Alysa Liu just won Olympic gold, and we are transfixed. She retired as a burned-out teenager who wanted a normal life more than another medal. She came back on her own terms, with a clarity and agency that made the whole thing feel different this time. That’s the story she’s been telling.
Another narrative has been running alongside it, the one her father chose to share about having all five of his children through gestational surrogacy and anonymous egg donors. Mainstream outlets have made this detail a central part of the remarkable backstory behind the gold. The third-party reproduction industry has capitalized on the earned media to celebrate her as a validation of what donor conception and gestational surrogacy make possible. Donor conceived people and their parents have celebrated seeing donor conception reflected on such a public stage. And opponents of third party reproduction have used her moment to amplify their messages about “designer babies” and children being separated from their biological parents.
This raises an important question: whose story is this?
Her father chose to share his story, and that’s his right. There’s a difference between information being public and a person choosing to make it part of their narrative. She’s spoken openly about her ADHD, mental health in sport, and her journey to reclaiming skating as her own artistic expression. She has been deliberate about what she puts into the world. Her donor conception identity isn’t part of what she’s chosen to claim.
Compare that to Kerry Washington, another person in the public eye who is also donor-conceived. She found out at 41, processed it privately, and when she was ready, she wrote a memoir. She chose the moment, the framing, and the words. That’s what it looks like when a donor-conceived person gets to tell their own story.
We do understand the impulse to connect. For donor conceived people and their parents watching Alysa perform or give endearingly awkward interviews, there’s something real in that recognition — she’s one of us. That feeling matters. This is exactly what representation is supposed to do. We believe that deeply; it’s why Parts of Me exists.
But becoming a symbol without consent isn’t representation. It’s exposure. The best thing we can do with this moment is feel the recognition, celebrate her accomplishment, and then give her space to tell her own donor conception story if and when she chooses to.
She’s already shown she knows how to do things on her own terms.
Parts of Me exists to expand authentic representation of donor-conceived people across arts, media, and culture.
- Browse our DCP Stories Collection to discover existing authentic donor conceived representation
- Meet Donor-Conceived Creators whose works are shifting narratives
- Access our Media Guidance if you’re creating or reporting on donor conception
- Learn about Creator Fellowships (launching Year 2)
