I Was Abandoned As Baby on the Street During China’s One-Child Policy Era

U.S.NewsPoliticsAI PoliticsTechFact CheckSportsGlobalIran WarRussia-UkraineMiddle EastChina And AsiaLive BlogBetter PlanetAll World NewsLifestyleFamily & ParentingEntertainmentTravelPetsAutomotiveRelationshipsScienceHealthPersonal FinanceBetter WorkplacesReaders ChoiceOpinionMy TurnAll OpinionRankingsHealthCorporate ResponsibilityFinanceProductsEducationWorkAll RankingsWatchThe 1600The Royal ReportUnconventionalFrom The PaddockNewsmakersSocialFacebookInstagramYouTubeRedditTikTokTwitter/XExtraNewslettersDare to DreamEventsEssaysPodcastsVantageInsightsMagazineCEO CircleAnnouncementsLeadershipDev Pragad I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee, but my life began in China. That's where I was abandoned at just 3 days old, left on a sidewalk in Nanchang, Jiangxi Province. For the longest time, I was told finding my birth family would be impossible. That part of my life became a closed chapter. But that changed after I had children of my own. Social media has made us all more connected, and suddenly what once felt impossible felt possible. I realized my story was worth sharing. From a young age, I knew I was adopted. There was never an "a-ha" moment or a sit-down talk. It was simply something that was openly discussed in my family. I do remember coming across documents stating I was an "officially abandoned child" though. Reading that, it fully sank in that my biological family had actually left me on a sidewalk. It was probably the first time I felt negative about being adopted. My adoptive mom has never wavered in her belief that my biological family wanted me, but wanted a better life for me more. As a child, that belief cushioned me from my past. As an adult, I'm less convinced. I think they could have loved me, but it probably looked very different. I was 14 months old when I was adopted from an orphanage. I was also very sick. My mom wasn't sure I would survive the first night she met me. I had pneumonia in both lungs and couldn't turn my very flat head because I'd spent so long lying untouched in a crib. She told me the orphanage was extremely crowded and couldn't properly care for sick babies. She's convinced our match is what saved my life. I was finally cared for because a family was now waiting for me. I have very happy memories of my childhood: fall festivals, Christmas lights with my mom, trips to the beach, Disney World, Thanksgiving gatherings where my cousins and I slept on the floor at my grandmother's house, and reading Harry Potter. My grandmother would often say, "Of all the beautiful little girls, God brought you here all the way from China to be my precious angel." That was the general tone of my upbringing. My family made me feel loved, and I never felt like an outsider. School wasn't always easy. I was teased for being adopted, but as everyone came to know about it, the jokes soon dried up. It wasn't until college, when I was surrounded by new people, that my Chinese identity became something I thought about more deeply. As a child, I didn't seek out information about my biological family, but daydreamed about them. In my mind, my birth mother wore a yellow dress and I had a brother and sister. For a long time, I treated my past as something fixed and untouchable. I believed the little information I had was all I would ever know, and actively searching for more felt frightening. I was in college before I even Googled my birth city for the first time. I was shocked to discover Nanchang looked modern and developed. Growing up, I'd been told it was rural and poor, that I was probably born in a hut and far better off in America. Looking back, it's almost laughable that it took me so long to look up my own birthplace. I simply never felt like I had permission to, even from myself. At 7 years old, I had returned to China through a program for China's lost girls. We spent two weeks visiting Beijing, Shanghai, Xi'an and other cities. It was incredible, but I was still too young to fully process what the experience meant. Today, my feelings about my abandonment are constantly evolving. As I've gotten older, I've become more heartbroken than at peace over what my biological mother may have endured and why she had to make the decision she did. Increasingly, I wonder whether I was abandoned or taken. Questions I once kept at arm's length now weigh heavily on me. Part of that shift came after becoming a mother myself. I gave birth to my daughter in 2021, and it changed my life in ways I still struggle to put into words. For the first time, I was holding a blood relative. I could hug someone who looked like me. The same happened when my son was born. I hadn't spent much time around babies before having children, and holding them made me realize how impossibly small I must have been when my birth family let me go. I couldn't imagine being separated from my own children for a moment at 3 days old, let alone for a lifetime. I think I grieved deeply during both postpartum periods while also experiencing overwhelming joy. Becoming a parent fundamentally changed how I understand my adoption. I no longer feel like only an adopted child with a loose connection to Chinese culture. I am a Chinese mother raising Chinese children. That responsibility matters to me. My daughter is now in kindergarten, and we're learning together what being Chinese means. We read books, watch videos and talk about my adoption in age-appropriate ways. She knows I'm adopted, although she doesn't fully understand yet. Right now, I mostly want to teach her about China. I want our family to be familiar with holidays, traditions and foods that I am still discovering myself. For most of my life, my past felt like a blank space that didn't belong to me, something I wasn't entitled to investigate. Sharing what little information I have now feels frightening but also empowering. I'm in the early stages of searching for my birth family. Another woman adopted from the same orphanage and I have decided to search together. We're planning DNA tests and have already reached out to organizations including the Nanchang Project and Baobeihuijia in hopes of maximizing visibility once results come back. There are so many questions I'd like answered. I'd love to know my family's history, where I come from and who my relatives are. If reconnecting wouldn't cause them distress, I'd like to understand what led to my abandonment and whether there was more to the story than the one-child policy. Mostly, though, I want to know their lives. Our similarities, our differences and our shared history. I am admittedly ignorant of many of the details surrounding the one-child policy, largely by choice. It's very difficult to learn what birth mothers and daughters endured during that time while knowing my fate could have been very different. I was one of the lucky ones. I was adopted by parents who wanted and loved me, and have an extended family that welcomed me with kindness and care. I often wonder what my life would have looked like had I remained in China. But given the circumstances of my abandonment, I don't believe it would have resembled the life I was fortunate enough to have. At best, I may have grown up unwanted; at worst, I could have faced some of the harsh realities many families endured during that time. As much as I grieve the loss and unanswered questions surrounding my beginnings, I would not choose a different outcome than the life I have today. If I ever meet my biological parents, there's one thing I would want them to know above all else: "I hope my life is a reflection of what you wanted for me when you let me go." I can't change the past or fully understand what circumstances led to that decision, but I know it was not made without consequence. Whatever their reasons, they took a risk. I hope that through the life I've built, they would feel it was worthwhile. Today, I'm a stay-at-home mom preparing to return to work. When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a news producer for Good Morning America in New York City. I thought that would be the peak of my life. That dream has passed, and with time I've come to understand something else: this is my peak. My family, my children, my life right now. Knowing that brings me comfort, and it also makes me excited for whatever comes next.10Loading video…By Brittany Wolfe Foltz0ShareNewsweek is a Trust Project memberSee more of our trusted coverage when you search.Prefer Newsweek on Googleto see more of our trusted coverage when you search. I grew up in Memphis, Tennessee, but my life began in China. That’s where I was abandoned at just 3 days old, left on a sidewalk in Nanchang, Jiangxi Province.

