Member since August 2026
Anna was adopted from Seoul, Korea and grew up in Iowa. Her heart is filled with love for people and their stories. The Anna Jinja Show is a weekly show hosted by Anna Jinja, an international adoptee who has come to believe that we all experience adoption in our lives. We actively choose people, values, and dreams that define who we are in this world. She is also the author of Adopting Grace.
The host invites guests to share their stories, issues, and questions connected to adoption and foster care experiences and then invites a writer or musician to select a written piece (poem or selected reading) or a song to match to the guest and topic. The goal is to facilitate creative interchanges that guide us to knowing that we each have a home in this world…cradled in the belief that we belong, that we are worthy, and that we are loved.
By sharing her adoption story and all that she is learning to help her navigate through personal and professional challenges, she hopes that this will lead us to believe, accept, and value the inherent worthiness of all people.
She has dedicated her life to several nonprofit organizations and causes as a volunteer or employee which has led to a myriad of unexpected opportunities and adventures – including stepping into the role of a radio producer and host at KHOI 89.1 FM. Anna invites you to listen to the people, messages, and music that she believes help create a world where everyone has a loving adoption experience.
The Anna Jinja Show focuses on the stories, issues, and questions connected to adoption and foster care experiences in partnership with Pacifica Network, local NPR Affiliate (WOUB), and other independent and podcast platforms.
Anna Jinja Mather is a captivating speaker who speaks regularly about empowering women, creativity, and personal empowerment. As the Founder and Host of The Anna Jinja Show, she connects audiences with the profound experiences surrounding adoption and fosters a dialogue that inspires self-acceptance and community building.
I love talking about creativity, community, and belonging. I can talk about adoption, identity, self-love, and resilience from a lived experience, advocacy, and creative media.
What drives Anna is her unwavering belief in the transformative power of personal narratives. She is passionate about empowering women to embrace their stories, fostering creativity, and promoting a sense of community that uplifts individuals from all walks of life.
What Cilantro Taught Me About Rejection: I have a favorite dish that, by all rules of good manners, I should probably never be allowed to eat in public. It’s a Vietnamese noodle salad that is the perfect mix of mint, lime, and cilantro, piled high with crushed peanuts and rice noodles. Every single bite brings joy to my taste buds. The problem is that when I’m eating it, I am a public menace. There is just no version of me and that salad that ends with my dignity intact.
But my inability to eat this dish gracefully wound up teaching me an invaluable lesson about rejection.
Homecoming With Anna is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
It happened on a Friday. I’d met a friend for lunch, feeling that loose, unbothered mood you only get right before the weekend hits. I ordered the salad and went at it like it owed me money. It disappeared in minutes!
On the way out of the restaurant, I spotted someone in the entryway. She was a person who had ignored my phone calls requesting a meeting to discuss getting involved with the nonprofit I worked for at the time.
An opportunity, I thought.
I walked up, said hello, and started making my pitch. But mid-sentence, I noticed she wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes darted to the right, then to the left, then somewhere near my collarbone - just truly anywhere but my face. I could feel the conversation curdling in real time.
So, I did what you do when you sense someone desperately wants out: I gave her an easy exit.
“Let’s grab lunch soon,” I said, gave a quick wave, and walked out. I got into my car, flipped down the rearview mirror, and the reflection told me everything I needed to know.
You are likely to agree that there is a version of having food in your teeth that is totally forgivable. A tiny sliver of green caught between your front teeth that you can easily laugh off. Unfortunately, I had what can only be described as a full cilantro-and-mint retainer. And to make matters worse, near the bottom corner of my lip, a small constellation of chili-lime-fish-sauce debris had taken up permanent residence alongside a few lacy cilantro leaves.
I didn’t get the meeting that day. I did, however, get a masterclass.
Once I stopped wanting to disappear directly into the upholstery of my driver’s seat, the whole interaction started to look a little different. For one thing, I realized that “off-duty” doesn’t mean invisible. I had clocked that Friday lunch as personal time, a low-stakes, off-the-clock hour. But the second I stepped into that public entryway, I was still representing my organization.
It also made me think about the people we surround ourselves with. Years ago, I had a colleague who would tell me without a second of hesitation, “You’ve got something in your teeth,” or “Your skirt’s tucked into your tights.” She told me that she did it because she was a “real” friend. That is not a small kindness. That is a person choosing your long-term dignity over their own immediate discomfort.
My husband, Pete, is the exact same way. He will absolutely stop me at the door and say, “Hang on, cilantro,” with zero hesitation. He’d rather I be embarrassed for two seconds than experience long-term humiliation.
My lunch friend, who hadn’t given even the tiniest hint that I needed a napkin, simply didn’t want to hurt my feelings. So, she let me leave the restaurant with a mess on my face. I don’t hold it against her (maybe a little), but I have decided I’d rather be the friend and marry the friend who tells you.
But the biggest lesson, the one that still gets me all these years later, is how quickly we manufacture rejections that don’t actually exist.
In that entryway, I instantly interpreted her avoidance as disinterest, maybe even disdain for me. I built an entire narrative out of nothing but a couple of averted glances and my own deep-seated insecurities. Yikes.
Years later, she actually ended up becoming a donor, a volunteer, and a board member for that very nonprofit. When we joked about it down the road, she told me that she had absolutely no recollection of that incident. She got involved because she believed in the mission and acted on her own timeline.
The rejection was never in that restaurant entranceway. I brought it with me.
