Jimmy is currently on the road, traveling across the country on foot, promoting his “Meet Me Halfway” campaign.    There are two very detailed articles included below.  The first tells you all you need to know about his passion for bringing awareness to the many homeless children and the issues surrounding them.  The second details the story of his past, and the importance his favorite song has played in his life.  Please welcome Jimmy…….

Name: Jimmy Wayne

State: Tennessee

Occupation:  Country music recording artist and homeless youth advocate

Favorite source of inspiration:  Raising awareness and money to benefit organizations that assist homeless youth.

Jimmy Wayne

ARTIST WANTS TO RAISE AWARENESS OF HOMELESS PLIGHT AND MONEY TO BENEFIT ORGANIZATIONS THAT ASSIST HOMELESS YOUTH

Country music recording artist Jimmy Wayne  launched his “Meet Me Halfway” campaign on January 1, 2010 when he began his solo walk halfway across America in Nashville, TN.  Wayne’s intention is not only to raise awareness of the plight of the homeless, especially at risk children, teens and young adults, but also raise funds for organizations that benefit homeless youth, including HomeBase Youth Services, a Phoenix, AZ — based organization that provides essentials for homeless young adults. Wayne began the walk at 10:00 a.m. CT on January 1st at Monroe Harding in Nashville, another organization that services at risk children and young adults. He plans to walk to Phoenix, AZ.

Road Support Sponsor

“I realize beginning a mission like this in the dead of winter and walking through the middle of the country is going to be difficult, but I hope and pray I am up to the challenge,” Wayne said. “It’s going to be cold, rainy and maybe even snowing and that ground I sleep on at night is going to be really hard. But that’s what the homeless are dealing with each and every winter they go without a home of their own.  Our country is too great for us to have people who are suffering so.  And events of the past 12 to 14 months have increased the number of people—especially children and young adults—without a safe place to sleep. We as a nation have got to end homelessness and we’ve got to help these kids.”

Young Jimmy holding his nephew.

Wayne grew up in a variety of foster and group homes, and occasionally found himself homeless as a teen. He was given a second chance when Bea and Russell Costner gave him a home and fresh start when he was only 16 years old. He has never forgotten the generosity of the couple, who were in their 70’s when they took Wayne in.  “Bea and Russell took a chance on me, and I was certainly no poster child for adoption,” Wayne said. “I was this teenager with long hair and tattoos, but they saw past that to the scared kid I was. They met me halfway by offering me a place to live and the opportunity to go back to school.  But in turn I had to meet them halfway by helping myself, which meant studying, doing chores and following the rules. They provided me with a way to help myself make a life. They gave me a home, love and respect.”

Wayne’s concern for the welfare of the homeless has deepened and accelerated during the past year, with so many people losing their homes to decaying real estate and financial markets.  “It’s been really hard to sit still and watch everything going on in our country since last year’s troubles on Wall Street began,” Wayne said. “While so many of these people received bailouts, and even bonuses, blue collar and Middle America has suffered. From my past,I know first hand what the homeless are experiencing—no roof over your head, no real certainty that there will be any food for the day and just hoping the pair of shoes on your feet lasts another winter. No one in this country should be faced with that kind of situation — especially kids.  But unfortunately thousands of people are going though this each and every day.”

Wayne selected HomeBase Youth Services as the recipient of any donations people care to make because of the work they do with homeless young adults (age 18 –21).  Like most charitable organizations, HomeBase has also been hit hard by the economic woes of the country. HomeBase is an Arizona-based, non-profit organization founded in 1991 to address the growing needs of at-risk and homeless youth age 21 and younger.  At age 18, many youth “age out” of the foster care or juvenile justice systems without the necessary life skills to live independently; as a result, they quickly end up homeless and on the streets.  Other youth choose to flee their homes after years of mental, physical and emotional abuse or neglect.  HomeBase addresses the needs of this “forgotten” population, and assists these promising young people with the tools they need to live healthy, independent lives.  The programs and services include Street Outreach, Mobile Medical Outreach, Employment and Life Skills Training, Substance Abuse and Mental Health Care, a Resource Center, a Transitional Living Program and an Independent Living Program.  The mission of HomeBase Youth Services is to teach at-risk and homeless youth how to become self-sufficient adults.

“Because I was helped when I needed it, I want to try and help now,” Wayne said. “If the bit of celebrity I have can help me raise awareness of this situation –that there are kids and young people out there who need our help, then I feel like I have accomplished my goal.  I’m not asking people to come out and walk with me, but I am asking them to meet me halfway by getting involved– donate money, adopt a kid, learn more about the foster child/foster parent program in your local community.  There’s so much one person can do, and so many ways they can make a difference. It just takes one person to help someone to a better life.”

“Sara Smile” is more than another hit record for Jimmy Wayne. Much more.

“For 13 years, I have been singing that song,” he explains. “I sang it on the prison yard when I worked at the prison. Even though I didn’t write it, I sang it at writers’ nights in Nashville. It is the song that taught me how to play the guitar. In 2002, I sang ‘Sara Smile’ for Scott Borchetta, and he gave me a record deal. This song has had a major impact on my life.”

Jimmy Wayne’s remake of the Hall & Oates pop classic is now the centerpiece of an album that showcases his formidable talents as both a vocalist and a songwriter. His soulful singing permeates every note of such soaring, powerful ballads as “All the Time in the World,” “Belongs to You” and “Counting the Days.” He rocks splendidly on “There’s a Memory” and “Things I Believe.”

As a songwriter, Jimmy Wayne is uplifting and inspirational on “Just Knowing You Love Me.” He is soft, romantic and dreamy in “Just Look at You.” “Elephant Ears” is touching and tender. In “I’ll Never Leave You,” which he wrote alone, he finds a new way to explore a loving relationship.

The new album caps what has been an extraordinary year for Jimmy Wayne. “Do You Believe Me Now” soared to the top of the country charts, was No. 1 for three weeks and became one of the biggest hits of 2008-2009. He toured with Brad Paisley and Dierks Bentley and played Madison Square Garden. Nashville Lifestyles magazine named him one of its “Beautiful People of 2009.”

“It’s been amazing,” he says gratefully. “It just goes to show you what perseverance can do. That, plus having a great team.”

In 2008, Jimmy Wayne’s career was stone cold. “Do You Believe Me Now” turned him into one of the greatest comeback stories in modern country-music history.

Adversity is nothing new to this gifted artist.  As his fans know, Jimmy Wayne survived a turbulent, abusive childhood. His father abandoned the family. His mother went to prison, and he was shuttled to a series of foster homes. His stepfather tried to murder him. He was a homeless teen, living by his wits on the street.

