*My mother is the most loving,
gentle, supportive human being I have the pleasure of knowing today. She will
tell anyone who will listen the negative effects of drugs on a person’s life
and the redeeming work of a Savior. In no way at all do I want my story to
place any dishonor on her. I love you mom. You are a true inspiration that
change is possible.*
In 1992 I started 5th grade.
I had to take a test on the first day to determine my grade because I had missed
much of the previous years due to homelessness. 4th grade ELA consisted
of me reading Little House on the Prairie and pretending the Uhaul we were
living out of was my log cabin in the woods, math consisted of me calculating how much more money I needed to panhandle before a meal, science was learning about veins and how to properly insert a needle intravenously because a "miss" was scary, and social studies was a matter of learning America did have a class system and I was near the bottom.
I got into 5th grade,
but I was very behind. I stayed frustrated. When I had to answer a question
because the teacher called on me, I acted out first so no one would know I didn’t
know the answer. My youngest brother and sister were taken away for good that
year and they had been my reason to live during the hard times, so I was angry
at the world. Adults. They were all unfair and harsh. I didn’t trust any of
them. Right as I settled, my parents got on their feet and I was moved. The new
school was different and hard and I stayed scared. I didn’t finish out the
school year because I came home one day to all of our belongings on the sidewalk.
We were homeless again. This time just with my father. Shelters are hard when it’s
a dad and female kids. We tried once and my dad and brother were on the male
side and my sister and I were alone without supervision on the woman’s side. It
was scary. I was 11. She was 9. This time the homelessness ended in a stay at the
Juvenile Detention center and then on to an emergency group home. I didn’t
sleep there and I still can’t tell some of the stories out loud, but I started
6th grade. I can only remember the stairwell of that school and the
lunchroom. I sat in the back of my class and slept every day. The back of that
classroom was the only place I could sleep knowing no one was going to hurt me.
I did not do one assignment at that school. I was there for the first quarter
and then went to a foster home. I don’t tell many of those stories either. They
are too hard. But I met a friend that year. Her name was Erin and she was the first person I trusted with knowing my story. I settled best I could and finally tried at school. I was
still angry and scared all the time. Lunch was the hardest. Before, I had food
insecurity to the extreme and even though I didn’t at this point, I still spent
all morning worried about lunch. Strange worries like calculating how many kids
were in each class and how many classes went before mine and what if they ran
out. I would get so worked up that by the time lunch came around I would get
sick from the anxiety. We read James and the Giant Peach that year and wrote an
essay. I don’t remember the assignment, but I do remember the pain of the
experience of turning it in. I did not do it right and my teacher was
frustrated. She started to tell me about what I did wrong but all I saw was an
adult mad which scared me and all I felt was disappointment, an emotion I was
too familiar with. I had a great coping strategy for the feeling of disappointment.
If you quickly change it to anger it doesn’t hurt as bad. I ripped the paper up
in the bathroom and flushed it. I took a 0. I still hate the sound of that book
title to this day. Then we read Roll of Thunder Hear
My Cry and the book touched my soul. The struggles of a young girl growing up
in a world she didn’t understand. I’ve read it almost every year since. Our experiences forever shape us. I went
to 7th grade and lived back with my parents again. Then homelessness
again. This time I tried to make sure I went to school and tried to work hard despite things that were going on. That was the year I ended
up the girl you see in the picture above.
Front page of the Appeal’s section of the Commercial
Appeal. Before that article, Erin was the only person I shared my struggle
with. After it, the entire middle school knew. It was brutal. Kids can be mean.
I hated going to school after that. I hated the article. I hated the other
kids. I hated the teachers. But for the first time I had some constants in my
life. Erin went to 6-8th with me and I had a really supportive DSS worker. Summer between 7th and 8th
I got to go to Florida to visit my grandparents. It was nice. My sister and I
flew there but when we flew back no one was at the airport to get us. It was
scary. I was 13 and she was 11. I only knew one number by heart, Erin’s. We
used the payphone at the airport to call her. Her mom took me in and my sister
had a friend whose mom took her in. We lived separate but with our friends that
year. Then the article I hated so much afforded us the opportunity to go to the
boarding school style group home (French Camp Academy) that I would forever
call home. I did poorly my first semester because I was defensive and ready for rejection, but after that I soared.
Why am I detailing these years of
my life? Because I have something to say.
I’m currently researching the effects of Adverse
Childhood Experiences (ACEs) on student’s educational outcomes for a research
proposal I have to submit. On the 10 question ACE test, individual’s scoring
>4 have an increased chance at premature mortality, chronic diseases, and
reduced opportunities. I first heard about the ACE study at a conference I went
to last Spring. It was in the context of a ministry using it to screen
potential candidates who might be at risk on the mission field. They have a policy
to not hire anyone with over 2 ACEs unless they have had extensive counseling. I
pulled the test up on my phone while he spoke. I had all 10. I was angry at the
man and his ministry. Angry enough to find him afterward. I asked him what they
would do if they had a candidate with 10 ACEs. He said he had only seen that once
before and the kid ended up pretty bad off. I looked him square in the eyes and
told him, “I have 10” and proceeded to tell him all the things I had accomplished
in my life. When I finished, he gently asked me, “Who was your person?” I didn’t
know what he meant, and I asked him to clarify. He told me the only thing that
mitigates the effects of ACEs in someone’s life is an adult stepping in in a
big way before the child turns 18. Tears welled in my eyes and I walked away. I
did have a person. Mr. and Mrs. Akers, the woman and man who raised me
in the group home during my high school years. And more… the teachers there
that never once yelled at me or made me feel stupid. They gave me an
opportunity of a lifetime – a chance to heal.
So, here is the something I need to
say. If you foster children, work for DSS, work in the educational environment,
or with children at all, YOU can be the “someone”
for a child of trauma. More and more kids are experiencing adverse childhood experiences.
They come to school and they are hungry, and tired, and scared, and lonely, and
always on guard. They are quick to react and quick to run. They are bearing
unspeakable burdens. And they need someone to notice them. They need calm voices.
They need to feel safe. They need you to be firm with boundaries and set high expectations,
but to also gently correct them when they fail. They need you to know that trust
is hard, and their hardened walls feel safe to them. They need you to know that small things, like a harsh tone, set off their "flight or fight" mechanisms and then it takes them on average 6 hours to recover. And not everyone is called to go over and
beyond for a child, some of the greatest teachers in my high school experience were
the ones that just lived their lives being these ways and their natural self
made me feel like I was going to be okay. But I was also re-traumatized many
times over by foster parents, teachers, and other adults because they yelled, punished
harshly, never pushed me to succeed but constantly touted my failures, and minimized
me as a person. Don’t be that person.
If you’ve read this far, kudos to
you! I’ve shared bits and pieces of my story before, but I always try to stay
right on the edge of anything painful or hard for someone to hear. This was a painful
but necessary trip down memory lane. But not with the intention of making
anyone feel bad, but rather as a call to action. Every child of trauma needs
that one connection to beat the odds… the names in red are mine.
