My Mom: A Short Story Of A Foster Girl

“Hi, I’m Marissa.” I said as she came into my house with her belongings. I saw the puffy thick dark brown curls as soon as she walked into the front door. Like most of our foster children, she was from Bridgeport the largest city in Connecticut. She was Italian and Puerto-Rican with light beige skin. She was chubby and had awfully large feet for someone who was only 8 years old. She was very hesitant and looked down at her feet with her thick-lensed bifocal glasses and said, “Hello.”
Julie came to live with us as a foster child. Her mother was a substance and alcoholic abuser. Julie didn’t go to school and her mom rarely prepared dinner , cleaned the house, or did laundry. Julie often slept on the couch, because her room was dirty, and
she stuffed dirty clothes under the couch. Julie’s mother physically and verbally abused. She called her, “fat “ and “ugly.” These experiences had physical and emotional effects. It was hard for Julie to live in a normal home . We are a family who regularly hangs out, goes out to eat, and watches movies. She was angry and withdrawn from everyone which made communicating with us very difficult. We tried doing everything we could to be a strong support for her, but she shut us out. The house began to feel different.
After a few months, Julie got the courage to confide in me. She started calling her mother in an attempt to build their relationship. After each call, she was frustrated. She bottled up her anger and projected it on my family. “I rather be in a group home,” she told me. I felt that we had failed her; I knew I had to do something. So I had a conversation with her one night before bed. “I know you’re having a hard time adjusting to my parents, but we’re all just trying to help you. I want you to know that whatever happened with your mom doesn’t define you. You’re not what your mother called you. You’re more than that.” She was quiet, then said, “okay” and went to bed. Julie woke up the next morning changed. At 8 years old, I was put in a situation that I’ll never forget.
“ I was scared to tell her my foster sister had sexually assaulted me. I didn’t really understand, because I was so young, but I knew it was wrong. I felt guilty. I felt like I made her do it . Why should I tell my mom she’ll yell at me. “Why didn’t you stop her?” “How could you let this happen?” I heard my mom say in my head.” One day I worked up the courage to tell my mom. My mother just hugged me. She said, “It’s fine. Everything is going to be okay.” The feeling of shame, worry, and guilty immediately disappeared because of my mother’s reassurance. My mother’s guidance and kindness is what gave me the courage to help Julie. I knew Julie felt the same way I felt.
Over the course of a few weeks, Julie opened up to my parents and me. Julie’s self-esteem skyrocketed as well as her social and communication skills. Julie told me I was her “lighthouse.” At 1st I was confused by what this meant, but it meant I was her light during a dark storm.
The motivation that my mother has given me, and the experience I had with Julie, has lead me to want to become a doctor. Many children face child abuse, and now I know the signs because I know what it’s like to be abused. I want to be a child’s “lighthouse” when they are in those situations just as I was for Julie, and I can do that by being a
pediatrician.