Where Did You Come From?

 

Ever since I was a kid and now as an adult I have always toyed with the idea of trying to put together a family tree. As a product of the child welfare system I feel like in some way it’d be almost therapeutic to see it all laid out in a neat and organized fashion. I hate to admit it but something in my brain and my heart says that if I can somehow commit it to paper maybe it’ll make more sense to me and maybe it’ll be easier to explain to other people.

When I was a kid in school there was a project at some point to actually make a family tree, to research your heritage and create a display. I’m partially proud and partially ashamed that I somehow maneuvered my way out of the project. I stayed home sick for a week to avoid the project and refused to do the project all together. Avoiding school and homework was not out of the ordinary for me so I’m sure my anxiety and stress over the assignment went completely unnoticed. But I was anxious and stressed. The idea of trying to put it on paper and present it to the class made me sick to my stomach and I had a nervous rash all over my body.

It is my personal opinion that the school or teacher or whoever should never have assigned this kind of project to begin with. There is no way you can know every single kids home situation. I believe that even if they weren’t a foster kid like me this kind of assignment would bring up feelings of shame and embarrassment. Maybe someone has a single mom, or they live with their grandparents, or one of their parents passed away. You never know what those kids go home to and how they feel about it. Not to mention, kids can be nasty and mean to begin with. Why would someone want to give kids more ammunition and reasons to bully and tease someone who is more than likely already an under dog. I was made fun of and ridiculed for being a foster kid already – there is no way you could have forced me to put it on blast. The weight of being ashamed of where I came from and the jumbled mess of my family is hard enough to process as an adult – how the hell was I supposed to create some content out of my family tree that was worthy of a passing grade as a kid? I know I wasn’t alone in this feeling either. There were kids with divorced parents and step parents and they didn’t want to put it out there to the entire class room that their parents split up. I just don’t think it is an appropriate school project- period.

As an adult now I have revisited the issue a few times. I don’t know if it’s because it feels like unfinished business or what but I keep coming back to it every couple of years. I’ve made a few failed attempts and I’ve now realized there IS NO WAY to make a family tree for me that is tidy, organized, and has a flow. I can hardly get past my parents and siblings before it turns into a giant mess. I have biological parents, step parents, and adoptive parents. I have 4 half siblings and 2 of them I don’t even know their names or anything about them- I don’t even know if they know I exist. I have a step brother I’ve only met a handful of times who I doubt cares for or remembers who I am to him. I have an adoptive brother who isn’t blood related to me at all and he has a biological family out there somewhere too.
 

Logically I know I don’t owe anyone an explanation when it comes to my family. That doesn’t make it any easier though. I’m an open book and I’m sure sometimes I over share. Anyone who knows me knows about my family, and foster care, and blahblahblah. However, it is still challenging. My husband obviously knows everything and anything there is to know about my family but even for him it’s hard to keep track. It’s never simple. I can never just say “Oh one time my mom and I_______.” It’s always followed up with a question of which mom. I’m forever grateful of where I landed and I know my family was already messy before foster care and adoption.

If I could do it over I think I would go back and talk to my teacher who gave out the assignment. I wish I would have spoken up and tried to articulate why the project was so damaging and hurtful and why I was refusing to do it. Because I never spoke up I know that the year after and the year after and the year after that the same project will keep getting assigned. The shame that I held onto so tightly other kids will be holding onto and the teacher will have no idea. For the time being I’m in the clear to share what I want and to with hold what I’d rather not share. Until Dylan and I have kids. I dread the day they might get this assignment in school. I want to talk to our kids about my past and family on my terms – not some schools. I’d never lie to our kids about where I came from. But I want questions to come up organically instead of attempting to lay it all out on the table for someone else when I can barely explain it myself.

All in all my family tree isn’t really much of a tree at all. It’s more like a weird and messy game of connect four. I’m constantly trying to work past my shame and embarrassment that comes with my family baggage. I’m at a good point in my life where I’m willing to openly share where I came from and who makes up family. Although, I know that’s not the case for a lot of people.
 

If it’s within your power and your school or your child’s school is assigning family tree/ancestry/ heritage projects please speak up. Even if your family dynamic is what society has deemed “normal” – speak up for someone else. You have no idea what kind of pain you might be saving someone from.

 

Until Next Time

- PronouncedLeah

A Life Lived in Spite

My life has been a series of events strung together fueled by spite. Whether the results have been good or bad I've based a whole lot of my decisions off of what is the most spiteful course of action.        

All of us have something in our personalities telling us to turn left or turn right with every decision we make. Perhaps you’re a peace keeper and your instincts tell you to take the path of least resistance at all times while smoothing over difficult situations. Or maybe you’re more of a care taker. Putting others needs first comes natural to you, you have a desire to up lift others, and you’re okay with your needs taking a back seat. There is also a chance that you could be more like me – spiteful. 

