I was adopted from an orphanage that later became an adoption agency in Ft. Worth, Texas, and my name at birth was Ashley Gladney.
I’ve known I was adopted my entire life. Honestly, I don’t even remember a moment of “finding out.” It was just always part of who I am. My parents embraced that from the very beginning—they would read me books about adoption, including a special customized story about my own adoption, and they showed me pictures from the day they brought me home and signed the papers that made me theirs forever.
Growing up, my favorite thing about myself was that I was adopted. Why wouldn’t it be? If I hadn’t been, I would never have had my parents—or my family. And, as crazy as they are sometimes, I truly have the best family in the entire world. I owe everything I am to them.
People are often curious about my story but hesitant to ask questions. They worry it might be a sensitive subject or bring up painful emotions. The truth is, my adoption is one of the most beautiful things that ever happened to me. Whenever a friend or teacher learned I was adopted, they would pause or stumble, as if it were taboo. When asked, “Do you know who your birth parents are?” I would always reply, “No, I’ll never know. It was a closed adoption.” That was enough for me. The little information I had—hospital records and a few details—allowed me to imagine two kids who made a brave, selfless decision for me, even if they couldn’t raise me themselves.
Years before I was born, my parents realized they weren’t able to have children and decided adoption was the path forward. Friends of theirs had recently adopted a baby boy from Edna Gladney in Ft. Worth, Texas, and that’s how they chose the agency that would eventually bring me home.
For most of my life, I imagined my birth parents as two immature teens who made a difficult choice. I never judged them or held any resentment. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was exactly where I was meant to be.
When I turned sixteen, my parents gave me letters from my birth parents that they had written before I was taken from the orphanage. My father’s was just a paragraph; my mother’s was ten pages. Typical teens, I thought. I understood that they loved me but, in my mind, they weren’t capable of raising a child. I even assumed they were on drugs and that’s why I was premature and nearly didn’t survive. Even with these assumptions, I was at peace—I knew they had done the best thing for me, the thing that ultimately allowed Brooke Ashton Bradley to exist.
At nineteen, I filed paperwork to search for my birth parents. Growing up as an only child, I was curious about siblings and family I had never met. Closed adoptions meant that neither I, my adoptive parents, nor my birth parents could know each other’s information unless someone opted in to a “finders file.” I knew it was a 50/50 chance I’d get a match. If I did, great—I’d have answers and maybe siblings. If not, that was fine too. Unfortunately, my initial search came up empty.
Years later, after my son survived a rare liver tumor at ten months old, I began thinking more about my family and where traits and conditions might have come from. I tried a DNA test through 23andMe, but it was expensive and fruitless. Luckily, one of my best friends, Silver, suggested ancestry.com and gifted me a kit for Christmas.
A few weeks later, I had nearly 100 profile matches. Weeks after that, a third cousin named Carson reached out. He explained he was researching our family tree and had found me through his mother’s profile. We chatted for a few days, but nothing significant came of it—yet.
In February, I got a call from Carson. My heart raced. Why was he calling? What did he know? “Brooke, I finished your branch of the family tree,” he said. My mind spiraled—had I accidentally opened a can of worms? What would my parents think? Would this hurt them? I felt a tornado of panic, curiosity, and adrenaline.
Carson had contacted my birth father, confirmed his identity, and facilitated the connection while I remained anonymous. After gathering enough information, I knew I was ready to make the call. But first, I had to be honest with my parents. I waited until March, then walked into my dad’s office, panicked, and poured out the whole story. To my relief, he was excited for me. He supported me fully. That same day, I called my birth father, Terry.
I had spent my life thinking he was a man who wanted nothing to do with me. In reality, he had wanted to keep me. He had stayed with me in the NICU after I nearly died multiple times and had spent nearly three decades hoping and praying to be reunited. I was overcome with emotion realizing the truth. My birth name was Michelle Nicole Moore, and I was alive because of his love and perseverance.
Being sentimental, I wanted our first meeting to be meaningful. His birthday was April 22, so I coordinated a surprise with his wife Megan, who was incredible in helping us plan. On the day, my husband Leward and I arrived early and hid inside a restaurant, anxiously waiting. When Terry arrived, he saw me and the room fell silent. Surprise! Happy Birthday! Tears filled the room, and what followed was hours of conversation, laughter, and stories.
That day, I went from being an only child to the oldest of six. I now have two brothers and one sister on my birth father’s side, and we have formed deep bonds. My birth father and his wife have become part of our family, too.
Recently, we reconnected with my birth mother, Tammy, after two years of searching. She shared her story—the emergency cesarean, how I nearly died, and her regret at never seeing me again. She’s now preparing to tell my siblings from her side, and I’ve already met my sister Kendall. My brother Kyle will arrive in just two days, and we can’t wait to meet. I have yet to meet my birth mother in person, but we’re planning to sit down soon, and I can’t wait to hear her story firsthand.
I hope to share the full journey in a book soon, including perspectives from all my siblings and everyone involved. My life has been a tapestry of love, loss, hope, and miracles—and I’m finally seeing the whole picture come together.
