Foster care has been officially part of my life for only a few months, but in truth, it’s been in my heart since I was a little girl. I always felt a pull toward something bigger than myself, though I didn’t know what it meant. That feeling often set me apart, and as a kid, being “different” felt more like a burden than a gift.
When I was eight years old, I found out I had a learning disability.
In high school, shame started creeping in. I’d tell friends I had P.E., when really I was going to Learning Strategies, a class to help me keep up with schoolwork. One afternoon, a classmate saw me leaving and made fun of me.
I remember running to the bathroom, shutting myself in a stall, and crying harder than I ever had. I started to believe different wasn’t beautiful.
That insecurity followed me into college, and I turned to alcohol to numb it. I went to parties, drank too much, and woke up with regrets I didn’t want to face. Drunkenness became my crutch — a way to hide the parts of me I didn’t like.
But one day, I woke up with a pounding heart and a heavy truth: this wasn’t the life I wanted. A friend told me, “Our mistakes don’t define us what we do with them does.” I decided to use my story to help others, to see beauty in my differences, and to believe that God could turn my weaknesses into strengths.
That’s what led me to foster care. At 26, single, and approved for fostering, I spent months waiting for the right call to come.
One night, after visiting my cousin’s newborn, I prayed for peace and the right placement. Just ten minutes later, the phone rang with a placement request for twin boys who were a year old.
My first reaction was no, I only had one crib, one car seat, and I was licensed for one child. But the feeling didn’t go away. Soon, I said yes, and God provided everything I needed.
The boys don’t share my eyes or my smile, but I see something far better, the hand of God in all of our lives. Even my parents, who once questioned my decision, grew to love them deeply.
If I could speak to my 16-year-old self, I’d remind her to always trust the quiet pull in her heart. It will lead you through messes, but those messes will be beautiful.
