My name is Trista. I'm a few weeks shy of 24, and attend Austin Community College where I study Criminal Justice and maintain a 3.5 GPA. Besides school, I am employed by the state and live independently with my niece and 3 month old son. This may not sound like the most exciting life to lead, but I couldn't be happier. Especially when I look back at my life and realize that my path could have easily taken a different course.
I lived with my mother on and off until a week before my 11th birthday, when I entered the foster care system. Child Protective Services had been working with my mother and I for a while, and finally decided that it would be best for me to go stay in a foster home. I will never forget the day I got out of school and my caseworker was waiting for me. She told me that unfortunately I would not be able to go home, but that she had found a nice foster home for me to stay in temporarily, while my mother worked some stuff out. When we got to the foster home, I was greeted by one of the nicest ladies I've ever met. She introduced me and gave me a tour of the house that would be my home for the next year.
I am forever thankful to my first foster family for being there for me during one of the hardest years of my life. Living with my mom wasn't easy, but going to therapy and hearing how angry she was at me was much harder. Our therapy sessions were supposed to be making things better so I could go home, but they only seemed to be getting worse. Somewhere inside me, I knew I wouldn't be living with my mother again. I really think I knew that from the beginning. That's why from the moment I was picked up from my caseworker at school, I asked to go home with my "grandparents".
I say "grandparents" with quotation marks because they are not my blood grandparents, but they are the closest family I have ever known. My grandparents met my mother when she was pregnant with me and were originally going to be my adoptive parents. However, when I was born, my mother simply could not stand to give me up. She couldn't take care of me either though, so my grandparents offered to help her out. They started out babysitting me and over time turned into my second parents. I couldn't have two moms, and I didn't really know my grandparents, so that's what they became. I lived with them pretty consistently until I was 5, and then on and off until I entered foster care. If I couldn't be with my mom, I definitely wanted to go home to them.
Unfortunately, when I entered the foster care system, symbolic relatives were not recognized as having many rights, and unless my grandparents became licensed foster parents I probably would not be able to go live with them. But that's exactly what they did. It took almost a whole year, but they took all the classes and became licensed foster parents in the state of Nevada. At my next court date after receiving their license, my grandparents drove to Texas to show the judge their license and ask if I could come home. The judge acknowledged that I would most likely not be able to return to my mother, and granted our wish. I was going home. It was a day full of mixed emotions. I was sad to be leaving my foster parents, but glad to be going back with what I considered to be my family.
Once I got back to Nevada though, things weren't so great. I never thought I could be so angry at my grandparents, but I was. I was angry at them for allowing me to live with my mom for so long without coming to get me. I was mad they didn't save me and I blamed them for having to spend a year with strangers (even though they were very nice strangers) when I really should have been with them the whole time. Instead of telling anyone how I was feeling, I started acting out. I kept good grades in school, but I was always being sent to the principles office and getting suspended for my behavior. I was always arguing with my grandparents. Finally I got expelled from school and we had to move about an hour away to Las Vegas, just for me to be able to go to school.
There it wasn't much better. For the next year, I acted out at school, snuck out of the house, argued and fought with people. I was doing drugs and was totally out of control. My grandparents didn't know what do to with me or for me, but they weren't willing to give up on me. I was participating in therapy, but that only seemed to make things worse. They stated I was oppositional defiant, depressed, and possibly bi-polar. My medications were modified several times but nothing seemed to help. My grandparents wanted to tell my caseworker all of what was going on, but they were worried that I would be taken away and who knows what would have happened from there. After sneaking out one night, my grandfather said he was fed up and called my case worker. I was taken to a run away shelter that I ran away from twice, before being returned to Texas for one of my court dates. The judge said that since I could not behave I could not go back to Nevada. I was ordered to stay in Texas.
From here my story starts to turn around. I decided that if things were ever going to get better it was on me. After spending almost 3 months at an emergency shelter I moved to a Residential Treatment Center. Even though I hated it at the time, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I started therapy and finally got a chance to talk about all the things that were really going on inside me. My behaviors didn't immediately improve, and my caseworker (and her co-workers) still spent many hours trying to talk to me and keep me out of trouble. It felt like I had a whole unit taking care of my case, not just one caseworker.
For the next two and a half years, I continued to live at the treatment center on and off. I was continuing to try to work things out so I could go back home to my grandparents, but in the mean time I was moved into a less restrictive environment. I moved from the on campus treatment center to their group home, and then to a foster home that unfortunately didn't work out for various reasons. I moved back to the group home and focused on school, work, and my relationship with my family. After a few failed attempts when I wasn't ready, the judge allowed me to go home with my grandparents. It was 6 months before my 18th birthday, and I couldn't have been happier. And while I had always made good grades in school, I was missing credits from moving around so much. I was able to move to an alternative school that would allow me to make up my credits at my own pace so I could graduate on time. While I was there, I was offered an internship at a local law firm, and worked at a local restaurant in the evenings. That particular school ultimately didn't work out, so I went to another one here in Austin, where I graduated from high school about 6 months after my original graduation date should have been. Considering that I wasn't supposed to graduate until I was almost 20, I'm glad that there was only a 6 month delay.
Everything hasn't been easy since I left foster care, but I have continued to make positive changes and move forward letting my past hinder me. With the help of all the people who make up my support system, I have been able to grow as an adult and become more and more independent. I'm thankful to my grandparents for truly being the parental figures in my life, and doing everything from giving me advice (even when I didn't want it) to allowing me to move home when living in my own apartment became too overwhelming. I'm also thankful to my caseworker (and her whole unit), my PAL coordinators, and my aftercare case manager. They gave me all the tools I needed to be successful and supported me while I figured out how to use them. Even to this day, 6 years after leaving care, they continue to support me in my role as a Youth Specialist with Child Protective Services. I truly believe that having all these great people in my life is what turned me from the wrong path to the right one, and I couldn't be happier. Thank you.