Escucha mi voz: La historia de Mónica
Escucha mi voz is a series of first-person testimonies from people with lived experience in the foster care system, created from in-depth interviews. This is Monica’s story, as told to Abe Louise Young and Emma Ledford.
Monica*, age 27, tells her story of surviving both child abuse and the foster care system. She shares how she found healing, purpose and family on her own terms. Monica now works for a local CASA program.
Be aware that this story discusses child abuse, sex trafficking and substance abuse. If you or someone you know needs help, please reach out to a free, confidential hotline: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 800-273-8255; RAINN (The Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network): 1-800-656-4673; or the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-4357.
How My Whole Life Started
Back in the day, you didn’t need to have a man sign the birth certificate. A woman just said, “That’s the daddy,” and so that’s how my whole life started. I went home and my grandpa said, “Oh it’s a brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin baby. We are white with blue eyes, so what’s the odds of that?” So they got a paternity test and determined that I wasn’t my dad’s child.
My mom was heavily on drugs, and at this time of my life she was a functioning addict. As kids, you don’t see the truth of what your parents are, because they are your everything—the person that feeds you, that protects you, that clothes you. But they got divorced, so I went with my mom and my brother went with my dad.
I remember when I was young, she would just leave me somewhere, be gone for days. One time my grandpa says he remembers when I was an infant, she had me in a car seat. He went by the house and there were ants all over my body. And so he took me. It was always a constant battle with her. She wouldn’t let me go with anyone but she didn’t take care of me either. She’s more of a benefits type of person. She keeps the kids for benefits. How else do you explain that? I could never imagine my kid sitting in a car seat all day just on her back, propping up her bottle and ants being all over her.
My dad remarried and he went on to live with his wife. He checked in, but he wasn’t there for me like a father should’ve been. Mimi and Papa are like my saving grace. My grandparents took me under their wing, more so my grandfather. He didn’t want to be a dad, he wanted to be a grandpa. I was at his house every other weekend whether I lived in Childress, Oklahoma, Louisiana — my grandpa made it happen.
My mom and I finally got down to Louisiana because she kept hiding. A lot of this is kind of shadowed because of trauma. In between all of this, my mom was remarried to a man that was in the military, but while he was at work, she was a prostitute.
One day I come home from school and there’s police everywhere. I already knew what that meant—I’m about to go somewhere…Again. So my mom’s just acting like a freaking idiot. I think she was going to kill herself and her husband was on leave somewhere and he called in saying , “Hey, she’s got a daughter.” And that’s when everything came out. Her rights were never terminated or anything, but my dad came and picked me up. Well, once the case dismissed, what do you think he did? Gave me back to her. So then, I’m back in her care. And now we’re in Oklahoma.
I got taken away again because my mom wanted me to massage her legs, and then go up a little bit more, and I’m like, “I’m not touching you right there. That’s nasty. Everybody else is in there.” I shouldn’t know these things as a kid. What do you think she does? Well, she beats the hell out of me. My aunt calls it in, and then they come investigate. Somehow, someway it was dismissed. I went back to her, she beat the hell out of me again. So do you think I’m going to talk anymore after that? Nope. I was told by these people with these badges that I could trust them. But here I was, back in her possession, getting dragged by my ponytail, starving and being locked in my room.
Without My Permission
I’ve been raped since I was five. I remember the first time. It was one of her boyfriends. I told her about it, and she’s like, “You’re lying, you know, you’re just being a hoe.” When we were in Louisiana, my mom’s clients would come in, she’s doped out. So on their way out, what do you think they did? Got the cherry on top. My husband has said, “Monica, she was selling you.” Oh my god. Yes. That’s exactly what she was doing. How do you go to sleep knowing that a man is shoving his penis in your little girl’s mouth when he leaves your room? How?
