I have a life story that could easily be turned into a dramatic reality tv show, or an emotional movie that leaves an audience with nothing but speechless thoughts. Sit back, I hope you're in the mood to read... and maybe grab a tissue or two.

Every year for the past three years when mid April rolls around, I find myself reflecting on the countless events that have changed everything about myself and my life. My energy, my love for life, and my purpose has become something I never thought I was capable of, nor I never would have found if it weren't for April 17th, 2014.

For the majority of my childhood years, only close trusted friends, and family were aware of the fact that I was adopted. I wasn't proud of it, and you can thank the few people who made jokes about it when I was barely young enough to grasp the concept myself. I was raised in a wonderful family who provided a myriad of opportunities for me, and for that I will be forever grateful, although I was always missing a piece of me that I couldn't find no matter how hard I searched.

The void in my life and within myself made itself apparent from my early years. Elementary school years lead me wondering who's eyes I had, who's hair I had, and what occupation my biological parents, who in some ways only existed in my imagination, did for a living. I would hear teachers and adults tell my friends how much they looked like their parents, how they walked like their dad, or how they have identical personalities as their siblings. I had questions, but no answers. I in some way felt like a sore thumb. I stood out where I wanted to fit in, and I just wanted to hear the comfort of someone knowing where I got my smile or my curled pinky toes from.

My teenage years only escalated what once was an everyday want, to a desperate need. The emotions and challenges that accompany those years left me in a rut. I needed answers, and I wouldn't stop until I found them. I asked questions and tried to pry any small hint I could to get any closer to finding my missing piece. Over the course of 4-5 years, I had accumulated enough rough facts about where I came from to get somewhere. Heres where my story actually begins...

April 16th, around 10 p.m. I had come home from four hours of dance practice. My typical teenage life revolved around school, dance, my friends, and a boy. I spent an hour each night laying in bed scrolling through all of my social media accounts. This specific night, my local news station had shared a story just as I had logged on to Facebook. It was about a girl looking for her mom, and with luck found her within three days of posting a twitter picture. I had a few angels watching over me at that moment. I was the first to comment with the meshed together facts I had saved over the years on my old iPod touch, because I knew this day would come (photo attached below). Other than the special pieces of my heart helping me out from above, I had one hero who I had not even met yet, who made all dreams come true.

A friend of both sides of my unfound (at the time) family had recognized the facts I had listed in my comments, and proceeded to my profile, only to confirm I had to be the daughter of the friends she had known had given up for adoption in high school. Goosebumps fact: She screen shotted my comment and forwarded it on to my stepmom (who I did not know about at the time) at 11:11 p.m. Make a wish.. oh wait, my wish is about to be granted.

The next morning proceeded as usual, until about five minutes after my first class began. This specific person who had connected the dots from my Facebook comment sent me a message informing me that she knew who my biological parents were. My words to this day will never describe the feelings that rushed into my life at that moment. I was a hysterical mess, in shock and disbelief that something I had spent every day of my life dreaming about was a reality.

Within 12 hours of my simple Facebook comment, with no expectations of any answers, desperate prayers were answered, plus some. I had gone from an only child, to the oldest sister of five younger siblings. I found my brown eyes in someone other than myself, and was for the first time able to see a reflection of my 9 year old self in one of my brothers. My view on life as a cup half empty, not only turned into a cup half full, but a cup overflowing with answers that completed my purpose.

If I were to go into details about the next couple of weeks, these words could go on to be something more of a novel. To sum it up, I spent every hour of the day, and almost every hour of the night putting the pieces together about where I came from, and how long I had been searched for. I went from two parents, to five and I saw BOTH sides of the nature vs. nurture debate, as I was a living example. The confusion cleared about why I walk the way I do, smile the way I do and react the way I do. I felt the embrace of a hug I had been waiting for my entire life from where I came from, and let me tell you, I never wanted to let go. I could have lived in those first few weeks forever, but chaos had to settle down sooner or later.

That is only a small fraction of my story, but that is where I began living life with purpose and with a heart so full that it would be selfish to complain a single day more. I have grown into the shoes that fit my life in the past three years, with more love and support than I have ever deserved. I am blessed with an over abundance of cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. I have learned to be in the middle of three separate families that have given me the gift of feeling complete.

Three years is scary to say, because I don't remember life before this. I have been living in the life I belong in for three years but feel as if I have lived my whole life surrounded by this crazy mixed family I get to call MINE.

(*Pictured below: A tattoo I got after realizing how three families together made up the whole of who I had become.)