For the longest time, I was told finding my birth family would be impossible. That part of my life became a closed chapter. But that changed after I had children of my own. Social media has made us all more connected, and suddenly what once felt impossible felt possible. I realized my story was worth sharing.

From a young age, I knew I was adopted. There was never an “a-ha” moment or a sit-down talk. It was simply something that was openly discussed in my family.

I do remember coming across documents stating I was an “officially abandoned child” though. Reading that, it fully sank in that my biological family had actually left me on a sidewalk. It was probably the first time I felt negative about being adopted.

My adoptive mom has never wavered in her belief that my biological family wanted me, but wanted a better life for me more. As a child, that belief cushioned me from my past. As an adult, I’m less convinced. I think they could have loved me, but it probably looked very different.

I was 14 months old when I was adopted from an orphanage. I was also very sick. My mom wasn’t sure I would survive the first night she met me. I had pneumonia in both lungs and couldn’t turn my very flat head because I’d spent so long lying untouched in a crib.

She told me the orphanage was extremely crowded and couldn’t properly care for sick babies. She’s convinced our match is what saved my life. I was finally cared for because a family was now waiting for me.

I have very happy memories of my childhood: fall festivals, Christmas lights with my mom, trips to the beach, Disney World, Thanksgiving gatherings where my cousins and I slept on the floor at my grandmother’s house, and reading Harry Potter.

My grandmother would often say, “Of all the beautiful little girls, God brought you here all the way from China to be my precious angel.” That was the general tone of my upbringing. My family made me feel loved, and I never felt like an outsider.