“I became very independent. I had to depend on myself. Folks ask me why I don’t drink. It’s because I needed and wanted to be very conscious of what I was doing at all times. That’s what helped me to survive.”

A North Carolina couple named Russell and Beatrice Costner took him in and encouraged his evolving love of music. At the time, he was singing and writing in a variety of styles, rock, country and even rap and opera.

“When I was about 15, I was on a school bus. I was just kind of staring out the window and singing a song. A girl in front of me turned around. She asked, ‘Is that you singing? That was really good.’ I was real shy. I’ve always been a loner. I never had any friends. I just never was the type of person to reach out to people. I spent a lot of time in my bedroom alone, playing music and writing. That day, I remember standing there and, like, hearing my singing voice for the first time.

“Then when I was in the 12^th grade in high school, there was a convict from a local prison who came to our school. He was in a Think Smart program. He played and sang and told his story. All the years prior, I’d been experimenting with different styles of music. I was writing stories, which were songs. But I really didn’t know what to call them. When I saw that convict sing, I looked around and saw everybody in that auditorium being very moved. I remember saying to myself, ‘That’s what I want to do, exactly what he’s doing.’ He called it ‘country music.’ He said, ‘I’m a country singer.’ I’m like, ‘Really? I guess that’s what I am, too.’ That led to me getting a guitar.”

Jimmy Wayne worked his way through school in a textile mill. Then he became a North Carolina prison guard. Talent scouts from Nashville’s Opryland theme park came through his area, auditioning potential performers.

“I showed up, and I was the very last person to audition. Mike Whelan was there from the Opryland Music Group. I told him I wrote, but I forgot the words to the song. Then I sang ‘Love Me’ by Collin Raye and a Garth Brooks song, ‘Papa Loved Mama.’”

That audition led to an offer for him to write songs for the Opryland Music Group’s famed Acuff-Rose firm. He turned in his resignation at the prison, moved to Nashville on a Sunday morning in 1998 and started writing songs full time that Monday.

“I didn’t even know what a publishing company was. When I got here, I knew I wasn’t ready. But as much of a loner as I was, I wasn’t afraid to talk to people so that I could learn.”

He concentrated on improving his guitar playing, his vocal style and his songwriting skills. In 1999, Tracy Byrd had a hit with “Put Your Hand in Mine,” which Jimmy Wayne co-wrote with Skip Ewing. Three years later came that fateful audition with “Sara Smile,” which led to a recording contract with DreamWorks Records. His debut CD appeared in 2003 and spawned the top-10 hits “Stay Gone” and “I Love You This Much,” plus the top-20 chart successes “You Are” and “Paper Angels.” The last-named won him the William Booth Award from the Salvation Army in 2005 and has since become a perennial holiday favorite.

But DreamWorks shut its doors in 2005, and Jimmy Wayne’s career momentum was stopped abruptly. Former DreamWorks executive Scott Borchetta offered him a new contract with the Valory Music Company. But it took awhile to find the right comeback vehicle.

“I was in survival mode. I didn’t panic. I thought, ‘I have got to write and I have got to look for the right songs. It all comes down to a song.’ I knew that much. I said, ‘I have got to find THE song, and I won’t stop until I do.’ It was stressful. There was nothing going on. I was donating a lot of my time to charity and playing as much as possible. I was off the radar for three or four years, just trying to find that huge song that was, hopefully, going to get me a resurrected career. And then I stumbled across ‘Do You Believe Me Now,’ and, of course, that became the song. That was the comeback.”

It was followed by “I Will,” which also became a hit. While recording the songs for both the Do You Believe Me Now and Sara Smile albums, Jimmy Wayne worked with a variety of producers. But the sheer power of his performances make both albums into seamless listening experiences.

“I have been given this gift,” he says quietly. “And I want to use it well. I’ve been given this great opportunity. I want to go back and give hope through my music, somehow. I visit these homes, and I talk to these kids as young adults. It’s one of my passions. It’s hard, but I actually enjoy doing that.

“My goal is to build a foundation based on hit songs. Someday, I’d like to build an orphanage for kids who are too old to be adopted.

“I don’t see myself as anything like a ‘star.’ I don’t think that I’m better than the person I’m singing to. I’m just doing what I love to do. And the fans are the reason I’m allowed to do it.

“Sometimes it’s just wild the way things work out. There was this really good baseball player in our high school. We used to go down to the grocery store and wait for our girlfriends who worked there to come out on breaks. I asked him, ‘So what do you want to do when you get out of high school?’ He said, ‘I’d like to go to college or become a professional baseball player.’ He asked me what I wanted to do. And I said, ‘I want to be a professional country singer.’

“We didn’t stay in contact. The day I got my record deal, I remember I was celebrating by myself. I went down to the Longhorn restaurant and ordered a sweet potato and a sweet tea. I opened the sweet potato, and I took out a scoop. I looked up at the television screen, and there was a Braves game on, and he was standing on the pitcher’s mound! It said, ‘Millwood’ on the back of his shirt. I will never forget that feeling that I had.

“Kevin Millwood. He is with the Texas Rangers now. He did what he said he was going to do. And, now, so was I. Strange the way things turn out. A couple of years later when I was back home, I saw him. We just shook hands and laughed. He is so unassuming, just a good ol’ country boy. But it was like, ‘Dude! We did it!’”

Jennifer Flamini

I received a wonderful  letter from a foster dad.  The letter offers both words of encouragement as well as a demonstration of   human kindness that I am honored to witness and share with you.  Thank you Bishop Hodges for your message of hope, love and faith in us.

My dear sister,

my name is Bishop H.L.Hodges, my wife and I have been foster parents for years. We first started in Los Angeles, Ca and upon moving back home, to Pensacola, Fl we cont. to do the same. My heart as always been for the children of the world, they struggle with life and it’s problems, while just looking for someone to tell them, “YOU CAN MAKE IT”! I was moved by your own personal story, and decide to write you about mine. Although i grew up in a home surrounded by two brothers and a sister, a mom that worked 16 hr. a day,  I still did not have the much needed father figure, but l learned to become a man from a woman that showed me how to be one.

My wife and I have been married for 36 yr. although we never had any kids of our own, we “Adopted 6 kids that we use to foster”. they are all grown now, and have their own families,  I still fuss, and I still LOVE THEM, just as much as I have always done. That the job of a “Father” not a dad, for any man can be a dad, but, there are few that can be counted and “Father’s”. If there was any one that I wished could have been my daughter, my wife and I wish it could have been you. I hope that all your efforts to help other’s, will be rewarded, for I can feel in my heart that you have a passion for what you are doing to help those that struggle, just as you have struggled!!!!!!

