Tapestry of Identity

I am Kiowa.

I am Scotch-Irish.

I am Swedish, and German, and Polish, and Italian.

These aren’t just labels or percentages on a DNA test – they are threads in the rich tapestry of who I am.

Each strand carries stories of survival, of migration, of love and loss, of dreams passed down through generations.

And in a world that often demands simple categorization, I’ve learned that embracing this complexity isn’t just important – it’s essential to our collective healing.

But it’s not always easy and almost never straightforward. I still struggle with uncertainty and can become ungrounded.

For most of my 33 years, I’ve wrestled with these intersecting identities. There were times when this exploration felt like more burden than blessing, when the weight of understanding and explaining myself to others became almost too heavy to bear.

But through this journey, I’ve discovered something profound: our ancestors’ stories don’t just live in history books or family trees – they live in our bones, in our songs, in the way we move through the world.

When I pray now, I feel them with me – all of them. My recently departed grandmother sits with me in moments of quiet reflection, her presence as real as the air I breathe.

These connections to my ancestors ground me in a world that often feels empty and chaotic, offering guidance when I need it most.

When I look at a tree, I often get this insight. That I’m just the end of a branch, extending out into the world. My ancestors and relations are the tree. The other branches. The trunk. And ultimately the roots that ground our line.

And perhaps that’s what our fragmented world needs more than anything: people who are deeply rooted in their truth, who can hold complexity with grace.

Being mixed race comes with its own particular challenges.

I can “pass” as White, but that word has always felt like a betrayal of sorts – not just of my Kiowa heritage, but of all my ancestors whose specific stories get erased under that broad brush.

My father taught me the importance of our Kiowa heritage, even though his own connection to the tribe had been severed through adoption. That disconnection has been its own kind of wound, one that I’m actively working to heal.

The Kiowa are a small tribe, and though I’ve participated in Pow Wows and ceremonies with other Native communities, I’ve yet to meet another Kiowa in person.

But the connections reveal themselves in unexpected ways. When I mention my grandfather, Earl Emhoolah, the boxer whose name appears in old Oklahoma newspapers, eyes light up with recognition. “The Emhoolahs are great singers,” an elder once told me in an Inipi. Later, Taylor Keen, an Omaha writer and professor, echoed the same sentiment when I first met him.

These moments feel like threads being rewoven, connecting me to a heritage that lives in my voice, in my love for ceremony and song.

But my story doesn’t end there.

Each ancestral line – the Scotch-Irish lowlander farmers, the Swedish agriculturists, the German and Polish ancestors whose stories I’m still uncovering – offers its own wisdom, its own way of belonging.

Together, they remind me that identity isn’t about checking boxes or proving authenticity. It’s about honoring the fullness of who we are and the countless lives that made our existence possible.

In sharing this reflection, I’m extending an invitation for connection.

Whether you’re Kiowa seeking to reconnect with community, or someone wrestling with your own complex identity, or simply a fellow human navigating the beautiful mess of existence – I’d love to hear your story.

You can find me as craiginzana on Instagram or reach out via email at craiginzana@gmail.com.

Because ultimately, this journey of understanding who we are isn’t just about looking backward – it’s about creating spaces where all our stories can be honored, where complexity is celebrated, and where the wisdom of our ancestors can help guide us toward a more connected future.