Overcome.

Overcome. (Oh-ver-khum) verb (used with object), overcame, overcome, overcoming. To get the better of in a struggle or conflict; conquer; defeat. To prevail over (opposition, a debility, temptations, etc.); surmount. To overpower or overwhelm in body or mind, as does liquor, a drug, exertion, or emotion. Overcome. (Oh-ver-khum) verb (used without object), overcame, overcome, overcoming. To gain the victory; win; conquer (Dictionary). Let me repeat the most important definition of overcome: To get the better of in a struggle or conflict; conquer; defeat, to gain the victory; win; conquer. Those were the only words I needed to hear.

On any given day, there are nearly 428,000 children in foster care in the United States. In 2015, over 670,000 children spent time in U.S. foster care. On average, children remain in state care for nearly two years and six percent of children in foster care have languished there for five or more years. Despite the common perception that the majority of children in foster care are very young, the average age of kids in care is nearly 9. In 2015, more than half of children entering U.S. foster care were young people of color. While most children in foster care live in family settings, a substantial minority — 14 percent — live in institutions or group homes. In 2015, more than 62,000 children – whose mothers’ and fathers’ parental rights had been legally terminated – were waiting to be adopted. In 2015, more than 20,000 young people aged out of foster care without permanent families. Research has shown that those who leave care without being linked to forever families have a higher likelihood than youth in the general population to experience homelessness, unemployment and incarceration as adults. While states should work rapidly to find safe permanent homes for kids, on any given day children available for adoption have spent an average of nearly two years waiting to be adopted since their parental rights were terminated (Foster Care To Success).Why do these numbers hurt so much?

According to the most recent research, less than 10 percent of foster youth graduate from college. 50 % of foster youth will complete high school by 18. 84% of 17-18 year old foster youth will want to go to college. However, only 20% of foster youth who graduated from high school will attend college and 2-9% of former foster youth will attain a bachelor’s degree (Foster Care To Success). So how did I become a statistic? On May 21st, 2017, I will become a part of the 2-9 percent.

My mother’s parental rights were terminated three months after I was born. I was a ward of the state for 17 months. For 3 of these 17 months, I was a foster child. For the remaining 14 months, I awaited my adoption with a forever family. My adoption was finalized on April 17, 1997. Most people would think all of my problems would end there because I had a family. What was to come was nothing I could have prepared myself for.

Unless adoption is something that you are talked to about, you don’t know about it until someone points it out. I remember being in elementary school and I pointed out my white brother to a classmate. “That’s not your brother” was the response. “That can’t be your brother. He’s white and you’re not”. What did that even mean? What was white in this context? White was a crayon color no one ever used, white was the color of the walls in the hallway and the snow that fell in December. “No. That’s Jack. That’s my big brother”. My first encounter with adoption.

As I got older, it didn’t matter. No one cared, I didn’t care, it was never pointed out to me because I knew about it and so did my friends. It wasn’t until 6th grade when it was acknowledged again. “You dress like a white girl. You don’t have any gear” (If you don’t know what gear is, it’s a term referring to your clothes circa early 2000s. As a black youth who dressed “white” I didn’t have gear or the “appropriate clothes” for my "urban culture" I knew nothing about). This haunted me all school year. The same boy followed me around every day reminding me of how un-black I was. So at my elementary school, there was this stigma that if you were black, you were ghetto. You lived in the projects, you didn't care about school, you fought a lot and didn't care when they called your parents because they would come in and fight the teacher if need be. I didn't fit this stigma. I was calm, shy, pleasant and knew why I was at school and what I was there for and stuck to it. Everyone seemed to have a problem with that. How was I supposed to know this? My family was white, how were they supposed to know that was a standard I needed to live up to? There wasn’t. It was such a problem to everyone that I wasn’t "ghetto". I’m so sorry I couldn’t fit your expectation. My second encounter with adoption.

This constant berating led to me on the path to private school, someplace where almost everyone was white and I thought I would feel like I fit in. I mean almost everyone. To this day I have never had a non-white teacher/professor. In my graduating class of 124, 8 of us were black. This was where I felt I belonged, or at least thought I did. My junior year of high school I finally asked about my adoption. My third encounter. I felt as though I was old enough. However, the whole situation was uncomfortable. My parents were and weren't on board with my inquiry. From the beginning my dad didn't seem to mind. My mom however didn't like to talk about it and wouldn't until I was 18 and no longer needed her signature to do it. So I gave gave up on that. On June 2nd, 2013, I became a statistic. I was a part of the 20% of American foster children, both current and former, to graduate high school. This wasn’t because my family was white and “white kids always graduate”, it was because I wanted to. Sometimes I think people forget that I do make my own decisions based on what I want for myself. Now that I'm older, it still seems like it stings my mom a little and she always says for me to not get my hopes up because my mother may not want to meet me. I know she's just looking out for me but I'm willing to take the risk.

Freshman year of college, I had a period of worry about my health. I began to realize that I didn’t know my medical history, and this was my fourth and last encounter with adoption. I began to search for my birth mother through my state health department. Nothing. This was a result of my closed adoption. All information is a secret and kept a secret. I was able to get some non-identifying information and it made me hate my adoption for the first time. I learn that my mother was 22, one year older than I am now, only high school educated. My father, non-existent. He left the minute he found out she was pregnant. I’m a bastard, he’s what I now consider a sperm donor. You win some and you lose some. His loss.

Knowing this made me angry. Angry at him, angry at my family, angry at the world. My behavior changed. Was this because of my angry or was the predisposed? I knew I needed to do something to better myself. The summer before junior year, someone who I thought was my best friend asked me why I was “hanging out with so many black people all of a sudden”, as if they didn’t realize that I was black too. I had finally reached my breaking point. I was tired of people thinking it was there job to point out my adoption or think it was ok to tell me that I was less than. My parents would never know but I even had teachers tell me that my background would limit my success. Limit my what? Never, I wouldn’t allow it. Junior year of college, I was diagnosed with anxiety and depression. Up to 80 percent of children in foster care have significant mental health issues, compared to approximately 18-22 percent of the general population. Specifically, 15.3 % of foster alumni have Major Depressive Episodes as compared to the 10.6% of the general adult population, 11.4% have Panic Disorder as compared to the 3.6% and 9.4% have Generalized Anxiety Disorder as compared to the 5.1%. At this time in my life, I figured this was all just a result of being adopted. I thought that because I knew, I was make these changes subconsciously, as if being adopted had anything to do with it. It may have and it may not have.

Now that I am a senior, I began to take control of myself. I was re-diagnosed after months of still being unhappy and uncomfortable with myself and was labeled Bipolar I. I began to learn and understand that a lot of this has nothing to do with me as a person, I was predisposed. I’ve learned to take all of the pain I’ve felt and bottled and turn it into fuel for what I want to do with my future because I will be successful no matter what anyone else says. I’m going to graduate on May 21st, 2017 with a bachelor’s of science in Psychology and with a concentration in both general education grades 1-6 and special education grades 1-6. I will hopefully be attending Florida State University for my masters in early education in the fall. I am a part of the 2-6% of former foster youth to graduate with a bachelors and I couldn’t be prouder of myself. I couldn’t have done it without believing in myself and wanting more than just a foster kid label for myself. I have overcome.

Lada: I was so happy that Sarah decided to share this piece with us. This is such a powerful interview because for so many reasons. As an adopted child myself, it has really been eye opening and has made me realize that I too, have overcome. Thank you Sarah =)