FCYU-Feature Story

Safety in Numbers
Adults say all kids need a family.
But I found acceptance in group care.

By Ja'Nelle Earle

When I was growing up in San Diego, I felt like no one loved me. My sister would talk to her friend about how much she hated me and how I was always ruining something. My mother was an alcoholic and sometimes it seemed she talked to me only to tell me what was wrong with me. She would say, "Pick up your toys," or "You never do anything right." She never really told me how proud she was of my schoolwork or how well I did things. I wanted her to encourage me, but I rarely got that.

I guess my mother thought I was a liar, too, because when her husband was sexually abusing me, and I told, she did not believe me. My mother thought I was making up lies to gain her attention, but little did she know, it was the cold and ugly truth.

My family's ridicule and my stepfather's sexual abuse made me feel like I was never good enough for anything. I felt like the odd ball. I was mad at the world. Why was I born into this type of family? Why couldn't I have been born into a perfect family?

My life changed one day when a police officer talked to my fourth grade class about rape. He told us to make sure we told an adult we trusted if we were ever raped. So I told my fourth grade teacher how I was raped. My teacher called the police, and within hours my sister and I were taken away from my mother. My mother was furious-Child Protective Services was taking us away because of my lie, or so she thought.

Taken From Home

When my sister and I arrived at Hillcrest Receiving Home, I was separated from my sister because a psychologist wanted to talk to me about the rape. I answered what seemed like a million questions. Then the psychologist told me I had been molested, not raped.

The new classification did not make a difference to me. All that mattered was that the only home I had known was now considered unsafe for my sister and me. I was given a new pair of clothes and I showered and changed. Then I entered a foreign world. A world of children who had been taken away from their families just like I had.

I didn't know it then, but it would turn out great for me. Instead of ridicule, I would find caring people and encouragement in the system. But I would not find it in foster homes or family care-living with my grandmother. Oddly, I would find just what I needed in group settings-group homes and residential treatment centers.

Hillcrest was a temporary place for abused children to stay until a social worker could find them another, more permanent place to stay. I didn't know anybody, but what I did sense was that no one was going to hurt me or make me feel bad here. I'm not sure why I felt this, I just did.

I Found a Role Model

After a day or so, the unfamiliarity of Hillcrest left me feeling lonely, so I requested to be with my sister. My request was filled, but my void was not. She was not happy to see me. The feelings I had of inadequacy and missing love came rushing back to me. My sister's rejection hurt even more because I was away from home and feeling lonely. I thought she was the only person I had. I was wrong. I didn't even have her. But like always, I put it behind me and kept going.

Shortly after, I met a staff named Yolanda. Yolanda was the role model I had always dreamed of. She was smart, pretty, and she liked me. When I was feeling lonely and I would cry, she would hug and comfort me. If I wanted to talk, she listened and didn't laugh at what I said. She never ever put me down. There was a time when I felt a male staff touched me inappropriately, and I told her. She believed me, which was amazing because my mother didn't believe anything I said. She was everything I wanted in an adult role model and that is why our friendship grew.

I was at Hillcrest and with Yolanda for about two months when my social worker found a foster home for me, and I had to leave.

A foster home, a family-that worried me. All of my past feelings came back. I was not sure what to expect. Would they ridicule me like my biological family had? Would the other kids be able to relate to any of the hard things I'd been through? Would they think I was strange?

At Hillcrest, I had been surrounded by people who had gone through the same things as me, and that made me feel safe, like I always had someone to talk to. What would it be like to be trying to fit into a family again?

The Foster Home Was No Bowl of Peaches

I was in that foster home only one week. It was no bowl of peaches. The foster mother would make me play outside until it was dark and cold. She also tried to force me to eat things I did not like, and she abused the kids.

This may sound weird to people who hate group homes or think that family settings are better for kids, but I really missed Hillcrest. I wanted to go back to that comfort zone badly. After about a week in the foster home, I heard the foster lady spanking the other kids. She told me to behave or she would spank me too. I knew that was good enough reason to leave.

I called my social worker in a hurry, but she told me there was no other foster home for me to go to. I asked her if I could return to Hillcrest, and with a puzzled voice, she asked me if I was sure. Maybe she was puzzled because I would rather be in a facility than a home with a family. But I thought of some of the people in Hillcrest as my family. When I said yes, I was sure I wanted to go to Hillcrest, she took me back there.