I was taken away again, but my dad kept me this time. But then my mom grabbed me and my brother and we were on the run. She ended up giving my brother back but she kept me out of school for about three months. When I was 10 or 11, she would go to work and leave me at this lady’s house and her nephew came in there. And mind you, I’m thinking that I’m supposed to be having sex with men at this point; thinking I will never be worth anything other than laying on my back—that came from my mom at a young age. I ended up saying that to a friend, and her mom called it in to CPS. So I went back with my dad. But by this time, I was broken, I mean, shattered. I had been robbed of my innocence without my permission because of my mom failing to protect me.
But I had this counselor named Julie. She was the softest, gentlest person, and I needed her. I would go in her office raging. She never said, “She’s hopeless. Send her away.” She’s like, “See you next week.” So that’s when my healing really began. I was 11 or 12.
[It wasn’t easy, living with my Dad.] I mean, I’ve seen trap houses, I’ve seen tricks, I’ve been tricked on, I’ve seen cocaine, I know how to cut it up, weight it out, I know how to press pills. And then you put me in this beautiful home with four bedrooms, lights that work and actually have a glisten to them. There’s no roaches, there’s actually grass in the lawn and you want me to be normal? Kids would look down on me. How do you start a conversation with people who you can’t relate to, “Were usted raped last week?” That definitely wouldn’t have helped me maintain friendships. I was in fights almost every day. I was put in a town to go to school where they were predominantly all white and not Mexican and, you know, I got called a beaner and a wetback. And so I don’t talk, I just fight. I ran away, and I did my own thing.
They found me and put me in a shelter in Amarillo…I flipped my bag out the window and then I walked out the front door. I was on the run for three to four months. Then I was in Childress living with a boy and he was no good. At this time I was 14. I played wife to that man, that boy. The man’s house that we were staying at always had people in and out. But I was always the one that was cleaning up everything, I cooked for everybody and I just waited for my “man” to get there so I could just lay on my back, because it’s all I was good for. No one ever lifted me up. And if they did, they either wanted me to open my mouth or my legs. So what do you do with that?
Then my uncle found out about me using drugs, so he roughed me up a little bit and then I skipped town again. So now I’m in Wichita Falls, and I’m staying with some friends, going to Walmart during the daytime and I take little rinse offs in the bathrooms and I buy or steal new clothes. Smoke weed, pop pills, party, just to numb the pain. Well, my friend’s brother had a girlfriend and that was the first assault charge that I ever got caught with. And she pressed charges on me. Now I’m seriously scared because I’m on the run and I knew I was about to go to jail. So I went to my grandparents’ house. When I woke up the next day, the sheriff and the CPS worker were there. I was taken to Red River, a psychiatric hospital. I was there for 24 hours and an officer came and cuffed me, took me into juvenile for about two weeks, and then back to Red River.
That Facility Was My Home
When I returned to Red River, I was required to participate in group, express my feelings, the whole nine. However, at this point in my life, what the hell was the point? Talking in the past never helped, and I trusted no one to this point. Everyone that entered my life before always said the same thing, “It’s okay, just tell us the truth and we will keep you safe.” WRONG! The exact opposite occurred actually, and now I was even more screwed up, because at this point of my life I didn’t even care to live. But then, I found out that I had miscarried a child and that hit me deep. How was I even capable of becoming pregnant? If that’s truly what happened then maybe I could try getting help one more time. At this point I was in CPS care and was told I would be going to a girls’ home. But instead, we drive up to a barbed-wired facility where I wasn’t even allowed to wear shoelaces. Game on! I was about to get in fights and get all of my anger out.
I was a part of one girls’ home, and took advantage of every opportunity that I could. I ran away, smoked weed, engaged in sexual activities. I mean, I tried to “participate in group,” but I was numb. There was nothing else that could hurt me, so why not enjoy my life? It wasn’t long before I was removed and put into another facility, San Marcos Treatment Center. This unit was intense. Lockdowns on the unit almost every day. Fights every hour, and not much time to get schoolwork done. I met my match at this place. At San Marcos Treatment Center, I had the second-best-in-the-whole-wide-world therapist, after Julie. Her name was Barbara. We worked through some of it, the pain, that is. We had supervised visits with my mom and supervised visits with my dad. It was always, always bad after every visit with them.
