Hello Kitty came out in 1976. I was born 1973. I feel a kindred spirit with her. Cute, Asian, big head … All of her marketing is adorable, and I am here for it. The love of Hello Kitty carried me through to adulthood. To this day, I have a slight obsession with Hello Kitty that I try to keep at a level below neurotic.

Recently, however, it was pointed out to me that Hello Kitty doesn’t have a mouth. It never occurred to me she just sits there, ornamental. I began to question my identification with Hello Kitty.

As I think back to Child Heather, it makes sense she was drawn to Hello Kitty. She represented how I felt back then: cute, ornamental, and without a voice. Other young girls seemed content in their skin. They were confident about who they were and what they wanted to be. Or if they didn’t know who they were, it didn’t bother them. With me, it was the opposite. EVERYTHING bothered Child Heather. She was constantly worried about something. Chaos was her best friend; if there wasn’t drama, don’t worry, she started it.

Child Heather once tried to make a club against her friend. She was her best friend, but she was so jealous of her. Child Heather once got into a fight in the car with her high school boyfriend and yanked on his arm so hard he swerved off the road. The cop behind them pulled them over for reckless driving. He let them go when he saw Child Heather flailing in the passenger seat having what looked like some nervous breakdown.

If you saw Child Heather, she was this cute little Korean girl who took ballet and got straight As. But, inside she didn’t know who she was. One day she wore her cheerleader uniform to school. The next day she wore her animal print wrap-around-skirt, black leather jacket, and a fake nose ring. Her algebra teacher looked at her and asked if she thought she was attractive with the ring in her nose. She replied she didn’t care, but that was a lie. She did care. Not about what he thought of her, but about what she was projecting to others because others’ opinions mattered more than hers. She was Hello Kitty, voiceless.

When I reflect on these memories, I wonder: Was I like this because of adoption? Because of the tiny town I grew up in? Did adoption and growing up looking like an outsider in a town with one stop-light and corn fields cause the identity crisis I played out day after day? Who knows? I tell myself there are plenty of adoptees who grow up in white towns and adjust just fine. But for me, there was something else, something missing. I never felt like I fit in, so I changed my outward appearance to match how I felt inside, only to further the alienation. I was Hello Kitty, blending in without a voice.

I feel for Child Heather. I want to tell her to relax. It’s okay. You’re doing fine. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to be the best. You don’t have to be popular or rich. You can stop trying to fit in. You will work out your issues and life will unfold the way it is supposed to. Don’t rush it and enjoy the ride.

I wish Child Heather would’ve had that F-OFF attitude I have now and felt confident in her own skin. I wish I could give her the comfort and peace I’ve found in adulthood.

But we know this isn’t possible. Only years of living and growing allowed me to shed my Hello Kitty identity and create one that can speak up when needed, but sit back and find peace through reflection in self-care.