“‘Why did you adopt these white kids?’
Let’s start from the very beginning. My name is Kimberly Holden, and even as a little girl, I always knew I wanted to adopt. Three of my aunts opened their hearts and homes to children who weren’t biologically theirs, and watching them shaped my heart in ways I couldn’t fully explain. My Aunt Gloria—who we all called Mama—was my biggest inspiration. Just before she passed away, I whispered in her ear, ‘Mama, I’m going to be a foster mom.’ I promised her that I would carry on the legacy of love she had shown.
When I was 21, I got married, but my dream of adopting didn’t align with my husband’s plans. After almost three years, we divorced, and my desire to care for children grew stronger than ever. In 2011, I took a brave step and became a foster parent. I was thrilled to begin this journey, yet nervous, because I was doing it as a single parent. In my foster care class, I was the only single person, surrounded by couples. At first, I felt out of place, but deep down, I knew this was my calling, and I refused to give up.
Over the next few years, I fostered five children, all of whom were reunified with their birth families. Every goodbye felt like a piece of my heart was being torn away. I would grieve as if I had lost a family member, but I knew I had to continue. After a nearly year-long break to let my heart heal, one night, God spoke to me. He told me He needed me again. I cried that night, feeling both fear and devotion, knowing I couldn’t say ‘No.’ Seven days later, I met Elizabeth, an eight-month-old baby who needed a home. When she arrived with her social worker, I realized she wasn’t Black—but it didn’t matter. She needed me, and I was ready to give her all the love I had.
Elizabeth and I didn’t care that we looked different; what mattered was the bond we shared. Outside, people often gave me strange looks, as if questioning whether I was her nanny or worse. At the park, someone would ask, ‘Are you her nanny? She’s so cute.’ At gymnastics, a mom even called me ‘Au Pair’ in another language. When I told them I was her mom, they would respond, ‘Ohhh. She must look like her dad then.’ In stores, people stared as if trying to see what would happen next, and I would reassure Elizabeth aloud, ‘Mommy loves you!’ She would reply, ‘I love you, Mommy,’ leaving the onlookers utterly confused. Many refused to even speak to me, addressing only the child. It was a constant reminder that the world still has a long way to go.
In August 2015, Elizabeth’s social worker told me about her baby brother, Edgar, who needed a home. I was hesitant—my job didn’t allow for maternity leave—but God had other plans for us. On October 30, 2015, after 486 days in foster care, I officially adopted Elizabeth. It was one of the happiest days of our lives. My family felt complete—or so I thought.
In January 2016, I got a call about Edgar. ‘Kim, remember Elizabeth’s baby brother? He needs you.’ I knew this was God speaking, and I said ‘Yes.’ Bringing Edgar home marked the start of a long and challenging journey, filled with ups and downs, tears, fear, and frustration. But I never gave up. After 1,072 days in foster care, on July 6, 2018, I adopted Edgar. That day was pure joy—our family was finally whole.
Now, we are a transracial family. My children, Elizabeth and Edgar, are Puerto Rican, Greek, and Cherokee, and many people still question our family in public. I’ve been asked, ‘Why did you adopt these white kids? Aren’t there Black children who need homes?’ I’ve been called cruel and accused of self-hate. Yet, I know love transcends skin color. My kids are proud of their heritage and fascinated by mine. At school, when children asked Elizabeth, ‘That’s your mom? But she’s Black,’ she would confidently reply, ‘YES! This is my mom. Yes, she’s Black, and yes, I’m not. This is the way God made us!’
I am so proud of her. Our children are learning to love everyone, not just those who look like them. Years ago, I made YouTube videos about hair and makeup, but that wasn’t my calling. I shifted my focus to inspiring others. Despite the stares and disrespectful comments, I continue to encourage people to foster and adopt. I’ve received countless messages from others who have begun their foster care journeys because of my story. Every time I read them, I cry and smile, knowing another child will have a loving home.
Love goes beyond skin color. It doesn’t matter what someone looks like—love them. I am just a little Black girl from Connecticut, but I am determined to show the world that love sees no color. We must stop racism—it’s unnecessary, and it divides us. My family is living proof that hearts matter more than appearances, and that unconditional love changes lives.”