But I never acted out on the unit because I knew if I stayed out of trouble I could possibly go to a foster home. I didn’t want to get any more assault charges. I needed to make something of my life–because who the hell else was going to do it for me?
I had to face some demons that I didn’t even know were there.
Then I was moved to another facility, New Life Children’s Treatment Center. I learned who I was, just a little bit, while I was there. And the greatest part was that Miss Barbara showed up not too long after too, she switched places of employment. Talk about God is real! With Miss Barbara, I could go in her office and just say, “I think my mom is this, this, this, and my dad is this, this, this.” She’d say, “I think you’re right, Monica. I think that you have a right to feel that way. And so in your future, how are you going to handle this?” We did role-plays, because I needed that. It was brutal. And I would think to myself…I’m too tired to be that way anymore. It just takes a lot of energy to be angry all the time. All I want is peace.
One day, I just decided not to be as angry anymore, and I just started crying. And since then I’ve been crying. Crying is not okay to do all the time, but it is okay to do because it’s needed for healing, to cleanse your soul.
I’m ADHD, but I wasn’t diagnosed until I was halfway through my college career. But I mean, they put ODD [Oppositional Defiant Disorder] on me, they put PTSD [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder] with lack of impulse control on me. I mean, they just slap you with stuff, names of problems, when you’re in foster care. But we figured out why I was so “woo-hoo.” Triggers. So Miss Barbara goes, “Yes, you need to defend yourself. But you need to evaluate, is this a rape situation? Or is this a, ‘Let me walk away, because I’m better than this,’ type of situation?” She was the only person in the world that could talk to me like that. I had respect for her, because when I pushed her away, she pulled me in closer. She taught me the importance of having and maintaining healthy boundaries.
Around this time too I had a CASA worker who was CASA staff, a supervisor, and she wasn’t bad. She was another one that I pushed away, and she pulled me in harder. I mean, she didn’t care. “Oh, you’re mad. Okay. Well, let’s go anyway, I don’t care about you being mad. Hey everybody, Monica’s mad!” And I’m like “Dang, she’s for real.”
I was in that facility for about a year. Once I really started talking more and I became a model peer, then they didn’t have any reason to keep me. But that was my home. I couldn’t go to my grandparents. I wanted to just stay there. That’s where I felt at home. And now that I finally have a place to call my own, here I was packing my bags again.
“You’re Not Gonna Make It”
I successfully completed my “treatment.” I was now a functioning teenager of the world. The state made changes to my case. I dropped down to a different level of care, from Intense to Specialized, then from Specialized to Moderate, so I had to discharge. So my aunt came and picked me up; she got PMC [Permanent Managing Conservatorship] of me around October—[she had custody of me without adopting me.] While I lived with her, I fed myself, I walked myself to school every day, I walked home. I had patches on my clothes. And she was getting all this money. She never bought me one pair of shoes, no clothes. I just got everything second-hand from a cousin while my cousin got brand new stuff. I know she got that check about January, February, because she bolted after that, on a “business trip.” She left me with my uncle who worked at the factory from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m.
So I called the caseworker and said, “I’m not staying here. I’m 17 and I know in Texas law I have a right to choose where I want to live.” I said, “You haven’t even been out here to see me once since I’ve been here.” And the caseworker said, “If you run away, you’re going to go to jail,” because I was on probation for truancy. So I had to deal with that. That was fine. Where was I going to go anyway? I was just trying to graduate.
I did a trial of independence, and I self-placed with my grandparents. They told me to come on in, they were open-arms. They said, “You don’t need to be over there crying! You don’t have to go back. You’re allowed to stay here if you want.” So I did.
I did a credit recovery class and I got caught up in school, and I graduated with my class on time! I’m the first person on my mom’s side who graduated from high school in over 20 years. For me it was a really personal success: I’m already a foster kid, I’m already Mexican, I already come from an addict of a mom, I don’t know my biological father. I mean, I had statistics on me telling me, you’re not gonna make it.
Someone can take your innocence. Someone can take your last name, someone can take your freedom, someone can dictate what medicine you take, someone can do all these things, but what someone can’t take from you is your education.