I was excited to be back. I had my old friends, and I made new ones. The food wasn't that great and it was still overcrowded, but the warmth heated me up to where I could be happy again. I was out of the cold, cruel world, and back into my safety zone. I had that feeling you get when you know something good is going to happen and you stay excited for days.

I Found Family at My Group Home

What I didn't know was that my stay at Hillcrest had to be temporary. I stayed for about another month. As soon as my social worker found another placement for me I had to leave Hillcrest, and this time it was for good. But the thing I remember most is that I found the comfort, care and warmth I had always wanted. Just knowing Hillcrest existed and that someone had cared for me left me feeling better.

My next home was a group home. I lived there with about five other kids about the same age as me. We went to school off grounds, and we had a caring staff. They actually cooked our dinner, too. The house was cozy and there was always someone to talk to. But most importantly, I didn't have to deal with trying to fit in too much to society or with a family. And I didn't have to deal with ridicule and comments if I couldn't fit in. This group home was like a family, but a family of people who understood me and had been through some of the same things I had. No one laughed at me because I dressed funny. No one laughed or blamed me if I said I had been molested.

But again, the stay was temporary. My agency believed that kids should live in family settings. My grandmother had passed inspection, and I was going to live with her in East San Diego.

Grandma's home was nice, but I missed all the caring adults I had met while in Hillcrest and in my group home. I missed having that many people around who could give me attention or comfort me when I needed it. When I went back to regular school, I got teased for my hair and clothes. Now that I look back, I looked really ragged. No one had ever taught me how to do a better job of dressing myself. But all I thought about was how no one really teased me at Hillcrest or the group home. They accepted me there.

At Grandma's My Anger Grew

Being in my grandma's home and getting teased at school made my anger and feelings of isolation grow even more. Eventually, I was sent to a residential treatment facility (RTF), where I was supposed to work on anger management.

I really liked it there. It felt like another big group home. We had outings, earned allowance, and every single meal was cooked for us. Activities were set for us, and the best part was having friends and staff who cared around us. But I did feel like my education suffered a little-there were only two classrooms for all of us, even though we were different ages and grade levels. The teacher was not proficient in all subjects, and we didn't have classes like drama, art or foreign language.

I stayed at the RTF for approximately nine months. Cindy, my primary staff and role model, was always there for me. She introduced me to journal writing, which I still use today. Unlike some of my family, she noticed my potential and pushed me, but she also helped me work on my weaknesses.

I was so proud when I finished my anger program, but I didn't want to leave. We had a goodbye session, and all the residents said the nicest things to me. The residents said I was a good friend, they could depend on me, and they thought I did well over the time I was there. I felt good! I still remember those things. Some of the residents and I exchanged addresses.

My Secret for Success

At my grandma's house, I would call some of the residents, and we would write. I still felt very attached to the RTF. At my grandma's house I didn't get what I needed. Of course I got food and shelter, but there wasn't that warmth and caring. There weren't people pushing me to do better, to overcome all I'd been through and to succeed. Don't get me wrong, my grandma cared for me, but she didn't praise me. Also, my sister was around, so I still ran into that heartbreaking ridicule that made me feel so alone.

As the months passed by, I grew depressed, and the letters and phone calls slowed. I couldn't keep holding on to the group home. I found other things to do. They weren't necessarily good things, but it kept my mind off my loneliness. Eventually I got pregnant and was moved to a group home with other pregnant teens. Again, I loved it there.

Most people would say, "Wow. She had her freedom and didn't want it?" It isn't that I did not want my freedom. It's that I found support, staff members who cared, and other girls who understood me and who had been through just as much as I had. When I had a bad day and was being moody, the staff sometimes understood that there was an underlying issue to it.

That didn't happen at my mother's house or my grandmother's house. When I was in a bad mood at those places, the adult just thought I was just being defiant. That made me feel misunderstood, and even more alone. The group homes and residential facilities I've been in have really changed my life for the better. For me, a family just meant trying too hard to fit in and be accepted.

The system gave me the chance to experience life in a different way. I didn't have the ridicule, low-self esteem or shame that I felt at home. I met people who believed what I had been through and didn't hate me for talking about my problems.

There were some problems, of course. It wasn't all good. But overall I think that if I had not been removed from my mother's home and gotten the encouragement and support I needed at group facilities, I wouldn't be where I am today: raising my son, in college, and working a part-time job with the County of San Diego.

Some people ask for my secret to success. I tell them I used the system to my benefit.