It is a very human sleight of hand, isn’t it? Mistaking someone else’s weird, distracted moment for a verdict on your own worthiness. I think about how fast I had turned a person’s discomfort into a final judgment on my personal worth, without a single shred of real evidence. And I confess, I’ve done it in rooms with much higher stakes than in that restaurant entryway.
Maybe you have, too.
One of Anna's most memorable speaking experiences was when she participated in a panel discussion at a conference focused on adoption and identity. Her heartfelt insights resonated with the audience, leading to an engaging dialogue that left many participants feeling inspired and more connected to their own experiences.
Through navigating personal and professional challenges—and pouring my heart into years of community and nonprofit advocacy—I've learned that true healing begins when we choose ourselves and embrace our inherent worthiness.
Anna's journey began with her own adoption from Seoul, Korea, and her upbringing in Iowa. This unique background instilled in her a deep understanding of the complexities of identity and belonging, driving her to explore these themes through storytelling and conversation.
What Cilantro Taught Me About Rejection: I have a favorite dish that, by all rules of good manners, I should probably never be allowed to eat in public. It’s a Vietnamese noodle salad that is the perfect mix of mint, lime, and cilantro, piled high with crushed peanuts and rice noodles. Every single bite brings joy to my taste buds. The problem is that when I’m eating it, I am a public menace. There is just no version of me and that salad that ends with my dignity intact.
But my inability to eat this dish gracefully wound up teaching me an invaluable lesson about rejection.
Homecoming With Anna is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
It happened on a Friday. I’d met a friend for lunch, feeling that loose, unbothered mood you only get right before the weekend hits. I ordered the salad and went at it like it owed me money. It disappeared in minutes!
On the way out of the restaurant, I spotted someone in the entryway. She was a person who had ignored my phone calls requesting a meeting to discuss getting involved with the nonprofit I worked for at the time.
An opportunity, I thought.
I walked up, said hello, and started making my pitch. But mid-sentence, I noticed she wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes darted to the right, then to the left, then somewhere near my collarbone - just truly anywhere but my face. I could feel the conversation curdling in real time.
So, I did what you do when you sense someone desperately wants out: I gave her an easy exit.
“Let’s grab lunch soon,” I said, gave a quick wave, and walked out. I got into my car, flipped down the rearview mirror, and the reflection told me everything I needed to know.
You are likely to agree that there is a version of having food in your teeth that is totally forgivable. A tiny sliver of green caught between your front teeth that you can easily laugh off. Unfortunately, I had what can only be described as a full cilantro-and-mint retainer. And to make matters worse, near the bottom corner of my lip, a small constellation of chili-lime-fish-sauce debris had taken up permanent residence alongside a few lacy cilantro leaves.
I didn’t get the meeting that day. I did, however, get a masterclass.
Once I stopped wanting to disappear directly into the upholstery of my driver’s seat, the whole interaction started to look a little different. For one thing, I realized that “off-duty” doesn’t mean invisible. I had clocked that Friday lunch as personal time, a low-stakes, off-the-clock hour. But the second I stepped into that public entryway, I was still representing my organization.
It also made me think about the people we surround ourselves with. Years ago, I had a colleague who would tell me without a second of hesitation, “You’ve got something in your teeth,” or “Your skirt’s tucked into your tights.” She told me that she did it because she was a “real” friend. That is not a small kindness. That is a person choosing your long-term dignity over their own immediate discomfort.
My husband, Pete, is the exact same way. He will absolutely stop me at the door and say, “Hang on, cilantro,” with zero hesitation. He’d rather I be embarrassed for two seconds than experience long-term humiliation.
My lunch friend, who hadn’t given even the tiniest hint that I needed a napkin, simply didn’t want to hurt my feelings. So, she let me leave the restaurant with a mess on my face. I don’t hold it against her (maybe a little), but I have decided I’d rather be the friend and marry the friend who tells you.
But the biggest lesson, the one that still gets me all these years later, is how quickly we manufacture rejections that don’t actually exist.
In that entryway, I instantly interpreted her avoidance as disinterest, maybe even disdain for me. I built an entire narrative out of nothing but a couple of averted glances and my own deep-seated insecurities. Yikes.
Years later, she actually ended up becoming a donor, a volunteer, and a board member for that very nonprofit. When we joked about it down the road, she told me that she had absolutely no recollection of that incident. She got involved because she believed in the mission and acted on her own timeline.
The rejection was never in that restaurant entranceway. I brought it with me.
It is a very human sleight of hand, isn’t it? Mistaking someone else’s weird, distracted moment for a verdict on your own worthiness. I think about how fast I had turned a person’s discomfort into a final judgment on my personal worth, without a single shred of real evidence. And I confess, I’ve done it in rooms with much higher stakes than in that restaurant entryway.
Maybe you have, too.
One of Anna's most memorable speaking experiences was when she participated in a panel discussion at a conference focused on adoption and identity. Her heartfelt insights resonated with the audience, leading to an engaging dialogue that left many participants feeling inspired and more connected to their own experiences.
Through navigating personal and professional challenges—and pouring my heart into years of community and nonprofit advocacy—I've learned that true healing begins when we choose ourselves and embrace our inherent worthiness.
Anna's journey began with her own adoption from Seoul, Korea, and her upbringing in Iowa. This unique background instilled in her a deep understanding of the complexities of identity and belonging, driving her to explore these themes through storytelling and conversation.
