Returning to Korea as an Adoptee–Reconciling With What It Means to Belong

For those of you who I haven’t met yet, hello! I’m Tanya Kaanta, a Korean adoptee and owner and Executive Director of The Ties Program. I took over the organization in 2023 after two decades of working in academia. I hold a Ph.D. in Sociology and an M.S. in Student Affairs in Higher Education with a focus on intercountry adoption, identity formation, emotion work, advocacy, and agency. For me, this work is ongoing and deeply personal.

Tanya in her first Hanbok

My journey to understanding my Korean identity has evolved and feels like a continuous path with no final destination. My journey has taken me back to Korea many times, each trip for a different reason, but always rooted in a desire to reconnect with my beginnings. My first return was in the spring of 1999, which was prompted by my best friend’s Fulbright in Korea. At that point in my life, I’d shifted from wanting no connection to my Korean heritage to actively embracing it in both my personal and academic life. I traveled to Korea alone, met up with my friend, and connected with a newly formed group of Koreans who welcomed adoptees.

Two months later, after completing my master’s degree, I returned to Korea independently. The experience was jarring. I was unprepared for how adoptees were treated in Korean society without the protective umbrella of my white, Korean-speaking friend. It took months for me to learn about Global Overseas Adoptee Link (GOA'L),  the first adoptee-led non-profit and NGO in Korea, founded the year before. I found myself navigating my birth search without fully understanding the emotional complexities and the potential for unresolved outcomes. Much of my time was spent alone or with Korean friends. Before leaving Korea, I connected with adoptees through GOA’L, and with each subsequent return to Korea, my interactions with other adoptees grew.

While I loved learning about Korean history and culture, I was constantly reminded by Korean nationals that I was not “one of them.” My deep desire was to blend in, but my limited Korean often led to uncomfortable discussions about my adoptee status. My Korean friends cautioned me against revealing my truth, warning of negative treatment and suggesting I say I was mentally disabled instead. I felt anger and frustration at this untrue and stifling approach. I wasn’t going to hide who I was, nor should I, as it wasn’t my decision to be an adoptee in the first place. I experienced violent responses—including being kicked, punched, and yelled at— for disclosing my adoptee status. Thankfully, these incidents were over two decades ago, and such stark and extreme behavior is now rare. As I reflect on this harsh reality, it pains me to think of a deep yearning to belong that was met with the cruelty that I endured.

Dinner with Korean friends and Ben, 1999

Fast forward 26 years, and I realize that what I needed on my first trip is what The Ties Program offers: community, support, and adoptee-centered cultural experiences. Brave spaces to experience one’s birth country and to unpack all of the nuances and experiences that happen along the way. While in Korea, I longed for other adoptees also experiencing Korea for the first time and to have my partner, Ben (who co-operates The Ties Program with me today) by my side.

Reflecting on my own journey the past 26 years, I’m introspective and contemplative. To this day, I am trying to reconcile all that has happened with Korea and adoption from before my time to the present day. I often think: How do I reconcile my past experiences? How can I support other adoptees’ experiences in light of Korea’s admission to adoption corruption and the mainstream media attention garnered from the AP/PBS FRONTLINE  documentary? Especially with my knowledge that adoption researchers and adoptee scholars have been writing about this for over two decades. How do I hold space for adoptees finding this information out for the first time? For [adoptive and birth] parents who may be learning about this for the first time and are forced to come to terms with the fact they are [unfortunately] now a part of this jaded history involving corruption?

Tanya with her son as a toddler. in Jeju, 2006.

I fully acknowledge that some of these questions will go unanswered, but I feel it’s important for us to form dialogue, provide forums and spaces for support and productive discussion. I’m also considering ways to support such a diverse diaspora. Those from the first wave in the late 50s, to the second wave of the 80s and beyond. The socio-political structures differed greatly, and in turn, the experience of adoptees varied significantly. How do I hold space for those like myself who had corruption associated with their file(s), versus those with more transparency in their origin story? How do I reconcile those who grew up in supportive homes versus those who experienced abuse? These questions linger–and continue to be a part of the KAD community's realities and many other intercountry adoption narratives.

As we launch our 2026 programs for Korea, and prepare for our 50+ First Wave trip in October 2025, I hold deep hope for our Korean adoptee community. Hope that through meaningful connection and support that we can learn to grapple with the unsettling realities and find comfort in our lived experiences through community. The Korean Ties program offers an opportunity for adoptees to find a sense of belonging and explore their birth country in a supportive and brave environment. My hope is to provide a space for healing, connection, and belonging. These trips are not a solution, but a powerful step toward reclaiming one’s story.

I’ve witnessed the transformation in adoptees from Korea and other countries. I know these trips can be transformative. I’m aware of the deep-rooted pain, and I also recognize the joy within our community. It’s not one or the other; our history is complicated by socio-political constructs in both Korea and the receiving countries. Support and exploration take many forms; while I hope Ties can be a meaningful option, I also honor and support the work of other adoptee-led organizations and peer communities. There is no one-size-fits-all. My aim is to provide support in any way I can. Whether someone is ready to travel now or later, The Ties Program also offers webinars and resources to support the adoption constellation. Our trips are just one avenue for identity exploration, education, and healing.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me. It’s deeply personal, heart-centered work—and my goal is to help others find connection, healing, and support wherever they are. To move through this journey together with adoptees globally has been a love project for me; and it’s a privilege and responsibility that I don’t take lightly.

With light and love,

Tanya