I was two months old when I was placed into foster care. My biological mom had taken me to the hospital one night when she noticed that I was really sick. The doctor had found small traces of cocaine in my system. My family was heavily involved in drug use. 

I spent my first 4 years in a loving foster home with a mother, father, and siblings. One day after returning home from a full day of fun and friends, I felt something that I’ve never felt before, we call it tension. When I got into the house I caught a glimpse of my (foster) mom crying. I also noticed that my bedroom, which was once so filled with toys it reminded me of Toys-R-Us on black Friday, completely empty. The only thing that remained was a small, Superman suitcase, packed with clothes. With a quick hug and kiss from my mom and a whisper of “I Love You”, the social worker, who was also present at the time, walked me to her car, grabbed my belongings, and that was that. I’ve never seen the woman I called mom again. Sadly enough this wouldn’t be the last time I would have to endure this heartbreaking experience.

I spent the next 8 years of my life literally bouncing around from home to home. I began to feel unwanted and anger started to manifest itself in my behavior. I developed sever trust issues, anger issues, authority issues. I would often get into trouble at school for foul language, fighting and an overall lack of respect for authority. Most of the care providers I stayed with had no other choice but to release me and place me back in the hand of my social workers.