My wife and I are not as young as we use to be, L.O.L. I learned how to write that from my youngest girl, but, if we can encourge your group, and please tell them this one thing for us please, “NEVER, EVER, GIVE UP ON THEIR DREAMS”.

Thank you for letting a old man talk to you.

Bishop H.L.Hodges
Life Changing Ministries AFH Church
non-denomonational

I recently created a new campaign called “foster care’s silent warriors” to generate some attention to all things relating to foster care.  Part of the campaign’s plan includes a personal letter to Oprah’s producers that asks for help with regard to public exposure for foster care.  It is such a large issue in America that it deserves LARGER THAN LIFE ATTENTION which is where Oprah comes in.  A publicist recently shared with me that the best chance to reach Oprah with an idea is to speak to her producers so that is what I did.

Email Oprah Producers and tell them you want to see shows that highlight Foster Care issues.

You can help me get Oprah’s attention by copying my emailed letter (included below) and sending under your name. All you have to do is click on the “Email Oprah Producers” link, fill in your information and then copy and paste my letter ( included below).  You can also email her with your own words as well, every email will help get foster care children the attention they deserve. Please help pass along this message!

Email letter to Oprah Producers

From Foster Care to Millionaire:

Abandoned at just six months of age, raised by a mentally ill man and an alcoholic woman in what can only be described as a bizarre, emotional roller coaster of an upbringing, Rhonda Sciortino used coping skills to survive the unique challenges of her childhood. She put these same survival skills to use to start her own business and make other investments, which grew to become a multimillion-dollar balance sheet. More important than the financial success are the good relationships and other elements of true prosperity that she has achieved along the way. Rhonda learned that prosperity comes in many forms … it’s not just the money we put in the bank every month, but what we achieve in our personal lives.

In her inspiring book, From Foster Care To Millionaire, she tells of some of the “crazy-making” events of her childhood, how she went from poverty, filth, hunger and loneliness to affluence, order, fulfillment, and relationships and more importantly, how you can use the obstacles in your life as stepping stones to a great future!

Rhonda’s Mission:

“Encourage people living with abuse or other disadvantages to know that someone like them made it out of the abuse and they can too.”

“Show that we all create our own outcomes—good or bad— with the choices we make.”

“Help people intentionally create a great life by teaching them what works, including helping them identify and refine or get rid of the coping mechanisms used to deal with past dysfunction that damage good relationships.”

“To show that there are lots of ways to have a great life other than what kids typically categorize as success, like being a professional athlete, actor, musician, celebrity of some sort, professional poker player, or some other unlikely career.”

“Raise awareness in the general public that all people who have been abused do not turn out to be criminals, child abusers, or dysfunctional in relationships.  In fact, former foster kids and other survivors of abuse are everywhere. We are business owners, attorneys, physicians, contractors, judges, escrow officers, insurance brokers, executives, and in every other line of work you can think of. We are co-workers and neighbors, and could wind up marrying into your family!  I’m hoping that readers who have been hurt by a person who came from a dysfunctional family will come away with a better understanding of why that person hurt them, and perhaps more importantly, that the person who caused the hurt can change.  Radical, dramatic, life altering personality change can, and does, happen.  I’m proof of it.”

About the Author:

Rhonda is the Founder of Child Welfare Insurance Services, which is the only insurance organization in the US dedicated to protecting child welfare organizations and helping prevent injuries and deaths of youth in foster care.   Rhonda hopes to implement a program of work ethic, character building, and money management for disadvantaged youth. She knows firsthand that an earned paycheck will help develop dignity and self-esteem like nothing else will.  Rhonda and her husband live near their daughter and her family in Southern California.  In January of 2009, Rhonda joined forces with Markel Insurance to continue  to enhance her 25 year history of helping people who help children.  For more information on Child Welfare Insurance Services, visit www.Markelinsurance.com.  For more information about Rhonda, visit www.rhondasciortino.com.

Mat's Memories From Childhood

TOY GUN

Before I can start this story, I must return to the beginning when my brother and I first arrived.  We met the house parent Tony for the first time and he went over a set of rules we must follow.  The one rule I remember is the no gun policy.  We could not have a toy gun, use an object as pretend guns, or use our fingers as guns.

I believe it was a week or two since I got back from the hospital because I still had a patch on my right eye.  All the kids where lining up to get their allowance and I thought for sure I would not get mine because I had been in the hospital and did not do my chores.  I got in line anyway and waited my turn.  To my surprise fifty cent was slid out of the change envelope and handed to me.  The house parent marked my name off and I turned to leave and looked for my brother.  I found him and in great excitement headed to the corner store to purchase candy.  We exited the back gate at Ivy House and hung a left and ran to the corner store.  We entered the front glass doors and headed for the candy section, but before I could get there a beautiful red and white toy ray gun caught my eye.  I do not know what it was about this gun, but it pulled at me like a light to a flying insect.  I picked the gun up and started pointing it at everything I saw.  I had to have this gun!  I called my brother over and said “Let’s buy this gun!”  I looked at the price and reached into my pocket and pulled out my allowance and realized I did not have enough money to buy the gun.  My impulse to have this gun was so strong that I quickly formulated a plan to get this gun.  I was going to steal it!   I grabbed the gun and pretended that I was invisible and simply was going to walk out the store and no one would ever know.  My plan was flawed!  I was not invisible and the store manager yelled “Stop.”  I’d been caught!   The gun was taken from me and the manager asked where we lived.  I said Ivy House and he stepped behind the counter and picked up the phone and called someone.  The manager hung up the phone and told us to go home.

I was so scared.  I knew Tony was the house parent on duty and all that went through my head was “No guns.”  Not only did I try to steal, but it the item was a gun.  The walk back seemed to take hours though it had only been about ten minutes.  My brother and I walked through cottage one doors and there stood Tony waiting to intercept us.  I stood in front of him in shame looking at the ground.  He told me to look him in the face and asked why I tried to steal?  Without wasting a moment, I said because I did not have enough money to buy it.  To my surprise his chin started to quiver and his eyes swelled up with tears!  He bent down and picked me up and kissed me on the left check.  Not sure if it was because I was wearing an eye patch or that I told the truth.  Anyhow, he set me down and told my brother and me that he was taking us back to the store for us to apologize to the manager.  He walked us back down to the corner store and made us wait at the front glass doors to the store as he went in to talk with the manager.  After a brief moment, Tony motioned for us to come in.  Tony then told the manager that we had something to tell him.  I looked at the manager and told him I was sorry for trying to steal from him. At this point Tony told us to head back to the cottage and wait for him.  We both got back and took a seat on the green couch.   My head was swirling and the anticipation of his return put my stomach in knots.   Tony walked through the door and came up to me.  I stood up from my seat and he knelt down and told me the next time if I wanted something not to steal it, but come and talk with him.  He then pulled from behind his back the ray gun I had tried to steal and handed it to me.  I was speechless!  I was in conflict!  What about the rule?  I simply said thank you and ran off with my new ray gun yelling POW POW………………

Quick Facts About Foster Care

Children in Care

513,000 children were in the U.S. foster care system on September 30, 2005. Most children are placed temporarily in foster care due to parental abuse or neglect.