School wasn’t always easy. I was teased for being adopted, but as everyone came to know about it, the jokes soon dried up. It wasn’t until college, when I was surrounded by new people, that my Chinese identity became something I thought about more deeply.

As a child, I didn’t seek out information about my biological family, but daydreamed about them. In my mind, my birth mother wore a yellow dress and I had a brother and sister.

For a long time, I treated my past as something fixed and untouchable. I believed the little information I had was all I would ever know, and actively searching for more felt frightening. I was in college before I even Googled my birth city for the first time. I was shocked to discover Nanchang looked modern and developed. Growing up, I’d been told it was rural and poor, that I was probably born in a hut and far better off in America. Looking back, it’s almost laughable that it took me so long to look up my own birthplace. I simply never felt like I had permission to, even from myself.

At 7 years old, I had returned to China through a program for China’s lost girls. We spent two weeks visiting Beijing, Shanghai, Xi’an and other cities. It was incredible, but I was still too young to fully process what the experience meant.

Today, my feelings about my abandonment are constantly evolving. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become more heartbroken than at peace over what my biological mother may have endured and why she had to make the decision she did. Increasingly, I wonder whether I was abandoned or taken. Questions I once kept at arm’s length now weigh heavily on me.

Part of that shift came after becoming a mother myself.

I gave birth to my daughter in 2021, and it changed my life in ways I still struggle to put into words. For the first time, I was holding a blood relative. I could hug someone who looked like me. The same happened when my son was born.

I hadn’t spent much time around babies before having children, and holding them made me realize how impossibly small I must have been when my birth family let me go. I couldn’t imagine being separated from my own children for a moment at 3 days old, let alone for a lifetime.

I think I grieved deeply during both postpartum periods while also experiencing overwhelming joy. Becoming a parent fundamentally changed how I understand my adoption. I no longer feel like only an adopted child with a loose connection to Chinese culture. I am a Chinese mother raising Chinese children.

That responsibility matters to me. My daughter is now in kindergarten, and we’re learning together what being Chinese means. We read books, watch videos and talk about my adoption in age-appropriate ways. She knows I’m adopted, although she doesn’t fully understand yet. Right now, I mostly want to teach her about China. I want our family to be familiar with holidays, traditions and foods that I am still discovering myself.

For most of my life, my past felt like a blank space that didn’t belong to me, something I wasn’t entitled to investigate. Sharing what little information I have now feels frightening but also empowering.

I’m in the early stages of searching for my birth family. Another woman adopted from the same orphanage and I have decided to search together. We’re planning DNA tests and have already reached out to organizations including the Nanchang Project and Baobeihuijia in hopes of maximizing visibility once results come back.

There are so many questions I’d like answered. I’d love to know my family’s history, where I come from and who my relatives are. If reconnecting wouldn’t cause them distress, I’d like to understand what led to my abandonment and whether there was more to the story than the one-child policy. Mostly, though, I want to know their lives. Our similarities, our differences and our shared history.

I am admittedly ignorant of many of the details surrounding the one-child policy, largely by choice. It’s very difficult to learn what birth mothers and daughters endured during that time while knowing my fate could have been very different. I was one of the lucky ones. I was adopted by parents who wanted and loved me, and have an extended family that welcomed me with kindness and care.

I often wonder what my life would have looked like had I remained in China. But given the circumstances of my abandonment, I don’t believe it would have resembled the life I was fortunate enough to have. At best, I may have grown up unwanted; at worst, I could have faced some of the harsh realities many families endured during that time. As much as I grieve the loss and unanswered questions surrounding my beginnings, I would not choose a different outcome than the life I have today.

If I ever meet my biological parents, there’s one thing I would want them to know above all else: “I hope my life is a reflection of what you wanted for me when you let me go.” I can’t change the past or fully understand what circumstances led to that decision, but I know it was not made without consequence. Whatever their reasons, they took a risk. I hope that through the life I’ve built, they would feel it was worthwhile.

Today, I’m a stay-at-home mom preparing to return to work. When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a news producer for Good Morning America in New York City. I thought that would be the peak of my life.

That dream has passed, and with time I’ve come to understand something else: this is my peak. My family, my children, my life right now. Knowing that brings me comfort, and it also makes me excited for whatever comes next.