In fourth grade, I was called out of class to meet a social worker. When she told me that she would return to the school the next day to take my siblings and I to a safe home, I was elated. I recall telling my siblings that night how “tomorrow would be the best day ever, because we were going to a safe and loving home.” I was explicitly told not to share this news with my mother.
Unfortunately, the joy I felt from my idealistic vision of our foster home was short lived. I still regret filling my heart (and my siblings) with hope that our pain and suffering was over. I would be lying if I told you that my experience in foster care was all daisies and lollipops. I also choose to avoid sugarcoating my experiences; as an adult, I have the strength to speak about my experiences and I use those words and that strength to help others who have experienced similar circumstances. Shortly after settling into my foster home, I knew something was wrong. Every morning my foster father would ask me to take off my pajamas and twirl around him. With time, this turned into him coming into my room at night. My foster mother was not physically abusive, but she was not a protective parent either (for instance, she didn’t ask me to remove my pjs and twirl, but she was in the room when I did). Having your ill parents abuse you is one thing, but it is so much worse to experience abuse from your foster parents (who were supposed to be your safe haven from abuse). I can still remember the hatred I had for my foster parents. It took everything in me to look at or speak to them. I would choose to suffer in pain than ask them for help. They were an older couple and lived in a trailer on some land in Washington state. I think about how on the outside they must have appeared to be such ‘good’ people. Afterall, they took in foster children and took in three at once (one thing I am grateful for is that me and my siblings were not separated). On the outside, these people probably seemed pretty great, but unfortunately there was darkness hidden from view. During my time in foster care, I did see a therapist. Nowadays therapists will protect the rights of the child and tell them these meetings are a “safe place where they can be open and honest.” After my sessions, my therapist always wanted to speak to my foster mom and would shut the door, with me on the other side. I was too scared to reveal anything I was experiencing at the risk of getting in trouble with my foster mom (I didn’t think the therapist would believe me over a foster parent and would write me off as troubled). In 2020, 213,964 children entered foster care due to traumatic events. These children are thrown into homes with strangers who are then supposed to be their ‘new family.’ Some of the outcomes are positive and others are traumatic due to abuse. Unfortunately, foster children are a demographic that is preyed upon because they are vulnerable and often don’t have anyone. Just because something looks good on the surface doesn’t mean that it is. I like to use the example of my toenails: while painted, they look normal; but when I remove the paint, you can see my blackened nails from my training. If something seems off, get curious, you never know the difference you could make. Until Next Monday…
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AuthorPollyann Keller Archives
October 2024
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