Age of Children in Foster Care

Average age: 10.0 years

Race/Ethnicity

As a percentage, there are more children of color in the foster care system than in the general U.S. population. However, child abuse and neglect occur at about the same rate in all racial/ethnic groups.

Read the report, Children of Color in the Child Welfare System, from CWLA’s National Data Analysis System.

Gender

Length of Stay

For the children in foster care on September 30, 2005, the average amount of time they had been in the system was 28.6 months. Half of those leaving care that year had been away from home for a year or longer. 54% of the young people leaving the system were reunified with their birth parents or primary caregivers.

Foster Homes

In 2004, there was a total of 153,000 licensed/certified/approved kinship and non-relative foster homes nationwide. In 2005, 24% of youth living foster care were residing with their relatives.

Adoptions

In 2005, 60% of adopted children were adopted by their foster parent(s). The “foster parent” category excludes anyone identified as a relative of the child. 25% of children adopted in FY 2005 were adopted by a relative. A “relative” includes a step-parent or other relative of the child.

Siblings and Extended Families

Over 2 million American children live with grandparents or other relatives because their parents cannot care for them. When relatives provide foster care (known as kinship care), siblings can often stay together. Kinship care also improves stability by keeping displaced children closer to their extended families, their neighborhoods, and their schools.

Youth in Transition

Each year, an estimated 20,000 young people “age out” of the U.S. foster care system. Many are only 18 years old and still need support and services. Several foster care alumni studies show that without a lifelong connection to a caring adult, these older youth are often left vulnerable to a host of adverse situations:

Name: Maddy Magdalene

State: California

Occupation:  Future Writer/Photographer

Favorite source of inspiration:  Enjoys writing and photography.  Favorite author is Ronald Dahl.

Young Maddy

I was born into an unhappy, violent, abusive home to drug addicted parents. Fortunately, many of my extended relatives offered help as they could during my early years, though it was still a rocky start.  Also, my paranoid and drugged mother refused to allow me to stay with them when she went to jail one night, and that was my first experience with the foster care system.  I was about five.  My parents had long since separated, my father died a few years after, and i was left with my mentally ill mother and her abusive boyfriend, whose first baby she was about to have.  Any help the relatives offered would never be enough, and as all involved realized this, we drifted apart.

Soon it was just my half siblings, my stepfather, mom and I, and since my parents were wary of strangers, I didn’t really have anything to compare my pathetic life with.  We could never stay in one place, there was always a problem with the landlord, and I was constantly the “new kid” at school.  We lived in some pretty bad neighborhoods.  There was constant fighting, screaming and throwing and hitting and pushing.  I knew by now this wasn’t normal but the one time I tried calling the police I received a sharp slap to the face and made to call right back.  My job was to do my chores, watch the babies when the grown ups went out, and keep my mouth shut.

In the midst of all this, I began to struggle with Manic Depression.  Mental illness runs in my family but feeling suicidal at the age of eight is simply not normal.  Along with the depression and rage came hallucinations and confusion, plus a lot of other things that made it hard for me to communicate my situation.  CPS kept taking my half siblings to foster care but leaving me to fend for myself.  I was hurt and confused but I was too scared to speak up.  I mostly just kept to myself during this time, my nose stuck in one book or another.  Classmates teased me and called me “Matilda”.  I don’t know if you’ve heard of that book, it’s by Roald Dahl.  I’ve always liked Roald Dahl as many of the children in his tales escape a terrible fate, and to me as a young child the thought was quite comforting.

Finally, years later, we moved to another state  and after months, maybe more of fighting, abuse, etc…my mom finally got rid of my sibling’s dad, and a vicious battle for custody began.  Unfortunately, I was lost in the fray.  This time of my life is a blur of images with a lot of missing pieces…me alone in my room trying to block out the screaming…counseling with my mom that was way too late to help matters…bouncing from basement apartment to motel to living in a school bus on a friend’s property…starting respite care with a great family…overdoses…hospitalizations…all this before my twelfth birthday.  Finally I called my grandparents in CA and they flew me down immediately.  However, after my life of freedom with a parent who’s too wasted to care what their kid does, I felt strangled in this house where I wasn’t even allowed to say “darn”.  So, I did what I knew worked: told them I wanted to go back to my mother or i’d kill myself.

The cops were called, I spent some time in the hospital, and was soon on a plane back to the mountains, where my mother and her new boyfriend waited.  I could smell alcohol on her breath, and my stomach sank.  I didn’t even last two weeks before I was carted out of there on a stretcher and soon I was to be sent to a real institution.

My caseworker and mom drove me, if i recall correctly, but i didn’t stay long.  As soon as I turned 13, I was moved to the adolescent wing, where the older girls had plenty of fun picking on me.  I had been “cutting” for some time but soon I learned more ways to harm myself.  When my mom saw my mottled arms and thighs, she pulled me from the program.

I was placed in day treatment, where I excelled not only at all my school work but managed often to daily disrupt everyone as well, somehow.  Some days, I just went back home, to the motel, and on one of these days I took a large number of pills I found on the counter and that is all I recall.

The day treatment closed and I was thrust into public school without a clue.  I got a 504 plan, and was placed in a girl’s therapy group.  I promptly began getting ISS, then simply began skipping school to go hang out with older kids, and my much older boyfriend.  Then I decided too run away.  What did not cross my mind was that not many places welcome 13-year old runaways.  I got a friend to come with, and we dyed our hair in a public bathroom so people wouldn’t recognize us.  Unfortunately, all the speed I was doing (I was afraid of sleeping) caught up to me one afternoon and I fell down and had a seizure right in the middle of a nice neighborhood.  An ambulance was summoned, and at the hospital my friend’s father came to get her.  I was alone, and they wouldn’t treat me because I was a minor and when they entered my name something must have come up, because soon I was being lead out of the hospital and shoved into a police car, handcuffed and dizzy.  During the short drive to the place we were staying all I remember is the cops angrily telling me what an ingrate I was, that I should be glad to have such a nice mom who cared enough to go looking for me?  Then she answers the door, I could barely see her in her nightgown, and soon the cops are sheepishly returning to tell me I am going to respite care for the night so things can cool off.