No one could ever tell me, you didn’t graduate from high school, because I did. I was always told, “Oh, you think you’re better than me?” Yes, I am better than you because I made it out with no excuses. There’s no question about that. So, I ended up walking across that stage. My grandparents were there but my mom wasn’t, and neither was my dad. My mom was in prison for murder at this time and my dad was in Hawaii.
I turned 18. I got the Education and Training Voucher (ETV). I accessed Preparation for Adult Living (PAL), I got my laptop, I got the tuition fee waiver. I did all the applications for myself. I started college at Vernon College in 2012, and transferred to Midwestern State University in 2014 to study social work.
Having Olivia
Then I met this guy. And, you know, we were going to go get married, and I ended up being pregnant. And I was like, no, no, no, like, there’s no way in heck I can take care of a baby! Like, I’m so screwed up in the head. He was all excited about it. And I’m like, “You’re a loser too.” You know, we both can’t be losers raising a kid, then our kid’s gonna be on welfare. But I stuck it out because that’s all I had.
When I gave birth to Olivia, she was three pounds, 12 ounces. 32 weeks. I almost died because I lost so much blood, my placenta erupted. So she saved my life because she was in the womb and I saved hers because I kept her in the womb. I had an emergency C-section then she was out and then life was rough. That man cheated on me. He gave me STD after STD. He’d steal all of our money, pawn all of our stuff in the house, leave me with nothing. I mean, the exact spitting image of my mother. Oh, no wonder I fell in love with him: he felt like home.
En 2014, llevé a Olivia a casa de mi prima. Estábamos todos pasando el rato en casa y llega su marido y me dice: "¿Quieres ir a ver los caballos?". Me lleva hasta allí. Olivia está en su sillita y él me palpa las piernas y eso. Le dije: "Puedes llevarla de vuelta a casa y luego hacer lo que quieras, pero no puedes hacer esto delante de mi hija".
Así que me llevó de vuelta [a casa], y cuando se lo conté a mi prima, ella se enfrentó a él. Una semana después, la mató de un disparo en el jardín delantero y luego entró en casa y se pegó un tiro delante de los niños.
Olivia se hizo mayor. Empecé a tener dos y tres trabajos mientras estudiaba a tiempo completo. Hubo violencia doméstica entre el padre de Olivia y yo. Aguanté con él durante seis años porque no quería un hogar roto. Y finalmente, CPS me quitó a Olivia en 2016, 2017. Pensé que estaba rota antes, pero déjame decirte, cuando perdí a mi hija...
Una vez que se la llevaron, dejé a su padre. Esa fue la gota que colmó el vaso, la orden de protección y todo eso. Más tarde fue detenido y permaneció en la cárcel durante tres años de la vida de Olivia.
Un trabajo de placa en mi escritorio
Pero recuperé a Olivia y mantuve el rumbo. Tenía que graduarme y luché. Había días que yo no comía pero Olivia sí. Dejé de vender drogas. Dejé de salir con gente. No salí de fiesta, no bebí. Iba a trabajar, iba al colegio, cogía a mi hija, volvía a casa, hacíamos los deberes, cenábamos, hacíamos la rutina de acostarse, nos íbamos a la cama. Por fin tengo algo que me quiere tanto como yo a ellos.
En 2019, iba a comprar unos tacos al camión de tacos y vi a Tyler, que ahora es mi marido. Nos conocimos en la secundaria. Yo era un nerd perdedor y él era como, el Chris Brown con el que todas las chicas querían estar. Cuando lo vi en el camión de tacos, me mandó un mensaje y me invitó a ir a Austin al South by Southwest. Desde entonces, estamos juntos.
El padre de Olivia salió de prisión. Sé que probablemente intentará acercarse, pero nunca ha estado ahí para ella. Ella dice cosas como: "Ojalá Tyler fuera mi padre y mi apellido fuera Smith". Y yo digo: "Bueno, ya sabes, las cosas pasan por una razón. Algún día tendrás una historia que contar y ayudar a otros, como mamá".
