surrounded by family and friends who loved me, all I could feel was loneliness.
After several weeks, I finally realized that much of what I was experiencing was connected to my adoption trauma.
I knew I needed to connect with other adoptees who might understand what I was going through.
As I searched social media and the internet, however, I discovered there were very few resources available in my local region.
The support I was searching for either didn't exist nearby or I never received a response.
I felt completely hopeless.
There were moments when I questioned whether I wanted to continue carrying that overwhelming sadness.
The loneliness consumed me.
Days and nights blended together.
The happiness, certainty, and hope I once had slowly gave way to loneliness, sadness, and uncertainty.
About a month later, I attended Sunday service at my church.
As my pastor delivered his sermon, I quietly prayed and asked God to bring peace to my heart and remove the overwhelming sadness that seemed to consume my soul.
After the service, I walked to the front of the church and asked my pastor if he would pray for me.
As I knelt there and he placed his hand on my shoulder, I immediately began to cry.
The tears poured out of me as though years of pain had finally been released.
It felt as though a gate had finally opened, allowing all of the hurt, grief, and loneliness I had carried for so long to pour out.
That day, my heart became softer.
My soul felt lighter.
The next morning, I made a decision.
I wasn't going to sit in self-pity.
I was going to do something meaningful with my adoption pain.
“I wasn't going to sit in self-pity.
I was going to do something meaningful with my adoption pain.”
That decision became Haneul of New England.
Folks, this reflection is not a story asking for pity.
It is simply my attempt to explain why this three-month journey to Korea is so important to me.
Beyond strengthening relationships with my family, I will also be searching for resources that can help Haneul continue to grow.
Everything I experience—every place I visit, every meal I share, every conversation I have, every emotion I feel—will become part of the Haneul Resource Library so that others may benefit from it.
Haneul of New England has become a lifeline in my own healing journey.
I truly believe God gave me both the opportunity and the responsibility to build something that might help other Korean adoptees who feel as lost and misunderstood as I once did.
Throughout my life, I carried countless questions.
Too often, I struggled to find answers.
I want Haneul to become a place where people with those same questions can finally begin finding answers.
I am not a professional.
Nor do I claim to have all of the answers.
I am simply another Korean adoptee trying to help others who may be struggling the way I once struggled.
I want people to understand that adoption trauma is real.
Mental health struggles among adoptees are real.
The search for identity is real.
The feeling of not knowing where you belong is real.
For those who question why I am traveling to Korea for three months, I hope they understand that this decision is not selfish.
In many ways, it is the opposite.
I am doing this for my wife.
For my children.
For my mother.
For my brothers and sisters.
But perhaps most importantly...
I am doing this for myself.
Because if I truly want to become a better father, husband, son, brother, and friend, then I first need to understand who I am.
To everyone reading this reflection, I ask one simple thing.
Before questioning the motives of an adoptee, before suggesting that we are abandoning our families or our responsibilities, please take a moment to consider that our journey may be far more complex than it appears from the outside.
We are not asking for sympathy.
We are asking for understanding.
And we are asking for support.
Thank you for taking the time to read this week's reflection.