I don’t mean spiteful in the sense of being catty or vindictive in a mean way. I just have this desire to do the opposite of what is told of me and a strong will to prove people wrong. Whether I was born with this trait or developed it over the course of my life is debatable. However, within the last year I’ve reflected on some choices I’ve made and the positions they have put me in. A few spiteful actions have resulted in mistakes that I have had to learn from. Such as rebelling against the wishes of my caretakers by dressing a certain way, not auditioning for plays I wanted to audition for, and buying a pet I wasn't ready for. Some of these are small problems in the grand scheme of things but they were absolutely decisions made because I had to prove a point. 

On the other hand, a lot of the reason I am where I am today is because I did make decisions out of spite and had a strong desire to show people they were wrong about me. As someone who grew up in the foster care system there are certain stigmas and statistics that go along with it. A few of these stigmas involved having children while under 20 years old, being incarcerated, becoming homeless, not graduating from high school, and/or becoming addicted to drugs. I am proud to say that I have either avoided all of those things. I was determined to throw it back in the face of the people who told me this is what I could expect to happen to my life.

You might be asking yourself “OK, but what does any of that have to do with being spiteful?”

When I was around 12 years old I was placed with my aunt and uncle so that they could be my foster parents. At the time it sounded like a great idea and I was thankful my social worker was able to make it happen. I remembered living with them before when I was much younger and I had loved it. It was safe, stable, and I was more than a little spoiled in my time spent with them. Because I was a preteen old hormonal girl who was going through the lowest of her depression it turned out to be a nightmare. Neither I nor my aunt and uncle ended up being happy with the situation we were in. I rebelled against everything they wanted even when they had the best of intentions. I’m sure they thought they were getting the sweet blonde haired angel they used to have. Instead, they got me with black hair, way to much eyeliner, and dressed in black head to toe. While living with my aunt and uncle the harder they pushed me to wear more color or bleach the black out of my hair the more I pushed back. I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me I couldn’t look how I wanted. The more they wanted me to look another way the more I wanted to look the opposite.

After I was adopted my life turned around for the better. I had a stable home and a mom that loved me. A year or so after I was adopted my mom and I decided to add to our family by adopting again. Soon enough I had an older brother. We got along great but still fought like siblings. There was a lot we had in common including acting and music. I always loved acting and being on stage and although I love music I’m not the most gifted singer. My brother however, had a beautiful singing voice and was very gifted musically. The year previous to my brother moving in I had been in a school play and was excited to audition for the school musical that year. My brother also was excited to audition. Discovering that my brother was going to audition immediately changed my mind and I refused to even consider auditioning. I knew he was a much better singer than I was and I couldn’t live with the idea of him making the play and not making it myself. No matter how much my mom tried to convince me my mind couldn't be changed. My brother did end up getting a lead and although I loved watching him perform I couldn't help but feel regret that my spiteful attitude held me back from doing something I love. I never auditioned for another play again and put my dreams of being on stage to rest.

The trend of never listening to my mom’s advice continued for many more years of my life. As an adult now, I seek out her wisdom and try to take it to heart, but as an attitude filled 17 year old you couldn’t pay me to listen to my mom. I was dead set on adopting a small animal. I had a job and was making my own money and decided I would save up and get something small and cute. Talking it over with my mom we had talked about guinea pigs, rats, birds, and ferrets. The only one my mom was completely against me getting was a ferret. So naturally I decided that was what I needed to get. As much as my mom protested my mind was made up. Later that week I drove to the pet store and spent well over $400.00 on the ferret and all the supplies I needed. It wasn't long before I realized my mistake. Although I loved my ferret (who I had named Boo Radley) he was turning out to be a lot more work than I had anticipated. I did absolutely zero research before getting him. Did you know ferrets are nocturnal? They sure are! Boo kept me up all hours of the night running around in his cage, playing with his toys, even drinking and eating he was noisy. Did anyone ever tell you ferrets are smelly? Listen to those people they are correct. Even though he was noisy and smelly I enjoyed having him but it was definitely more responsibility than I was ready for. My mom ended up proving me right and eventually I ended up having to put Boo back up for adoption.    

Despite the lessons I have learned from being spiteful I haven’t changed that characteristic of myself. In the end it has surprisingly has done more good than bad. I am currently 22 years old and my husband and I don’t have any kids and we are still choosing to wait. Being a pregnant teenager is one foster care statistic I was never going to let happen for me. I’m not perfect and have definitely broken some laws but have fortunately never been in jail and I don’t see that ever happening. I've never been homeless, in fact my husband and I bought our first house at 20 years old. That’s something I thought would never happen! I graduated high school and have a great career. I made it happen because everyone told me I wouldn't. I've created a life better than I ever imagined.

