You’re not forgotten about. I know that’s hard to believe sometimes, but you’re not.

For years, many of us have carried this message — spoken or unspoken — that our parents didn’t want us, couldn’t deal with us, or didn’t have space for us in their lives. That somehow made us “unhealthy” or unworthy of our love.

I’ll be honest, I came to that belief on my own. Watching how other families functioned, not fully understanding the nuances, left me feeling like I had been left behind. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something: my birth parents — especially my mother — made a sacrifice. I’m the youngest of seven, and at times my siblings raised me. And instead of seeing that as proof of being forgotten, I’ve learned to see it as love. A choice was made that hurt her more than it hurt me — and that choice allowed me to stay connected to my family.

That’s the thing about kinship care: most of us never get the training or the healing to fully understand it. But over time, I’ve come to see it as the next best thing. Do I wish I had more time with my mom and dad? Absolutely. And every time I try to build a relationship with them now, it feels different than I imagined. Sometimes I want to control it — but maybe I’m not meant to. Relationships are partnerships, not projects.

Here’s what I’ve learned: I can’t relive my childhood, but I can choose childlike faith. I wasn’t forgotten. I was loved — loved enough that when my parents couldn’t, others stepped in. And no, I am not saying I was loved to replace the reality – I am saying I was loved by others in my family because it was my reality.

The kinship journey is a rollercoaster. You feel the void, you get angry, you get curious, you get angry again — and eventually, you learn to sit with it. It’s not a straight line, but it’s always forward.

We often swap conviction for affirmation without realizing how powerful that shift really is. To be forgotten means to be overlooked, erased, disregarded. But you are none of those things. Look at the people who came to your aid — and never left. You deserved that love. And while your parents may have lacked the capacity because of circumstance, not choice, the right people showed up.

Kinship isn’t perfect. Not everyone steps in with pure intentions. But this message is for those of us who’ve experienced the beauty in it. For those of us learning to reframe, to heal, to understand that our story is still ours. There is power in the tongue, and there is power in lineage.

You are beautiful. You are dynamic. And as we grow, the void lessens — not because it disappears, but because our sight has the ability to shift over a situation with time. There is a reason kinship care in Black families can be sacred. I mean, the Black family, we itself are sacred. 

Until next time, loves.
From my writing corner, with love.

Teisha