Member Officer
Heidi Hansen Cofounder, Age 25
When I was four, my mom had back surgery, sending my three-year old sister and me to stay with my aunt and uncle in Southern California. That was the last carefree summer of my childhood. I remember playing house under the porch, going to the lake and often missing my mom.
The anesthetics my mom received during her surgery unlocked a floodgate of traumatic memories from her childhood and necessitated her start of therapy. My dad and mom were still married but the previously deteriorating marriage only spiraled uncontrollably downward from that point on. For the next couple of years, abuse was the ruler of our home and regular beatings harnessed my actions. Finally, my parents separated, my dad moved out, and my three siblings and I started staying at other people's homes to help alleviate some of the overwhelming chaos in my mom's life. Some years later, the doctors finally had a term for the illness she had been battling; it was then called Multiple Personality Disorder.
My mom struggled with her mental illness and occasionally became a patient of the psychiatric ward at the hospital. I would go up to the hospital to visit and we would sit in her room, play games, sing silly songs, and color in coloring books. I thought nothing of the stitches on her forearms and the white woven cloths that bound them, in some ways they were comforting and familiar. But over the years their comfort diminished and visit-by-visit I realized that I was different from other kids. Visiting hours would end and my mom would walk me to the end of the hall. She would hug me, tell me she loved me, and wave as I walked through the locked doors. I hated knowing that I was free to leave and that she was trapped inside. The door would slam and lock behind me and tears would stream down my face.
My mom thought that she could master her mental illness and ultimately become the mother that she had always wanted to be. Shortly after my ninth birthday my siblings and I were all living at home. Things were going well but the unrest of the impending tumble haunted our house. We played quietly and carefully watched what we said. None of us wanted to move again and we thought if we were good enough we wouldn't need to. But, one February afternoon we got off the school bus to find my mom with tear stained cheeks sitting on the couch. That sunny afternoon would plague my nightmares for years to come.
My parents were now divorced and my dad had officially lost his custody rights, leaving my mom to tell us that we couldn't live at home anymore and it would be better for us to live with other families. I used to think that my mom didn't love me enough to try; I used to think that she was taking the easy way out. But maturity and experience transformed that thought. I realize how defeated and dejected my mom must have felt when forced to accept that she could not give us what we needed. My mom gave up her four children so that we could have a better future and greater possibilities in life. When the church supported foster care dwindled and left my mom with few options she actively sought out Casey Family Programs and she and my dad formally signed away their parental rights. Casey Family Programs provided more support than the state was able.
At that point the roller coaster of life continued. Foster care didn't magically fix my life; the emotional and physical abuse that I suffered didn't cease upon entering the foster care system. Every time I moved my earthly possessions lessened, and sometimes the only possession I had to take with me from place to place was my story. The more often I told the story the less real it became. Twenty-one families have heard my story over the last eleven years and not all truly listened to it. Some would shrug and share the "wisdom" that all people had trials. Some would not even reply; instead they openly admitted that I helped their family income.
It took me eleven years to find the one family that would see me through the good and the bad; that would celebrate the success, and cry with me during the defeats. They reached out to me when I felt alone. They heard my heart crying and recognized that I didn't know how to express it.
From my eleven years in foster care I have learned lessons that take some a lifetime to understand. Foster care did not stomp on my spirit or smash my drive in life. I have learned that forgiveness and second chances are a crucial part of this life. Despite all the hardships, I have reestablished a healthy relationship with my dad. Similarly, my mom and siblings still play an active and positive role in my life.
I graduated from Westminster College with a BS in mathematics in 2006. In December 2007 I received a Masters in Science and Technology from the University of Utah. I now own my own Mary Kay business and work at an engineering firm as an environmental specialist. I married in September of 2007 to the loving man of my dreams. His family has become my family and we will one day start a family of our own. My siblings and I are the ones to end the cycle of abuse. I have learned how to succeed in spite of adversity. I have learned that helping others ultimately helps you. I have learned that life has disappointment but is worth living. I have found peace and comfort from relying on others. I have the power to choose the legacy I will leave.
