DNA gave me percentages.
But it didn’t give me the full story.
It showed me African ancestry.
European lineage.
Native roots.
But what it couldn’t show me…
was how those identities were lived.
How they were navigated.
How they were protected.
That part…
came through the journey.
I packed my bags without knowing a single person. Someone I knew I needed to do this
I walked into a room full of people I had never met…
and somehow, I wasn’t a stranger.
I remember looking around, trying to take it all in.
Faces that resembled mine.
Mannerisms that felt familiar.
Laughter that sounded like something I had heard before.
It was overwhelming in the most beautiful way.
Because how do you explain that?
How do you explain feeling like you belong somewhere…
you’ve never been?
That day wasn’t just about meeting family.
It was about seeing myself reflected in ways I never had before.
It was about understanding that my story didn’t start with me.
It was about realizing…
I come from something.
And that something has always been there—
waiting for me to find it.
This journey didn’t just bring me answers.
It brought me face to face with loss.
There were moments of discovery…
and moments of grief that sat right beside them.
Because as I was finding people…
I was also losing people.
Losing parents.
Losing grandparents.
Losing time I didn’t even realize I was missing.
And there’s something heavy about that.
About learning more about your family
while also grieving the ones who can’t tell you their stories.
It makes you hold everything a little tighter.
The memories.
The names.
The connections.
Because you begin to understand…
This isn’t just about the past.
It’s about honoring it.
This Well Runs Deep 