I've done it all in spite of the people, statistics, and stigmas telling me I couldn't. I’ll continue to make my life the best one possible in spite of what I have had working against me.

Until next time

- PronouncedLeah

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Black Suits and Dream Catchers

I’d like to take you back to the first time I was taken from my biological family. I’ll never forget that day and the trauma that it’s left with me.

My personal experience with foster care was terrible. Nothing in my life has ever made me feel as isolated and despondent as the time I spent in the system. I was ripped away from my family numerous times unaware of what had happened and why. I felt as if I had done something wrong and I was being punished. I was placed in new homes and forced to conform to the lives of people I’d never met before. I was forced to carry on in school and pretend nothing had changed because I was ashamed to tell anyone. Everyone around me was making decisions about my life because “they knew what was best for me”. Every time I spoke up I was silenced. 
Foster care was meant to save me from my supposedly dangerous and negligent home. In reality foster care stole away my dignity, confidence, and certainty in where I belonged. 

I was around 7 years old and was spending the night at my friend’s house. It was early on Sunday morning and my friend and I were watching cartoons in our pajamas while we rubbed the sleep out of our eyes. Our hair was wild from a good night’s sleep and blankets and pillows were piled around us on the living room floor. Her mom was in the kitchen humming and cooking scrambled eggs. 
I remember smelling toast and orange juice in the air. At one point the house phone rang and my friend’s mom answered and immediately went in another room and closed the door. 
Her face looked solemn and her shoulders hung as she came back after the call was done. Then breakfast was done and I didn’t think to ask what was wrong. 
I scarfed down my food and the question that was in my mind was gone. Not long after we were done eating there was someone at the door. Three loud and quick raps on the door followed soon after by 2 rings of the door bell. At the time I couldn’t quite put it together and wasn’t sure why but my stomach sank and my mouth instantly felt dry. 

Being kids we ran to the big front window to look outside. A black car was parked out along the curb of the front of the house in the cul-de-sac. My mom’s truck was pulling in behind the foreign car. 
My friend’s mom went down the stairs and opened the front door and let in a manin a black suit. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion the second he stepped into the house. 
I remember focusing on how shiny his shoes were. I don’t think I’d ever seen a man in dress shoes before. He came up the stairs with my friend’s mom and my mom followed soon after. 
I was brought over to the kitchen table and sat down with the man and my mom. My friend and her mom disappeared somewhere else into the house. My moms face was streaming with tears and her body was shaking with shame and sobs. 
I reached out my hand to hold hers. Her body shook more violently with tears. 
The man was talking at me but I didn’t hear a word he said, all I could think was what did I do that was so terrible and was making my mom cry so hard? 
All I could think was that he was from the school and I was in trouble for missing to many days. I couldn’t possibly think of anything else I could have done wrong. For the most part I kept my head down and stayed out of trouble.


My friend and her mom came back in the kitchen and my over night bag was all packed up. My friend handed it to me and hugged me tight. My friend’s mom’s face was stained with tears and she 
bent down to hug me and I felt her tears on my cheek. It burned on my face when she pulled away and kissed my forehead good bye. The man in the black suit took my bag from my hand and exchanged words with my friend’s mom. 
Everyone was standing and walking towards the front door. My mom was squeezing my hand so tight it almost hurt but I kept silently praying she wouldn’t let go. I could swear it was the only thing that kept me from sinking into the floor. My mom held my hand all the way to the black car while the man in the black suit escorted from behind. 
My mind was swimming with questions. Why am I going in the black car?What did I do wrong? Why is my mom crying? Who is the man in the black suit? I thought I wasn’t supposed to trust strangers? Certainly I’m not supposed to trust this strange man? Did something bad happen to my dad? Why isn’t he here too? Are my parents trying to get rid of me?  I really must have done something bad. 

My mom pulled me into the tightest hug and chanted I love you over and over in my ear. All I could do was repeat those three words back. I prayed in my mind that my mom understood the weight of how much I truly did love her. She pulled away as the man in the black suit said it was time to go. My own tears felt hot on my face this time as they rolled down in a steady stream. I crawled in the back seat and my mom buckled me in. She squeezed me one last time and kissed my forehead and said good bye. The man in the black suit got in the front seat and started the car. As the car left the cul-de-sac I felt the weight of the world come crushing down on me. My head was pounding and my chest was tight as I gasped for air between sobs. I knew that where ever this car was going, when I got out, I was never going to be the same person again.


