I was adopted. I'm working toward finding out who I am. The adoption law changed, and in turn, my world changed as well. When I tell you about it, I get praise as being courageous, because what I'm doing is such a big step. I sent twenty bucks and my adoptive parents' names to the Department of Health, it doesn't seem like much after decades of constant identity crises. I've spent most of my life struggling with what I'd been told about myself and my nagging doubts telling me that I need to know for sure. There is a stigma to being adopted, even if you don't see it. I feel it every time I have to admit that I need permission to find the faintest glimpse of what you've always known. The process to find out where I came from is bureaucratic, it's paper forms and photocopies sent in the mail. Please stop asking how long it'll take, instead ask why I'm terrified of looking in my mailbox. Don't ask what I'll do when I get my mom's name, because I don't know if it'll come or what I'll do. Just give me a hug and tell me that it'll be okay, because I need to know that I'm okay even if it doesn't happen.

—Anonymous