The Truth Behind the Silence: Finding My Identity and Where I Belong

Who am I? No, really, who am I?

Most people can answer that question. They know their birth name, where they came from, and whose smile or stubborn streak they inherited. I spent more than 53 years wondering about all three.

I was born Lee Samantha Nicol on 15 March 1970 in Maidstone, England. But I grew up as Lisa Adams, with loving adoptive parents and a history nobody wanted to discuss. My memoir, The Truth Behind the Silence, is about that silence, the questions it created, and the journey that led me back to my biological family.

A Childhood Full of Love, but Also Questions

I always knew I was adopted. Every June, my adoptive parents celebrated my “special day”, the anniversary of bringing me home. I was told I was chosen and special. I knew I was lucky, too. My parents gave me stability, opportunities, holidays, music lessons, and encouragement to throw myself into everything.

But adoption was a subject we simply didn't talk about at home.

When I told a school friend at seven, my adoptive mum denied it after the friend's father mentioned it. Imagine how confusing that felt. Something that was supposedly wonderful had become a secret I wasn't allowed to share.

I learned to keep quiet. I learned to hide my questions. Where had I been between my birth in March and arriving home in June? Why had my birth mum given me up? Did she think about me at Christmas or on my birthday?

I loved my adoptive parents. That never stopped me longing to know my mum.

The Cuckoo in the Nest

Growing up, I often felt like the cuckoo in the nest. My adoptive parents were cautious, quiet, and conventional. I was an impulsive, chatty, sociable whirlwind who loved sport, singing, and adventure. How had I turned out so differently?

There were everyday reminders of what I didn't know. At medical appointments, I couldn't explain my family health history. At school, family-tree assignments and discussions about inherited traits made me uncomfortable. Everyone else seemed able to spot themselves in their relatives. I couldn't.

Only when I had my own children did I understand what that connection meant to me. Seeing familiar expressions, abilities, and characteristics in them was wonderful. For the first time, I could recognise part of myself in another person.

And yet there was still a gap in my story.

The Search for My Real Name

As an adult, I learned that my original name was Lee Samantha Nicol. Even that discovery was unsettling. How could I have lived so long without knowing the name given to me at birth?

Years later, a conversation with another adopted woman encouraged me to begin searching. With help from my daughters, I explored birth records, obtained my original birth certificate, and traced my birth mum, Lesley.

We found a Facebook profile that seemed to belong to her. On 28 June 2023, I sent a message explaining who I thought I was. Then came the waiting. What if I was wrong? Worse still, what if I was right and she didn't want to know me?

On 27 November, a reply appeared.

It was my mum.

I cried and cried with relief. Later, I discovered she had kept her maiden name on Facebook in case I ever searched for her. All those years I had wondered whether she remembered me, and she had left a doorway open.

Returning to the Arms That First Held Me

My mum explained that she had cared for me for my first two weeks and wanted to keep me, but was told it was too late because the adoption papers were signed. Hearing her story was heartbreaking. It helped me understand that our separation had never been about a lack of love.

In January 2024, we finally met at a garden centre café. I had imagined the moment many times. Would we look alike? Would conversation be awkward? Would she actually like me?

Instead, we talked for hours. She brought photographs, and suddenly I could see similarities between my children and relatives I had never met. I felt a sense of recognition and belonging.

The next day brought another surprise: I met my biological dad, too. Then came my half-siblings, who welcomed me so warmly that I could scarcely believe it. From knowing nothing about my origins, I had parents, brothers, sisters, and stories to discover.

On 15 March 2024, I celebrated my 54th birthday with my mum. Birthdays had always been the days I wondered about her most. Being together at last was a dream come true.

Why Finding the Truth Wasn't the End

You might think reunion fixed everything. I wish it were that simple!

Alongside the joy came grief for the years we had missed, anxiety whenever I had to leave my mum, and guilt about how my adoptive parents might feel. I was a grown woman with a husband, children, and a career, yet part of me wanted a mummy hug.

I am deeply grateful to the parents who raised me. Finding my biological family did not mean replacing them. It meant understanding another part of myself and making room for more love, even when the emotions were complicated.

The Truth Deserves a Voice

Writing The Truth Behind the Silence has taught me how damaging secrecy can feel, even when it is intended as protection. Adopted children deserve to ask questions, know their stories where possible, and speak openly without fearing they are being disloyal.

Every adoption story is different, and not every search ends like mine. But listening, honesty, and kindness can make a difference.

For more than five decades, I wondered who I really was. I still can't reclaim the years I missed, but I can treasure the wonderful people I've finally found and the life I've lived.

At last, the silence has been broken. And at last, I feel I belong.

Author:
Lisa Adams Author