This piece is published in partnership with Foster Advocates.
When I entered foster care, I thought it would be a safe place, somewhere to heal. Instead, I found myself navigating a system that was often more about rules and paperwork than about the children it was meant to protect. Foster care is meant to be a place where children feel wanted, supported, and cared for. I entered foster care at 16 after my biological mom terminated her rights. At first, we all thought being placed with family seemed like it would be the best option. I entered kinship care with my older cousin, but that wasn’t a good fit for me either due to family instability.
Kinship care did help me hold on to my culture in the beginning. Living with my cousin meant I was still surrounded by familiar traditions, my native language, and a sense of belonging. But when I moved into another home, that connection began to slip away. My foster parents didn’t share or encourage my cultural practices, and I slowly started to lose myself as well. I started to forget my language, which was really hard for me to go through. There wasn’t anyone I could practice speaking Spanish with. Losing that connection to culture hurt just as much as losing my sense of home because culture is more than tradition. It’s identity.
At some point, I started to question myself and everything I was capable of. At what point should a child in care question their ability to keep their connection to their culture and identity? They shouldn’t. Foster parents need to make more of an effort to avoid this. But unfortunately, there is a lack of availability when it comes to these types of resources, as well as a lack of education. The optional courses that are used for foster parent training that include topics like this need to be turned into mandatory courses. Without support to maintain cultural connections, foster youth will continue to feel unseen.
Over the next couple years, I remember feeling invisible. On the outside, I looked like I was doing well academically. Meanwhile, inside, I was hurting, and my mental health was slipping. I felt like I wasn’t truly being seen and heard. Those foster parents at the time rarely wanted to buy me products they considered “of value.” Things that felt normal for other kids, like the right to personal products, supplies, or small items that made me feel like myself, were things I had to learn to get on my own.
This wasn’t only about material needs either. When I asked for rides to go to places, those requests were rarely accepted. There were times I remember having to walk through the chilling Minnesota winter storms, standing in the blistering cold, waiting for a bus just to get to work and back to my foster home. I had no social life, and I remember constantly asking my former foster parents to take me to go see my siblings and always being turned down. Even though there was a sibling bill of rights that was passed in 2018 and made to protect these bonds, I wasn’t aware of its existence.
Being in that place with those people made me feel like my connection to my siblings didn’t matter to the adults that were in charge. After speaking up about it to my social worker, we were able to work out a few visits with my siblings. But for me, it wasn’t enough. I had told my foster parents I had a shift at work, but instead I went to see my siblings. I wasn’t trying to rebel against them. I was just trying to protect my family bond the only way I could. Looking back, those were honestly one of the best days I had.
Those years taught me resilience, but they also taught me what no child should have to learn or experience. No child should have to adapt to not feeling wanted, unheard, and unsafe in a place that’s considered a “home.” I struggled a lot with trust, but having my siblings reminded me that compassion can exist in this system. That glimmer of care kept me going. My story is only one of thousands of stories and is a reminder that if the system is going to truly serve kids, things need to change. All children deserve to get all of their personal needs met. Foster parents, whether they are family or not, should be trained to understand that support. This means more than the food and shelter that’s supposed to be checked off on a piece of paper. No child in foster care should be denied visits with their siblings when the law already says to protect those connections because they matter.
Foster youth need stability, real listening, and support. The youth in the system need a voice in their own care. Too often, decisions are made about us, without us. We need caseworkers with smaller caseloads so they have time to actually know the children they serve and more support when fosters age out. Mental health services should be easy to access, encouraged, and treated as just as important as academics. Foster care can and must do better.
I chose to share my story because change doesn’t happen in silence. Every child in foster care has a story, but they shouldn’t have to fight to be heard. They deserve more than survival; they deserve a future filled with dignity, love, and opportunity. We can all help build a system as such, and it won’t be the exception. It’ll be the standard. If we choose to listen, speak up, and act, we can make change happen today.