Next thing I know, mom’s disappeared and left me.  I’m placed in a home with an amazing lady who wants to adopt me, but is moving to connecticut, already finalizing her first adoption of a girl just a little younger than myself and who is having F.A.E. symptoms so severe that she was currently hospitalized.  I’m just glad to have someone who seems to genuinely care in my life, and soon my grades and behavior are improving drastically.  Next thing i know I’m being carted off to a “wilderness camp” for behaviorally challenged youth.  The respite care has failed.  Therapeutic foster homes have failed.  I’ve burned my bridges.  My last foster mom promises if i can keep it together she will bring me to connecticut.  I don’t believe her or a word any adult says.  I feel tricked and trapped.  I am the youngest one and I have just lost my mother (she is in jail somewhere last i heard).  This whole situation is too much.  I lose it.

Unfortunately for me, unbeknownst to me at this time I have been transferred from a local agency to DPHHS, and am now a ward of the state.  The woman in charge of making decisions about my life, where I stay or go, all that has been handed to her in what I assume must have been a hefty file.  Even more unfortunate, is the sad fact that I will not find out until many years later: she’s got around ninety of these cases, just as bad or worse than mine.  I can count on one hand the times I’ve met this woman, and she made every major decision of my life without even consulting me once. and this in a state where the population is fairly low.  This is the reason I chose not to study social work: I entertained the idea briefly but came to the conclusion that it would only make me tired and more bitter.  I decided the next best thing is to speak up, get my story heard, and hopefully get some others to, as well, so we can all learn from our mistakes.

The years I spent as a ward of the state are a nausea-inducing blur to me: first there was the lockdowns, the therapy you didn’t want, and the pills you had to take.  Being a teenage girl is hard enough and having to take pills that  make you get acne and gain weight do nothing to help, that I could see. Initially I was wild, going from silent and sullen to out of control, running around, breaking everything I could get my hands on.  I spent many hours being held against my will, by the bodies of the staff or straps buckled to beds and the like.  I always finished my schoolwork early and correctly- no problems there.  Once in a while I would be released to a lower level of care – a group home, in my case usually a therapeutic group home, but I never made it to public school, and there was always someone telling me what to do, when, and often how.

In short, I became institutionalized.

As my seventeenth birthday approached, I found myself in a meeting with my treatment team at a well known children’s hospital that also had a psychiatric unit.  I must have sold myself well, because soon I was packing my bags to a group home with a promise: succeed there and they help you pay for an apartment.  I faced a few challenges:  I had more than enough credits for a diploma but none of the institutions offered this service  so I would be forced to enroll for a semester in public school.  I immediately sought a program that helped foster kids get jobs by paying their wages for a few months, and got in, and did well.  I also managed to graduate high school with a 3 point something GPA, and did all the paperwork (with help of course) so that I literally graduated on a Friday and started college the following monday.  It was incredible.

Soon summer came and I was growing tired of the group home and impulsively, I bought a Greyhound ticket for Florida and nearly ended up in a very bad situation from which my grandmother rescued me with a plane ticket.  Unfortunately she also alerted the group home of my impending arrival, and with all the nasty things in my system and frustration over my situation, I snapped and took off.  Next move was to a receiving home type place, after which I was sent out of town, for fear I would call upon one of my friends and disappear again.  One month from my eighteenth birthday I spent my final summer as a kid going to horse therapy, doing chores, and going to bed at nine every night.  I was furious and stole bottles of cough syrup and spent hours in my room with my music loud, drinking and cutting.  The only thing I had to look forward to was going back to college- it was my only option at that point.  I had no where else to go, so I reserved my dorm, picked my classes, and waited like a good little girl until about two weeks before I turned eighteen when I was given an envelope from my social worker containing 20 dollars and a Greyhound ticket.

I packed my bags again.

Someone from the transitional living program was supposed to meet me at the bus station, but it was dark out and empty inside when I arrived so I used my precious twenty to call a cab. I had way too much to carry all the way across town to the dorms and no phone numbers with me.

I was soon informed that because I was not yet eighteen the transition program couldn’t legally help me.  They tried calling my social worker, to no avail. and the cruel reality of my situation sunk in.  One of the transition workers was nice enough to buy me a few things-detergent, shampoo, etc. but other than that I was on my own.  School started and I was not into it.  I felt no motivation and less than worthless.  On my eighteenth birthday I went out and met a bunch of nice people at a bar, and soon I was spending more time with them partying at night than I was in class or studying during the day.

After all this, I learned the school and state wanted their money back because I failed all my classes and was already on academic probation.  So, I pretty much have put aside that goal – for now.

A grown up Maddy - Ready and determined to take her life back.

Right now I am focusing on myself and realize I am all I have really, and it doesn’t even really make me a bit sad to say that.  I’ve got a lot of things to do: help people from repeating my mistakes, get my illness to the point where it’s manageable,  make a living doing what i really love  (writing and photography have become my outlet and my passion) and living life so I can have something to inspire me makes it all worth it.

Basically, my best personal advice is first, always get your needs met.  Do not be afraid to ask questions.  Be involved, it’s your life, and if you don’t catch yourself you’ll slip right through the cracks, much like I did.  Do everything you can before you come of age to learn about being an adult, because life is going to throw things your way and knowing how to deal with it just makes things that much simpler.

Next is to keep yourself and your dreams and desires close, but to also look at the bigger picture.  I know it can be hard, and it’s easy to say, “take it one day at a time”  but when you’re at the bottom of a barrel and your back’s against the wall, your one day might not do.  I know I have spent an inexcusable amount of time and effort being worried about my problems, my past, other people, what they think, etc. time wasted that I could have spent bettering myself.

I’m taking that time back now, because it’s mine.

Mat's Memories From Childhood

I really enjoyed the catholic school that I was placed into because the class size was much smaller than the public school and no one teased or picked on me.  The trade off was that I had to wear a cheesy uniform of plaid shorts, white button up shirt and a clip on tie. There were variations of the uniform and I seemed to wear the wrong combination all too often.  The other trade off was punishment by the head Nun should one step out of line.  That punishment was a ruler to the palm of the hand and the number of times you where struck on the palm depended on the infraction.  I had this punishment several times and OH how I hated that ruler!

