How My Journey Into Genetic Research Began

Brigette Waits-Garcia, founder of Genetic Roots Research

People often expect adoption stories to start with a big reveal or a hidden truth finally uncovered. Mine doesn’t. I always knew my stepfather adopted me, and it was something my family spoke about openly. By the time I was three, he was legally my dad—and in every way that mattered, he always was.

My parents never hid the story of my biological father. I knew his name, a bit of his past, and the pieces that were known. He was born in California, had a sister, and both were removed from their home as children due to abuse. They were adopted into different families, and he eventually ended up in Arkansas. My mother believed he struggled with being adopted, and perhaps those battles played a part in why he chose to leave when he learned she was pregnant.

But I never carried that as a wound. I didn’t grow up wondering if I was “enough” or feeling the weight of his absence. My mom helped me understand that sometimes people run—not because of those they leave behind, but because of the pain they can’t escape within themselves. I believed her then, and I still do now.

That’s why, when I eventually stepped into the world of genetic research, I wasn’t chasing closure or trying to fill a missing piece. My life already felt whole. I was a wife, a mother, and I was simply curious.

Ironically, my journey didn’t even start with my own DNA—it began with my husband’s.

When I married into the Garcia name, I thought I knew what it meant to carry a surname. But soon I realized that no one in his family really knew where “Garcia” came from. Our three children all carried the name, yet its history was a mystery. That realization sparked something in me: If I don’t begin piecing this together, who will?

With each generation, stories fade and questions become harder to answer. I didn’t want my children—or their children—to inherit only question marks. I wanted to give them context, identity, and legacy. More than a name, I wanted to hand down stories they could carry with pride.

And that’s how my journey into genetic research began. Not from loss, but from love. Not from absence, but from a desire to build a bridge—one my children can walk across with understanding and connection.

This was only the beginning. In my next post, I’ll share what those first steps into research looked like, the discoveries that surprised me, and how those answers opened doors I never expected to find.

Stay tuned—this story is just getting started.