Having known I was donor-conceived from a relatively early age, I had always wondered about my biological father and his (and therefore my) biological family; Where did I come from? Who did I come from? Do I have siblings? Have I walked past them in the street or seen them on TV?

Just after having my son, my first child, this interest grew significantly to the point where it was impacting upon my life. I felt somehow guilty that I would never be able to give my child a full picture of his familial background and identity, nor give him the opportunity to have a relationship with important family members; his grandfather, his uncles and aunts, his cousins. I felt guilty that I could not provide to my child what I had also been deprived of and I felt a longing to know. It was these feelings that fueled me, that initiated an intense determination to know the truth.

While I tried to get information from the clinic where I was conceived, this was initially fruitless and I decided to try DNA testing. At the time, I knew nothing about how DNA testing works or how to use my results to identify my father. As soon as I received my results, I found a sibling who was also donor-conceived but identifying our father would prove more difficult. It took some research and help from others, including new found relatives, to cobble my DNA matches into a family tree. While sometimes challenging, this process immersed me into my newfound family. It enabled me to learn all about my relatives, going back hundreds of years. I found it fascinating and it gave me a much stronger sense of identity. The best part was that I started building relationships with distant family members who helped me along the way. I was able to identify my grandmother and her four sons, one of whom was my father. A relative on the other side of the world found their names and armed with this information, I found him; my father! We have now formed a relationship and I have two younger siblings that he has raised. I have also learned that I have at least one more donor-conceived sibling, if not more.

DNA testing has strengthened my identity, enabled me to find my father and brother, build relationships with family, and be able to give my child his history. I am currently on nearly all of the major DNA testing sites in the hope that one of these days, another sibling will appear…Maybe that’s you?

“Hiraeth: a Welsh word that means a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or maybe never was; it means nostalgia and yearning and grief for lost places.” ― Elizabeth Berg

In 2020, Covid-19 hit the world.

I was a thirty seven year old single mother of a toddler, bored out of my mind in the middle of another lockdown. For years I had been interested in doing a commercial DNA test like AncestryDNA or 23andme. There were family rumours of a Native American great grandparent, and I was desperate to add a little spice into my very European heritage. My mother side was an American mess, my father’s ancestors had come from Italy, I knew this because I had spent years on Ancestry researching his family tree. Heritage and culture were something that had always interested me.

There had never been a better opportunity for me to order an AncestryDNA test.

When I told my parents that the test was on its way, my mother in a very typical fashion, told me what a waste of money it was. I asked her why she wasn’t interested to learn more about this mysterious Native American. She told me that she didn’t want to know, and that the story she had been raised on was good enough. I should have known that something was off about that answer, but my mother reprimanding me about money was not out of the ordinary. My dad didn’t say a word.

On the day I received my results, I sat down and stared intensely.

46% Wales , 22% England & North-western Europe , 17% Scotland , 7% Sweden & Denmark , 6% Ireland , 1% Norway , 1% Aegon Islands - No Italy in sight.

No single relative with my last name, my father’s last name.

Unsurprisingly, this was still not enough for me to understand that there was something larger at play so I closed my results and went on with my life.

My childhood had been a melting pot of all things normal. My mum and dad met at a party in Sydney when they were teenagers. They courted for a while until they decided to get married. They produced my two sisters, moved to Brisbane, bought a house and decided they couldn’t afford any more kids so my dad got a vasectomy. Ten years and a few better paying jobs later, they changed their minds. My dad underwent three vasectomy reversals and on the third time, little me was created. The miracle baby.

This was the story I was told anyway.

Four months after receiving my AncestryDNA results, I received a direct message from a man living in SA. He was named ‘Red’ and he told me he had sent me a message on Ancestry a month earlier and could I please go check it out. This is the message that had been waiting for me.

“Hi, this is a little weird isnt it? Being first cousins and all.. I wasn't really expecting anyone to come up as a relative but here we are! :) I'm not really sure what to say but.. I'm an IVF and donor baby.

I know us being related may have been a surprise for you and your family so if you feel uncomfortable being in contact feel free to block me! I don't want to push anything onto you and your family. My first priority right now is to make sure I'm not disturbing or possibly ruining any relationships. We can pretend this never happened if you want, you don't even need to respond! :)

Having said that, I'm also up for us to talk! I think it would be cool to talk to my relatives on my donors side and learn about that side of me too.

Really, us being in contact is all up to you and your family. No hard feelings on this end, I totally understand whichever decision you make. Enjoy your night xx”

AncestryDNA had labelled us first cousins and as I’d find out very shortly, first cousins and half siblings share the same amount of DNA.

On reading this message, I was filled with excitement. Growing up with two older sisters, parents that seemed to always be working and all my cousins living in Sydney or the United States, I was a very lonely child who wanted more than anything to have a big family. I had always felt like the odd one out, the black sheep of the family and this was an opportunity to have a family member who I could really form a connection with. It piqued my curiosity and despite it being 10:30pm at night, I called my mum to ask which of my dads brothers had donated sperm.

My mother answered the phone and within minutes told me that in fact, I was donor conceived too.

Unless you are a late discovery donor conceived person, there’s no possible way you can understand how I felt in that moment. The phone call lasted only seconds after that revelation because my entire consciousness began to float above my body and I could no longer control my limbs in any productive way. I sat in my backyard and stared at the fence. It felt like I was in a movie, or maybe some kind of a dream. How could my dad not be my biological father? It felt like death.

In the days after, I went through many stages. Stages of crying, stages of grief, stages of not being able to look in the mirror, stages of denial, stages of anger until I finally hit the stage of curiosity. I needed to know who this man was, I needed to know about my biological father because I needed to know who I was. I moved fast. I called my clinic, and while they were extremely unhelpful in expressing any identifying information about my biological father, they did release four years of distribution records and tell me that it’s very possible I have 50-100 siblings in Australia.

I managed to find an online DNA group on Facebook and with the help of about four different people, we used my third cousin matches to narrow it down to three candidates. One being a man who had lived in Wales his entire life – he was ruled out, and two being a set of brothers that lived in Brisbane. I spent days researching these men to the best of my ability and in the end I settled on John. John and I seemed to have a lot in common, at least more than I had in common with his brother. I spent another couple days combing through his social media and wondering how best to approach him with the question of my paternity. Eventually I settled on an email, wrote up something to the best of my ability at the time, and just hit send.

I heard back from John a few days later, he confirmed he had donated sperm some 38 years ago but needed time to speak to his family. John was married and had started his own family and was concerned that Red and I’s appearance may cause issues. It certainly changed a lot of things.

In the months that followed, Red and I spoke to John on social media and he did his own AncestryDNA to confirm what we already knew. He was our biological father. I had a meeting with him and his wife that went well. Unfortunately, his children – our siblings – have little to no interest in knowing us. While this has caused Red and I some serious grief, we understand how complex this situation is.

Donor conception is a very complicated thing. Though we are all family, we are also all strangers. And though we try to make up for all the missed time, there is a missing childhood bond that can never be recreated. My biological father was never there to soothe me as a baby, he was never there to watch me wobble when I learnt to walk, he wasn’t there to help me with homework or to give me advice on boys. I was not there for my younger siblings. It is for these reasons that there will always be loss and complexity.

It's been nearly two years since I learnt the truth about my conception.

My relationship with my biological father continues to grow – slowly.

My numerous siblings – conceived through donor conception – are still out there, likely with no idea they are donor conceived.

Red and I are still close, as siblings should be but we exist with a foot in two worlds – two families, never truly belonging to either.