Cuando tenía 24 o 25 años, conseguí trabajo en un refugio para víctimas de violencia doméstica. Sólo tenían disponibilidad los viernes, y me dije: "Necesito estar allí". Sentí que Dios me llamaba a ese lugar. Unos tres meses después me pidieron que hiciera una formación en la oficina de administración, porque teníamos que hacer llamadas a la línea directa. Supongo que fui la mejor porque el director ejecutivo me dijo que tenían otra vacante. Y yo dije: "Oh, yo no voy a calificar para eso, como, soy capucha. No me querrá aquí con tacones altos y una americana". Pero me dio una oportunidad. Trabajé como coordinadora de programas y coordinadora de voluntarios. Pasé de no ganar nada a ganar $27.650 al año. Me compré mi primer "coche de mamá". Estaba en una casa. Teníamos un patio trasero. Y cada cheque de pago, iba y compraba una cosita para Olivia.
Luego me trasladé para ser gestora de casos. Para entonces ya estaba con mi marido, y al cabo de un tiempo volví a quedarme embarazada. Me dijo: "Yo correré con todos los gastos. No hace falta que te estreses, céntrate en terminar los estudios". Pero ser ama de casa no es para mí. Estaba muy agradecida por poder centrarme en los estudios y graduarme, pero había llegado el momento de volver al trabajo.
Finalmente me gradué de la universidad en diciembre de 2020. Entonces yo estaba buscando, y qué sabes, un trabajo en CASA estaba en Indeed.com. Mi Supervisor CASA [el que era mi defensor] era en realidad todavía trabajan allí en ese momento, así que ella puso en una buena palabra para mí. Y me entrevistaron y estaban siendo todo profesional. Les dije: "Les prometo que no les defraudaré". Me dieron el trabajo. Y yo estaba como, "¿Es esto una broma? ¿Tengo un trabajo de verdad, como un trabajo con mi nombre en mi escritorio, de verdad?"
El 4 de enero de 2022 fue mi marca de un año de estar en CASA. He aprendido mucho, pero siento que tengo mucho más que aprender.
Estos niños son seres humanos
Es frustrante porque sé cómo se sienten estos niños y no puedo hacer nada por muchas cosas, como los problemas con los servicios de protección de menores y los abogados. Por otro lado, sé lo que es tener tantos casos y no poder dedicar tanto tiempo a cada uno. Luego tienes que desconectar porque tienes que volver a casa con tu familia. Así que estoy entendiendo por qué las cosas pueden haber sido percibidas por mí de cierta manera cuando era niña, cuando la realidad era que no conocía toda la circunstancia.
Creo que si pudiera cambiar algo del sistema, empezaría por recordar a la gente que estos niños son seres humanos. No son expedientes. Tenemos que recordar que una vez fuimos niños despistados, asustados, nerviosos, ansiosos, abrumados. Y luego quieres echar a los SPI encima y luego quieres decir: "Oh, tu madre ha hecho estas cosas malas". "No lo lograrás si no haces esto". Creo que tenemos que recordar a estos niños que no es su culpa que fueron arrancados de su lugar de confort y todo lo que siempre conocieron. (Pero seguiremos sintiendo que es culpa nuestra).
Hay leyes que protegen a los niños, pero también hay leyes que protegen a los padres. Eso es frustrante porque tenemos casos, como el mío, en el que nunca pudieron demostrar que estaba siendo víctima de trata, pero yo sabía que estaba ocurriendo. Sigo pensando que mi madre y mi padre merecen ir a la cárcel. Los niños merecen justicia porque van a lidiar con este [trauma] toda la vida cuando sean adultos mayores.
A los niños, ya sabes, hay que acercarlos cuando empujan. Como, con mis niños CASA, me pongo en el suelo de la misma manera que mi terapeuta se pondría en el suelo conmigo y llorar conmigo. Muchos de estos niños sólo están sobreviviendo, porque eso es todo lo que saben hacer. Pero ellos puede hacer algo por sí mismos. Tenemos que ayudar a los niños en acogida a aprender quiénes son, a complacerse a sí mismos y a tener confianza en quiénes son. Porque cuando cumples 18, ¿sabes lo que hacen? Te dan una bolsa y te mandan a la calle.
