Lately I’ve been feeling very private, which is not conducive for blog writing. This is in some part due to a man I mistakenly befriended for a minute but have no feelings of romantic connection with reading and contacting me. It makes me feel euww-ick to know that my struggles fascinate white male readers who want to take care of me, who grasp for connections that don’t exist. I don’t write this for them. I write it for my family. I write it for adoptees. It’s a monologue. It’s not a real relationship.