I had a habit of spacing out and being completely oblivious to my surrounding.  Maybe I had A.D.D., but whatever the case was I seemed to zone out at the most inappropriate time.  I sat in the front row in class and this one time during lecture, I stood up as if I was the only one in the room and walked to the back of the room where the wall was lined with closets.  I stepped inside the closet and closed the door partway and proceeded to go through the other student’s lunches.  I ate someone’s Twinkie and took a bite out of someone else’s peanut butter sandwich.  I suddenly hear a faint noise in the background and then snap out my trance.  I hear the teacher yelling my name and telling me to remove myself from the closet and come to the front of the class immediately!  All the other students just stared at me in silence as I walked to the front of the class.  I was grabbed by the arm and escorted out of the class and down the hall to the head Nun.  I was placed inside her office and spent a brief moment by myself as the teacher explained what happened to the Nun.  I just knew I would be punished with the dreaded ruler.  I started guessing in silence on how many times my palm would be hit, when suddenly the door opened and the Nun stood there with hands on her hip shaking her head.  The door closed and she said nothing.  She walked to her desk and opened a drawer and out came the RULER.  I wanted to cry, but refused to let her see any tears.  She grabbed my left hand and said I would be getting ten hits! I gasped and screamed TEN!

She would always count out loud, ONE TWO, THREE, after each strike.  The first few always hurt the most and then the hand would become numb.  The punishment began and as she reached THREE the most wonderful thing happened.  I can’t believe it!  It was the sweetest sight, pure nirvana!  The ruler broke in two and I watched in slow motion as the broken piece flipped into the air and ricocheted off her desk and hit the ground.  The hated ruler lost and I won!  Figuring she had to be done, I went to turn and head for the door and she said, “Where are you going?”  I stared in sheer horror as she opens another drawer and pulls out a new ruler.  The terror did not stop there.  The drawer was full of dozens of rulers!  Oh crap!  The really sad part was that I actually thought that was the only ruler and not once considered the existence of others.    Sad I know!  She finishes NINE, TEN, and then I’m told to return to class.

I get back just in time for confession.  This is my first confession and I have no idea what to expect.  We walk single file to the chapel and enter in groups of five.  I’m in the second group that enters and we watch as each person walks into a small closet and closes the door.  I faintly hear each one start with “Forgive me father for I have sinned” followed by something they did wrong.  My heart starts to race and I begin to panic.  It’s my turn and my legs feel like lead as I enter and close the door.  I hear the priest say “Yes son” and I stand there in silence.  My head is spinning and I’m trying to think of something bad I did, but draw a blank.  Suddenly, I know what to say and I begin with “Forgive me father for I have sinned” and I hear “Go ahead.”  I make something up and say “I stole a lollipop from my brother.”  I’m told to do two Hail Mary’s and then I exit the room. Will this day ever end?  I just want to go home to Ivy House.

The irony of the confession was that I lied, which was a sin.  So I committed a sin to tell a sin and completely forgot about the sin I just committed early in the day by stealing someone’s lunch.   I really have a knack of making my life harder than it needs to be but hey, I’m a kid and there’s plenty of time to correct that……………

Our January feature comes to us from Maryland.  She is the mother of 3, a strong believer in attending church and a dedicated animal shelter volunteer.   Please welcome Edna…….

Name: Edna Brady

State: Maryland

Occupation:  Federal Servant

Favorite source of inspiration:  Enjoys reading all kinds of inspirational stories and loves the movies Pay it Forward and Remember the Titans

Edna Brady

My name is Edna Brady.  I was in foster care from 18 months old to almost 18 years old.  I was in four different foster homes.  The last one I was in for 11 years.  I have five biological sisters (one deceased) and three biological brothers and one foster brother who I still consider a brother.

Even though my last foster father was a pedophile, he did make sure we went to church every Sunday.  I believe going to that church consistently, gave me a foundation of lifetime friends and mentors.  I still keep in touch with my Sunday School teachers.  Until recently, I never told anyone that my foster father was a pedophile and that his wife just accepted it.  I know part of me knew that I wouldn’t be believed and that I would be left in their care.

I felt a tremendous amount of shame and I was always embarrassed when a social worker came to school to pick me up for my monthly visits with my mom.  I felt like I was being hauled off to jail or something.  It made me stand out from the rest of the class.

When most teenagers found sanctuary in drugs and alcohol, I was reading books.  I don’t really know why I consistently said no to drugs.  It’s just something I didn’t want to do.  I did well in high school, being on the honor roll most of the time.  I graduated high school in 1979 at the age of 17.  The summer that I graduated high school, I worked at the high school until I went to nursing school in September.  While working at the high school, I made friends of some of the teachers.  I still keep in touch with them and visit them occasionally. I didn’t do well in nursing school.  I was so shy with everybody.  I was in a very strange environment and I didn’t have the support of family like the rest of my classmates.  If I had gone back to nursing school several years later, I believe that I would have done well.  I stayed in nursing school for 3 months.  After leaving nursing school my high school guidance counselor advised me to go in the military.  We spoke to a marine recruiter and I joined the marines at 18 years of age.  I currently have 23 years of federal service, including almost 2 years in the marines.

I have 3 children of whom I am very proud.  None of them have ever done drugs and they rarely drink alcohol.  My oldest daughter is a Staff Sergeant in the Air Force.  My youngest daughter is disabled and is doing well in an adult day program.  My son graduated from an automotive diesel college and is a diesel mechanic.

What I hope sharing my story will accomplish

My mind has remained focussed on the act of forgiveness and the great strength demonstrated by people who have this capacity to truly “forgive” someone who has caused them harm and/or pain.  This woman is truly remarkable!

Obviously, I am going to keep her identity private but my hope is that many of you will offer words of encouragement for her to read here.  Let’s use this platform to show her support and love so she knows she is not alone and to show that she has an entire community of great people thinking of her and praying for her.  Please post well wishes, words of encouragement and prayers here for her to read.

Thanks to Edna  (an upcoming Face of a Foster Care Graduate) for sending to us.

John --- Age 12 when he was ordered by the Court to leave Cleveland. He was put into long-term residential care in Michigan.

Name: John Seita

State: Michigan

Occupation:  Assistant Professor and Author

Marital Status:  Married

Website:  www.johnseita.com

Blog:   http://careofstrangers.blogspot.com

Favorite source of inspiration: Working towards changing Foster Care.

Book:  Growing Up in the Care of Strangers: The Experiences, Insights and Recommendations of Eleven Former Foster Kids

John  Seita holds a doctorate from Western Michigan University where a
scholarship for foster care alumni has been established in his name http://www.wmich.edu/fyit/scholarship.html.

Dr. Seita is a former youth at risk who beat the odds. He was removed from his mother’s home at the age of eight and spent the remainder of his childhood and adolescence in multiple foster homes, detention facilities, group care settings and on the streets. Abused and neglected as a child, his journey though children’s institutions and countless foster homes was a litany of degradation and humiliation.

His unrestrained anger at his mother and the child welfare system led to a childhood of bitterness, loneliness and one where he fought with adults, counselors, teachers, house parents, childcare workers and anyone else who crossed his path. His understanding of how to reclaim challenging youth is based upon his own journey of 15 placements out-of-home placements.