Si pudiera decirle algo a la niña que fui, primero le daría un fuerte abrazo. Le diría que es muy fuerte. Le diría que no es culpa suya. Y que su dolor tiene un propósito. Realmente sentí que pasé por lo que pasé porque tenía que romper el ciclo por Olivia. Creo que esa niña sigue ahí a veces. Todavía camino por ahí, como, estoy bien, y soy fuerte y todo. Pero esa niña... Ni siquiera sabría cómo mirarla a los ojos. Le diría que la quiero, porque no me quise a mí misma durante mucho tiempo.
Qué bien sienta respirar
Miro a algunas amigas que he tenido y están en el espejo arreglándose y yo les digo: "¿Cómo has aprendido a hacer eso?". Es algo que se supone que te enseña tu madre. Todo lo que he hecho es sobrevivir. Ojalá supiera cómo decirle a mi hija: "Así es como te pones colorete o máscara de pestañas, o estos colores se complementan, y luego te pones este pañuelo". Yo no sé esas cosas. Mi hija me dice todo el tiempo: "Eres tan guapa, mamá". Si ella supiera, que detrás de mi piel, tengo tantas cicatrices. Tantas cicatrices, y no soy hermosa. Pero ella cree que lo soy, y eso es lo único que importa.
Todo el tiempo tengo niños en CASA que me dicen: "Señorita Mónica, sólo quiero suicidarme. Mis propios padres no me quieren". Y a veces lloro porque estoy como, "Sigue adelante. Tienes que seguir empujando. Puede que seas un crayón roto, pero aún puedes colorear con él. Y en vez de dibujar fuego con tu lápiz rojo, dibuja un corazón para simbolizar el amor; en vez de dibujar lágrimas con el azul, dibuja gotas de lluvia que caigan sobre las flores".
Creo firmemente que cuando Dios dijo, Nunca te daré más de lo que puedas soportar...no lo hizo. Me queda un largo camino por recorrer. Pero el hecho de tener un diploma de secundaria y un título universitario, y trabajar en una oficina donde ayudo a otros chicos, es un comienzo.
Quiero tener un centro juvenil; un refugio seguro para que los niños vengan y sean niños. Patios interiores con colchonetas y un gimnasio también. Tendría una sala de manualidades, una sala de música, una cocina... Intentaría organizar un fondo de becas, porque seamos sinceros, la mitad de los niños que van a estar allí no pueden permitírselo. Tendría un terapeuta especializado en abuso de sustancias, trauma familiar, abuso sexual. Porque va a haber niños que van a entrar allí que tienen eso en su casa, y van a necesitar estar en algún lugar donde puedan dejar eso.
Ya sabes, en estas pequeñas ciudades, tienes "Ruth's, las mejores hamburguesas de la ciudad". Quiero que mi centro sea el lugar para enviar a tu hijo.
He aprendido que la gente se rinde rápidamente cuando algo es difícil. Pero están muy, muy acostumbrados a quedarse cuando es fácil. He aprendido que es malo tener expectativas de la gente. Y he aprendido que toda esa rabia que tenía dentro de mí no era más que un muro que me protegía de que me volvieran a hacer daño. No ayudaba, no hacía ningún bien.
Ahora no miro por encima del hombro, no voy con prisas, en plan: "Dios mío, tengo que hacer esto o me muero". Creo que la vida es lo que tú haces de ella. Puedes tener tantas percepciones negativas, opiniones negativas y verdades duras. Sí, mi madre es una adicta. Sí, todas esas cosas. Sin embargo, si no hubiera habido tantos noes en mi vida, no habría creado tantos síes.
Y entonces llegó este hombre, ya sabes, mi marido - no es perfecto, pero es perfecto para mí, y viceversa. Ahora que tengo mi propia familia, mi propia casa, ¿sabes lo bien que se siente respirar?
*Todos los nombres son ficticios.