As I was getting my breathing back to normal and wiping my face of my tears I noticed the car starting to slow down.We pulled into a drive way the lead to a large tan house. The yard was perfectly kept and the drive way looked as if it had been swept. I remember thinking the neighborhood felt quiet and deserted. It felt as lonely as I did. During the drive I had promised myself that I wouldn’t let “them” see me cry again and I would never show any weakness again.The man in the black suit came around and opened my door. I took his hand and followed him to the door. His hand had none of the warmth that I felt in my moms. It only made me feel more isolated and empty. My head was still throbbing but my feet carried me forward like they had a mind of their own. An older woman with dyed black hair, blue eyeliner, and over sized dream catcher earrings answered the door of the tan house. The man in the black suit said good bye and we parted ways. I never saw him again. Unfortunately the way my life was about to turn there were plenty of other men and women in black suits with black cars. 

The woman with the dream catcher earrings led me inside to the house and showed me “my room”. The please and thank you that came from my mouth didn’t feel like my words. The body that carried me through the door of the tan house couldn’t have been my body. I was acting on auto pilot and complied with the directions I was pointed. The woman with the dream catchers left me alone and left the door open behind her. She spewed niceties at me along the lines of she would let me get settled and she would be upstairs if I needed anything. The stairs creaked as she went up stairs. I was finally alone and all I  wanted was to scream or hit something. Instead, I sat on the end of the bed and stared blankly into space letting the numb feeling in my chest wash over me completely. The bed beneath me felt hard as a rock as I lay down. I curled into a ball trying to be as small as possible. Hoping that if I made myself small enough maybe I could disappear.  Words from earlier came flooding back to me as my head started to clear. Two words rang over and over in a loop as I closed my eyes and started to drift to sleep. 
Foster care. 

Everyone's experience with foster care is different. My personal experience has left me with a life time of trauma and PTSD to try to heal from.

This story is just one instance of the traumatic events of being taken from my family.
I hope to share with you the other stories. For me this wasn't a one time event but the beginning
of my life being turned upside down over and over again.


Until next time

-PronouncedLeah

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Life as PronouncedLeah

Welcome to the twisting and turning life of PronouncedLeah!

                I thought for my first post I should do a little get to know me and what you can expect to see on this blog.

                So first things first, my name is Leah and despite what you are reading my name is actually pronounced like “Lay-uhh”. Yes, that is right. Just like Princess Leia. You can feel free to call me Princess, you can choose to call me Lee-ah or you can call me by my actual given name. I have lived pretty much my entire existence correcting people. How about you and I try to start out on the right foot though? ;)

Leah May 2016

                Let’s get into a little bit of what my life looks like right now. I am 22 years old but at heart I am a grumpy middle aged woman. My husband Dylan and I own a small house in the frozen tundra known as Minnesota with our 2 pets. My husband’s younger brother also lives with us because as they put it they are “a package deal”.  Things are always pretty interesting around our house hold. Between a very patient husband,  a crabby  brother in law(almost as crabby as me), a Pitbull who likes to eat everything, and the most vocal black cat I've ever encountered, every day is a new adventure.

Dylan with Timber (left), Willow (top right), My brother in law Kyle (bottom right)

                Rewind back to little Leah’s childhood… Growing up I was in and out of foster care. This has greatly impacted who I am as an adult. I lived with my biological mother and my step father up until I was around 6 years old. That is where my journey in the child welfare system first began. After being taken from my parents the following years resulted in me having 10 different placements and attending 13 different schools by the time I graduated. Ultimately, I ended up being adopted by a complete stranger when I was 13 years old which thankfully was the best thing possible for me. I am very grateful for how my life turned around. Unfortunately, that is not the case for most kids. However, that is a totally different story for another time. We will get into that eventually.

                What can you expect to see on this blog? Well, I plan on writing about my life. I would like to write about my crazy childhood while I was living with my birth family.  I want to be able to share my stories of my time in foster care in hopes that it’ll reach others who have experienced similar situations. I plan on sharing my experience navigating a new life after adoption as a teenager. I will write about my continued involvement in the child welfare system and the people I have met along the way. With these heavy topics I ultimately plan on writing about them in the same way I would talk about them: with a dark sense of humor and a note of seriousness.

                If the “doom and gloom” type of blog isn’t for you, good news! I plan on writing about other important pieces of my life as well! As someone who met their significant other while in high school and got married young you can imagine that we’ve faced quite a bit of kick back. I want to share our experiences of the challenges and adventures we have gone through throughout our relation ship. I will write about owning a home and remodeling it piece by piece. You can also expect to see post about music, and makeup, and anything else I deem note worthy.

                Reader, are you still there? Thanks for making it to the end of this introduction. If any of the above mentioned sounds even remotely interesting, stick around! I have plenty of stories and cant wait to share them with you. If you enjoy the sass, sarcasm, and/or content share this with a family member or friend. Can’t wait to share with you soon!

Until next time!

-PronouncedLeah

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