In just a few short months, I’ve learned a lot about my rights
in foster care and made my life better.
We write a lot about youth agency, but as adults, we often reduce it to surface-level choices and consider agency for some, but not all, young people. This week’s column, originally published in Represent from Youth Communication, is a first-person story from a young person who learned to navigate the foster care system by discovering their rights, building a team of advocates, and taking charge of their own placement and future — showing what real agency looks like when a teen decides their life is worth fighting for.
Names have been changed.
Growing up, my father was never in the picture. My mother always told me and my twin sister, Amora, that she was our father as well as our mother. When Amora and I were little, my mom was an AMAZING mother. She had our backs and she worked long hours at a doggy daycare to provide for us. My mom gave us stability and taught us life skills.
During Covid, my father came back into my mother’s life, meaning unfortunately he came into mine, too. When he moved in, my mom didn’t stop being a great mother. But my dad immediately became controlling and aggressive toward me, my mother, and my sister. My mom stayed with him regardless. I felt like she was choosing him over her own children and herself.
Because of my dad, my twin sister and I were dumped into the system when we were 12. It felt like my mom didn’t care for us anymore.
We tried to live with our grandmother, but my mom didn’t get along with her mother and didn’t want us living with her. My mother called child protective services (ACS) and told them about my grandmother’s dementia. Her dementia wasn’t that bad: she forgot appointments or misplaced her phone and keys. My sister and I would find her things for her and give her peace of mind. It was actually one of the safest environments we have been in.
[Related: Stolen futures — Why agencies must stop misusing foster kids’ benefits]
But because of my mom’s interference, my sister and I were both placed with strangers. I went back and forth among foster homes, facilities like the Children’s Center, and, when she’d regain custody, back to my mom’s for stays lasting from several months to a year.
On Halloween last year, I was back living at home. My mom and I had a fight, and she called EMS. She left me in the mental hospital under a false narrative, and ACS decided I needed to be placed in a higher level of care called “therapeutic foster care” (more on that below). This affected the homes I was placed in afterwards significantly, but I didn’t find that out until later.
Unwanted and Unwelcome
From the hospital I was moved to Baychester, my first residential treatment facility, with Amora. It was a suburban neighborhood; woods and other homes surrounded us. It was very different from the city, and I had no idea how to travel around, even to school.
My very first week in this house, I looked at one of the girls, Paris, “the wrong way.” She believed I had something against her. She seemed to have gained authority in the house from yelling at and hurting people. Everyone listened to her.
She screamed, “Get the new girls out of here; send them to the center.” When she didn’t get any of her demands met she threw freezing cold water at me and Amora, unprovoked.
“I hadn’t even settled in yet and already everything was being torn apart for no reason.”
That same day she trashed my room while I was out. My clothes were scattered around my room, empty suitcases on top of each other, mattresses thrown off the bed frames, posters ripped off the wall. I hadn’t even settled in yet and already everything was being torn apart for no reason.
Every day was something new. Paris and another girl, Layla, were just angry at the world. They’d come in screaming, “Who touched my stuff?”; “Why are you looking at me?”; “Who took the last cookie?”
I tried reporting their behavior to staff and the house manager, but they didn’t stop them. Often staff told the person you were reporting what you said, and that made their behavior worse.
Days where the sun was bright and the weather was warm were better. You could go outside and have a great day or stay home and have a great day because the others were gone. On cold, rainy, or snowy days I had to deal with a lot.
I was made to feel unwanted and unwelcomed in this new place I would have to call home. At this point, I was ready to go back to my mom’s or anywhere else that wasn’t a group home.
After we’d been there for six months, my mom regained custody of Amora and me. My sister went back to my mom’s, but I decided to stay in the system instead of bouncing back and forth. I was 15, and I thought hard about my future. I realized that if I kept moving back and forth, I wouldn’t be able to accomplish my goals of college and then law school.
But I also hated where I was, in the group home. Paris, Layla, and others at that house were loud, obnoxious, and mean. I missed my sister, and I didn’t have anyone to share my experiences with anymore. I felt alone as I tried to handle so much.
Learning My Rights
I asked a supervisor at my first placement, Baychester, to be moved, but nothing happened. When I asked her why, she told me I was classified as a therapeutic foster child, which meant kids with specific mental health or behavioral issues. My first response was “me?” I wondered if they were mixing me up with my sister, who often acts out. I’m the “good kid,” a good student who never gets in trouble.