John has dedicated his life to teaching and training future social workers about the challenges and strengths of young people who are aging out of the foster care system. Drawing upon his own experience and leading edge research on evidence-based best practice, he has given workshops and keynote presentations across North America, Europe and Australia that have provided insight into evidenced-based practice and skill- building models for parents, teachers, social workers and others who are providing care to children and youth in the foster care system.  For more information on John’s bio, visit http://www.wmich.edu/fyit/about.html.

Mat's Memories From Childhood

The police cruiser arrives at the Philadelphia Eye Institute and I’m whisked inside where a nurse places me into a wheelchair.  I see the officer talking to a lady as he turns and smiles at me, then turns and leaves the building.  That is the last time I saw the officer who helped me.  I’m wheeled back to a room where I get placed into a special chair with funny looking equipment attached to it.  The doctor slides the equipment over to my face and asks me to stay still while he looks into my good eye first and then the damaged eye.  He looks into the damaged eye in silence and only shakes his head side to side.  He pushes his chair back and tells me to relax.  He grabs some eye drops and places several into both eyes and then places patches on both eyes.  He tells me that the nurse will be in to take me to my room.  I sit in darkness and run through the events in my head that landed me here in the hospital.  I become scared for the first time as the sinking feeling of isolation sets in and wonder whether anyone knows that I’m at this hospital.  The nurse comes and assures me that everything will be okay and proceeds to wheel me to my room.  I want to cry but, fear the tears will sting.  I get placed into a bed and I’m told that they need to set an IV line and that I will feel a little prick.  The nurse says she is finished and again tells me that it will be okay.  She tells me that the medicine they are giving me will help me sleep.  I feel warmth crawling up my arm and become scared and then suddenly everything goes blank.

I’m gently woken up, what I think is the next day, and told someone is in the room to see me.  I then hear my mom’s sobbing voice asking me how I feel.  She then tells me that this is her third day of coming to see me, but I’ve been  asleep.  I feel really groggy and slip in and out of consciousness.  I’m awoken again by a nurse and told to try and eat my breakfast and that afterwards she would give me a sponge bath.  I barely eat and wait for the nurse to return.  I try to open my eyes but, see only darkness.  I reach up with my hands to feel my face and realize that the patches are still on both eyes.  I’ve lost all sense of time and place.  My head is so cloudy at this point and I can barely finish a thought before it drifts out of my reach.  I hate how I feel!  The nurse returns and begins to bath me.  The warm water feels so good, as the sponge runs over my body.  I’m told that the IV will be removed later on today, and I drift back to sleep.

The nurse gently awakes me and I open my eyes and see what I think is an angel standing at the foot of my bed.  She tells me to eat my breakfast and then I would be getting another sponge bath.  I place my hands on my face and feel that I still have a patch on my right eye but, the patch was removed from my left eye.  I don’t feel as groggy this time and start to look around the room to see my surroundings.  The room is small with two chairs against a wall and a nightstand next to my bed with a phone.  I pull my breakfast toward me and attempt to eat.  The nurse returns and tells me that I really need to eat more to get better and asks me if I’m ready to get my sponge bath.  I nod my head yes and she proceeds to bath me.  She finishes and tells that she now has to give me an enema.  What is an enema?  I soon find out!  The nurse has officially lost her angel status.

A week had passed before the other patch got removed from my right eye.  I see a doctor everyday but, sense there is nothing that can be done and feel that I’ve become a case study.  I had to sit through as ten plus doctors took turns looking at my eye and talking to one another about seeing crystals in the back of my eye and how the pupil was irregular.  Not a single doctor talked to me.  I especially hated having the pressure of my eye taken.  The machine had to be touching the eye and had a purple light I had to stare directly into without blinking and then a puff air was shot into the eye.  It quickly became apparent that seeing a doctor was painful and very uncomfortable.  How I longed to leave this place!

I was sent back to my room and told to try and use the bathroom on my own.  I walked into the bathroom and got my first look at my face since the accident.  It was black and blue around my right eye with the whites of my eye red with blood.  The pupil was torn and my vision had not improved since that last time I had looked out that eye prior to arriving at the hospital.  I attempt to use the bathroom and then return to my bed.  I was given pills to take that made me very drowsy.  I awake later in the day to find my mom sitting in the chair.  She see’s that I had opened my eyes and stands to approach me.  She asks how I feel and tells me that all I do is sleep.  She says that she asked the nurses not to drug me so much but, was not sure they listened.  A nurse walks in and tells me that I have a special person on the phone that wants to talk to me.  My mom turns to the nurse and before she can say anything is asked to leave the room to give me privacy.  The nurse says “go ahead and pick up the phone” and then walks out.  I pick up the phone and the voice on the other side is my dad.  I can’t believe I’m talking to my dad!  I’m asked how I feel and how he wished he could be here with me.  We talked for a short while and he told me he had to go because he was calling from overseas but, would call me again in a couple of days.  I said bye and hung up the phone.  It was so good to hear my dad’s voice!  It had been almost two years.  My mom returned to the room and asked me who was on the phone?  I simply said dad.  Nothing else was said.  She came over and kissed my forehead and said she had to leave and would try to come and see me tomorrow.  I got to talk to my dad several more times, my mom came to see me almost every day, and even Ivy House kids came to see me over the next two weeks.  Three weeks had passed and I finally was getting released to return to Ivy House.  I was so excited to be leaving the hospital that I rushed through my goodbyes with the nursing staff and asked to be taken home…………….

Memories from Jenny's childhood

After foster care I struggled to engage with my biological mother and I didn’t feel connected to her.  The truth is that I felt responsible for her.  It seemed to me that it was my job to fix her life, solve her problems and make her happy. For whatever reason, I became somewhat of the parent and she naturally filled the role of the child.  I watched her move from one bad relationship to another, and her children became collateral damage.   She used pity like a  weapon of manipulation to get her way.  It never seemed to occur to her that life was about more than her, she lacked the ability to see outside of herself, was very self absorbed and her children paid the price for that selfishness.

I’m not really sure when I gained intimate knowledge of  the feelings and words;  “pity” and “victim.”   It was almost like an instinct within me that I didn’t want to be a victim or grow up and have “a victim mentality.”   I may not have known much at age 12 but I was already familiar with what it felt like to be pitied and I linked it to be a feeling of shame.   Some people thrive on this type of attention, or any attention for that matter and  my mother is one of those people. Positive or negative didn’t matter, just the attention.  As a child,  I felt a deep sense of dread over this and knew that I never wanted to have people pity me or feel a sense of sorrow for me.

