COMMUNITY COMMENT : Foster Care ‘Made Me Believe I Wasn’t Worthy of Love’ : A woman who spent her teens in six homes wonders if children displaced by a welfare reform plan could survive the system.

I remember Mary Ann. She came to my school, smiled, introduced herself. She seemed as though she cared. I trusted her. She drove me to a home. I was only 12, so I thought it was her home. But it wasn’t. It was a foster home. Mary Ann was my caseworker.

Mary Ann returned about three months later only to place me in another home. I ended up in six different foster homes and one group home until I was “emancipated” at age 17 years and eight months.

I don’t remember meeting anyone in foster care whose only reason for being there was poverty. Most of us needed a safe haven. I’m concerned about the number of abused children who won’t be provided a safe haven if the certain Republican proposals to place children from poor families in foster homes or orphanages is approved.

I strongly believe that if a child’s only circumstance is poverty, then the child should be kept in his biological home. A child would be better off eating rice every day of the week than being displaced.

When I was displaced, I always thought I was the cause. I could never understand why I went from home to home. It made me believe that I wasn’t worthy to be loved. School was my only solace because teachers seemed to be the only ones who provided the love I longed for. I knew I would see them every day. However, going to school wasn’t always easy. When I resided in a group home at age 15, I was the only resident who attended school. The other 11 girls had either dropped out or were enrolled in a program for teen mothers. They teased me. But somehow I chose to ignore their ridicule and graduated with honors.

Growing up is hard enough. But being a part of the foster care system also means being treated differently.

Social workers would come to my school and administer a battery of tests. A large portion consisted of picture drawing. I wanted to know why. No one would tell me. So on my next trip to the library, I checked out as many books as I could on psychology or anything I thought was related. I learned never to draw a picture expressing anger, violence or rage, as I feared that it just might be the ticket to the nearest psychiatric institution.

The role of the government should be to build families up rather than break them apart. Foster care and orphanages should be a last resort.

Statistically, I shouldn’t be a functioning adult. I escaped street life. I escaped violence. I escaped drugs. I escaped teen pregnancy, made it to college and found a career.

However, I’m just one person. What about the thousands who may not survive the system?