Not long after my sister left, I got a random call in the middle of gym class, followed by a text message that read “My name is Caroline Rivas. I was assigned as your attorney. Get in contact with me as soon as you can.”
“I was confused because in all my time in the system, no attorney had contacted me. I knew I had an attorney, but not how to contact her.”
I was confused because in all my time in the system, no attorney had contacted me. I knew I had an attorney, but not how to contact her. My ACS worker and my case planner said they didn’t have her information.
I contacted Caroline immediately. I had so much to say. I told her that I felt stuck in a terrible house and nobody was helping me find a new placement.
She was very understanding and apologetic about what was happening and wanted to do a face-to-face interview immediately to get notes for court. The next week, we went to court together so I personally could talk to the judge.
Having this lawyer on my side helped me learn about my rights as a youth in care. I learned that every child should be in the courtroom with their lawyer. Speaking to the judge yourself is more effective than anyone else talking for you.
When I told the judge that I wanted to go to a foster home, NOT my mom’s or another group home, she gave me access to my foster care case files. I learned that foster children have access to their documents when they request them. The judge also told my case planner to find me a new placement immediately.
Right there in the courtroom, someone handed me my files. Leafing through the papers with my lawyer, I found that my case planner had made more than 100 attempts to find me a new foster home/placement. I had no idea she was trying that hard to place me or that being classified as a therapeutic foster child made me so hard to place.
[Related: What back-to-school season reveals about youth in foster care — and the attendance crisis]
I also complained to my lawyer about the money I’d been spending on basics. In that same visit, my first time in court, the judge told me that I was supposed to be provided with clothing, food, hygiene products, and bedding. I had paid for those things myself! My lawyer helped me figure this out, and we asked ACS to reimburse me for all the purchases I had made while living in the first group home. (I got some of it.)
Taking Charge of My Life
It took months, but I was finally transferred a few months ago. It’s better than the first place, a beautiful home, but still a group home. Meaning filled with many children as well as a workplace for the childcare workers. As in the previous group home, personalities clash, and sometimes there are fights.
My lawyer Caroline, my new social worker from my agency, and I are together figuring out how to get me transferred into a foster home where I could be independent and feel comfortable and safe. I’d like to live with a family who would actually care for and support me.
First, I had to change my classification by undergoing psychiatric evaluations with three different psychiatrists, who confirmed I have no mental health issues.
[Related: Cash, community, possibility]
Then I had to talk to social workers to get them to dismiss false reports from my files, including an impossible story that I chased someone around with a knife in the Children’s Center (which has a metal detector). Furthermore, some of my files had been mixed up with my sister’s!
Straightening out my files took about a month, and I have been reclassified for regular foster homes. But the wait was worth it. I learned about my rights as a foster youth which many children don’t know about. I learned that every youth in foster care should get a stipend. You should be provided with a team of workers, including a lawyer, a case planner, a life coach, and a caseworker/social worker. Now I make sure I have contact information for every worker I’ve had, so I don’t have to start over and jump through hoops with every new worker I encounter.
The team assigned to my case isn’t perfect. My therapist never really helped much, but three others in particular have. My life coach from my agency helps with education and financial literacy. My social worker is persistent. She basically makes sure that nobody pushes me to the side anymore.
The star of my team, however, is my lawyer Caroline. She is the kindest soul and the most understanding and helpful. She never leaves me in the dark about anything pertaining to me and my family. She sends me the important documents from ACS, my agency, and Family Court that most kids don’t even know about.
Even with all this help, I need to keep pressuring my team for solutions. For example, my older sister lived with a foster mom she really liked for a few years. I knew this woman and liked her, and she wanted to be my foster mom. But she was in a different agency, so when I asked a few months ago if she would be able to foster me, the ACS worker said, “No, she’s not in your agency.” We are now waiting to hear back from her agency to get transferred.
I miss my mom, but living apart from her is the best thing for me now. I’ve figured out how to find the adults who can advocate for me and teach me what I need to know. I’ve improved my situation a lot in just a few months, and though I’m only 16, I’m building the future I want.
***
This story originally appeared in Represent, published by Youth Communication.
The author, born and raised in the Bronx, is a junior at Landmark High School in New York. She enjoys writing in her free time and is passionate about pursuing a career as an international lawyer.