This early childhood revelation lead me to a very intensive and intimidating training program called est.  It was around 1979 or 1980 and I was about 12 years old when I heard about what I thought sounded like a direct message from heaven.   Someone told me of a program that would teach me to overcome adversity, how to be able to get past my fears and demons, and to let the past be something that moved me forward, instead of holding me back!

It was a program called EST.  If you look it up in the the wikipedia dictionary, this is what you will find:  “Erhard Seminars Training, an organization founded by Werner H. Erhard, offered a two-weekend (60-hour) course known officially as ‘The est Standard Training.’ The purpose of est was to allow participants to achieve, in a very brief time, a sense of personal transformation and enhanced power. The est course was offered from late 1971 to late 1984.”

The est training presented several concepts, but the most memorable one for me was that of taking responsibility for yourself and your actions, that integrity had value and you and you alone are responsible for that integrity…YOU!  It’s hard to blame your disappointments in life on anyone or anything else but yourself when you are faced with this concept!

There is a tribute website for graduates of this training if you are interested in learning more.  Check it out at http://www.erhardseminarstraining.com. Another website rich with information about est and it’s creator is http://www.wernererhard.com

For two consecutive weekends I was confined  for 12 to 16 hour days in a Center City Philadelphia hotel ballroom.  Each weekend, I rode the train into the city with nothing but a change of clothes and my impeding fear!  I remember that first trip into the city, I was petrified.  I had no idea which stop to get off the train, where I would sleep that night or if I would be able to do this.

Let me take you back with me…….

The first night of the seminar, the instructors ask for a show of hands for those who did not have a place to stay.  I am looking around the room, I am frightened to let people know that I have no place to stay, that I am here by myself and no one is looking out for me, I am alone.  These thoughts echo in my head, I’m not sure what to do.   As I study the crowd, I realize I am the only child in this room, and wonder what is wrong with me that I wanted to do this.  Suddenly I am overwhelmed by the realization of how different I am.  The voice inside my head is yelling, “what is wrong with you, why are you the only child?”  I hesitantly raise my hand.  I am trembling, I cannot get a grip on my fear, my jaw is chattering and my eyes are focussed on the floor, legs are shaking nervously.  I start questioning myself as to why I wanted to do this, what was I thinking, I fight back the tears and panic as my eyes well up.  I am thinking that I should run and then the voice from deep inside, the inner voice yells to calm down, yells at me not to run.  Tells me that I need to do this if I’m to have any hope of having a future that doesn’t include a stamp of “victim” on my forehead.  There is a woman sitting next to me.  She places her hand around my shoulder and lets her arm rest there.  The announcers then ask for a show of hands from those who could offer a place to stay.  This kind woman raises her hand and tells me that I can stay with her.  She had a glowing heart and I instantly felt she was trustworthy and protective like a mother.

That night, I was shown into her daughters room, the one I would end up sleeping in.  I still vividly recall laying there, in bed and staring at all the pictures and posters on the wall.  The bed was pushed up against one of the covered walls so it was like getting a close up of her daughter’s life.  Ever look at photo’s of happy smiling faces and wished you were as happy as the people you saw in those photos?

Soon, I am startled out of my deep thoughts as (let’s call her) phyllis passes by the doorway to check on me before turning in for the night.  She asks if I need anything before bed.  I was starring at her, thinking about how wonderful and loving she was.  I had only known her for a day at this point but I loved her immediately.   My heart sank for her as she told me the story of how her 13 year old daughter had run away and she did not have any way of finding her.  As I watched her eyes in the night light hue tear up, they seemed hollow.  My lovely Phyllis was distraught over this loss and empty because everything that mattered to her was gone.  I felt a deep sense of anger for her, I felt an anger towards her daughter who had not seen and appreciated this amazing gift of a parent who loved her!  I was resentful that an ungrateful child would be given this gift of unconditional love and throw it away.  Maybe, had I had this luxury, I would not have felt so angry.

Later, during the next day of the seminar we held hands, shared our pain and cried together.  This portion of the seminar was very scary to me.  The large group of participants was split up and instructed to form group circles with our chairs.  We were told to hold hands, keep our eyes closed and face our fears.  The instructors said that anything, and whoever or whatever we blamed for our pain should be confronted, acknowledged and sent to some other place.   The instructors gave us permission to yell, cry, scream and jump up and down, whatever it took to let go of all the emotions that held us back from living the life we wanted.  Grown men and women screamed, yelled, and cried, visualizing and attacking their demons and confessing their deepest sins.   I was watching and listening, cleverly masking my defiant behavior of “watching” when we had been instructed to keep our eyes closed.   The instructors circled the room like guards, searching for violators and I was scared yet I kept peeking, starring around in awe as all this pain was unleashed and expressed around me.  The trainers had a saying; “ I got It” and they repeated this through out the seminar.  Time after time they would confront a participant; ”you got it?”…….Someone in the audience would recount.  ”I got it!”

Another group session that sticks out vividly to me is what I call, “the stare down!”  The instructors announced that each row of seats would be called to come up onto the stage at the front of the ballroom.  One by one, as each of us attendees stood there on stage an instructor would stand in front of us and stare us down!  Each row at a time, participants would fall into format, forging a line to the stage.  It was kind of like a break you down to build you back up type practice.  They told us how they could see us when they looked at us.  It was intimidating to say the least.  In your face, one by one each teacher would stand in front of you, in your space and stare you deep in the eyes telling you that they SEE you.  Most would break down into tears, a result of hidden fears and shames of past issues.  I did no cry, had experience with the stare down process as a foster child.  One instructor stared deep into my eyes, nose almost touching mine and yelled like a sergeant in the military that she could see me, knew who I was.  I was thinking, “HAH, who are you kidding, you can’t see me, I have learned to cover myself up, you are out of your league!”  I never cried!  The foster child in me came out and that hard shell of protection and distance surrounded me and I said; “I don’t think so lady, move on, there will be no tears here!”  I was one of only a few who did not break down on stage.

As I think back on that experience, I am still amazed that I did such a brave and unconventional thing during my preteen years.  I have read several press articles since that time that heavily criticized this training for being to tough and confrontational.

Looking back at the child I was then, it is nothing short of a miracle.  I was a child afraid of my own shadow and I did not speak much.  I was so shy that a smile would make me turn beat red and run for cover.  I avoided eye contact at all costs and did not express any kind of emotion.  No tears, no laughter….blankness.  I guess in the end the fear of becoming a person who lived life as a victim was far less scary to me than the fear of facing this intimidating training seminar.

I learned a valuable and life long lesson from this experience.  Not all fear is bad, sometimes if you push yourself to go outside of your comfort zone you can change your life, build your confidence and be on your way towards achieving bigger and better things.