I’ve tried to write this post many times. There is something significant for me in my inability to satisfactorily frame my thoughts. In previous posts I’ve alluded to struggles I’ve had as I sought my truth. Occasional struggles caused by people who were clinging to decades-old lies and shame. I have specifically omitted commenting about my adoptive brother’s path in these essays since that is his truth to tell if he chooses, but I have been actively helping him (Or perhaps pushing him? I worry over that.) in his searching and uncovered somewhat more instances of this in that effort, because his story turns out to be far more complicated than mine. When I hit these roadblocks in my efforts for him my feelings of guilt and shame are magnified greatly, and I fear I am hurting him and hurting his chances for success as much or more than I am concerned for the person clinging to their lies. But with those people I find I am doubly ashamed to have crossed a boundary, exposed unhealed wounds, created awkward situations for people who are not only complete strangers to me but to whom I have essentially no relationship. And then I feel indignant that their lies are impeding our understanding of the truth, angry that there are more lies for us to accept in addition to the lie we have been told our whole lives. And then I feel pity and shame again – what right do I have to stomp in like the truth police and demand they face it, ready or not. But we just want to know the truth about our own origins and the lives of our families…. and so round and round I go.