My Story Is Mine.

Please. Even if you think they aren’t capable of handling certain information. Even if you’re worried about what they might think of you or anyone else.

My truth was kept from me until I found my adoption file while cleaning out my mom’s apartment after her death. It has taken me two years to process this and I’m still enraged. I could have known these people for longer, could have had more time with my bio father before he passed, with my bio grandfather, with all of them. I could have made more memories, I could have gotten in touch with my roots and had more time to heal from my adoption.

Though of course I am grateful for what I DO have, what I HAVE experienced with them, and that I know them at all, that is with no thanks to my parents. I was found by my sister through the adoption agency. And what if my parents had decided to not tell me? Thankfully they did.

All of that aside, the main issue here is that it’s MY information. It’s MY family. It’s MY story. MINE. Not theirs. They are a part of it, but only after my adoption. They weren’t part of my story or my family’s history before that point.

Children are capable of so much and they are smarter and wiser than adults give them credit for. Tell them. Even if you think the secret is too big.

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