Throughout my teen years, I felt as if I were homeless even though I lived in a group home and then in a foster home. I entered foster care when I was placed in a group home when I was 16. I hated all the rules and the lousy food that wasn’t from my culture. I hated that I couldn’t have my phone with me and that I had to deal with fights among the other girls all the time. I had no feeling of belonging or of being at home. Instead, getting stuck in a group home made me feel as if I were getting punished for speaking up about my rapist stepfather and instigating an investigation by Administration for Children’s Services (ACS) into my family. I called my biological mother and told her how much I hated the group home and asked if I could live with her again. She told me the group home was where I belonged and where I wanted to be, and that it was the consequence for speaking up about my stepfather.
Since the group home felt so much like prison, I needed to escape, and I found a way to do so. My daughter was living in a hospital at that time because she was born prematurely at 26 weeks. I called my daughter’s social worker and told her about all the problems in the group home. She convinced my group home that I needed to sleep at the hospital due to training to take care of my daughter. So, during the day, I would go to the hospital and learn everything I could to take care of my daughter’s complicated medical problems, but, at night, I would leave the hospital and go to a former boyfriend’s house.
At first, I felt freedom and that I had a little bit of control back in my life. I was grateful to the social worker, but in truth, it was a bad situation. My ex-boyfriend was an older man. I was in love with him, but we were both violent. Frequently, I had to deal with getting kicked out of his house at 2 a.m. and calling him and apologizing, saying I’d do anything to be back in the house. After a while, the violence became too much. I didn’t see any hope for the relationship. I really wanted a place that felt like home, so I found a way to live in a foster home.
Once again, I felt that this was a place where I might really belong. But after a little while, I learned that my foster mother was receiving money for me and my new baby, my second child. She made me believe I had to provide everything for myself and the baby when she was really supposed to be giving me an allowance. When I learned the truth about the allowance, that made me lose all respect for her. Once again, I felt totally homeless at the place that was supposed to be my new home.
When I complained about the money to ACS, my foster mother told ACS that I should go to another foster home. Since I was afraid of moving again and ending up in an even worse situation, I made a deal with her. I would stop complaining about the money I needed for my new baby if she let me stay with the older man. We agreed that I would show up with the baby when ACS came for a visit. Eventually, ACS discovered that the foster mother secretly left the country and that I was back living with my boyfriend full time, so I was moved to another foster home.
When I first arrived, I learned that the foster mother was Dominican like me. She also showed me the full fridge and told me I was free to eat what I wanted. Once again, I felt lucky. I said to myself, “Oh, here I will be fine.” But soon, it went bad, too. On the first night, when I laid down in the pitch dark, I heard the voices of two teenage girls. I thought, “Oh lord, I ain’t by myself in this room.” I knew there was a problem coming because the next day, I had to go pick up the baby to come live with me. A few days after my baby came to live with me, I heard one of the girls complaining to the foster mother about my baby crying at night in the bedroom. I started to feel uncomfortable but stayed quiet because I didn’t want to be moved again. After three weeks, the girl started saying things like, “Shut up” to my baby, or “That baby cries too much.” I agreed she should not be forced to sleep in the same room with a crying child, but my mama bear instinct didn’t want anyone disrespecting my baby, either. What made it even worse was that, right at that time, I was under investigation by ACS. I didn’t want to get my child taken away because of fighting. Once again, I was in a foster home that didn’t feel anything like a real home.
As time flew by, I found the courage to speak to my lawyer about how uncomfortable I was. I thought that would solve the situation, but it didn’t. My lawyer talked to ACS, and the foster mother agreed to give me my own room. But then, the same girl who complained about my crying baby started complaining about how unfair it was that I had my own room when she had been there longer. So I made a deal with this foster mother. I told my foster mother that I would pretend to be sleeping in her house but I would really spend the night out, and she agreed.
Once again, I moved in with an older man. This one could have been my grandfather. He had two teenage children. I was playing “mom” with them while being a child myself. I also kept up my relationship with my ex-boyfriend and another man I met who conveniently had his own apartment. When I had a problem with one man, I would go stay with another one. I had four homes, with three different men and a foster home. In each of those homes, I had to become a different person to keep the owner happy. Plus, I had to make sure my son had everything he needed — clothes, diapers, toiletries, toys, food — in each apartment so I didn’t constantly have to travel with a very large bag.
It all began to feel so crazy running around and being whomever people needed me to be that it taught me some big lessons. Lesson number one: I needed to stop running to older men who gave their false love and a home to a homeless teenage girl in exchange for control over her. Lesson number two: I needed to find a way to live in the foster care system, even if I never found a true home, because I was causing myself more problems by running away. Lesson number three: I needed to heal myself. I needed to manage the trauma from my past — the repeated rapes by my stepfather, the betrayal by my mother, the abandonment by the extended family and, above all, the loss of home. Healing is an ongoing process. It’s 10 years later, and I’m still healing.
The sad reality is that there are not enough good foster homes to take in all the teenagers who need them. The likelihood of a teenager being placed in a home, where the foster parents can provide the emotional and cultural support they need, is almost nil. To a teenager in the system, stop looking for a home, that elusive feeling of belonging, and get down to the hard work of surviving the system and learning how to use it to your advantage. Don’t give up when a social worker or foster parent fails you. Fight to find a safe home where you can begin a career or continue your education. Do what ACS demands, such as therapy, anger management, or parenting classes, not for them, but for yourself.
One day, ACS will be out of your life, but the unhealed life will haunt you unless you admit that your family would not or could not take care of you. Like it or not, the foster care system is your only solution. Learn your rights and your benefits. Use all the resources available and develop a plan for getting off public assistance in the future. Fight to not repeat the history of what happened to you with your own children.
