Welcome Back,
For part 2 of 2, of "FIND YOUR VOICE"
FOSTER CARE: My JOURNEY
In Foster Care, I was moved to a safe, nice home with caring people. I had a nice room, decent food. I was immediately tested for placement in school. Too bright to be made to repeat 7th grade and at age 15, nearly 16. I was taken into St. Martin De Porres High School in Detroit, Michigan. Having never even seen 8th grade, I was placed in the 9th grade. The school officials felt that, though I tested high, I didn't have the experience of 8th grade, which would have made my transition into high school much easier. That putting me in the 10th (which was my correct grade at the time), would have doomed me to fail. Still, having them taking such a chance on me like that was a major coup! Because it not only tested my will, it tested the schools as they were a school of excellence! If this got out back then, that they were helping me like that and then this "experiment" failed, how would that effect their reputation? I felt the pressure all the way through. Believe THAT!
BUT IN THE BEGINNING, the pressure was just to get in! Mainly because of my track record. With several meetings with all the heads of the school, me and my Foster Guardians kept hoping. And Oh my God, Father in heaven, it was tense! I remember that! See, St.Martin De Porres was school of excellence. It was a Semi-private school, in an urban setting that still had an excellent reputation for preparing young students for college and to productive citizens. We all had to participate in volunteering, somewhere. Usually it was at Focus Hope because Father Cunningham was the Director there and he was a major part of St. Martin De Porres.
St. Martin De Porres, held parents accountable.
Even though tuition was required, that didn't get your parents or your guardians off the hook from having to attend Parent /Teacher conferences. And if they missed too many, the student was regrettably expelled. TRUST ME! MY GUARDIANS didn't miss ANY of the meetings! They worked too hard to get me in there in the first place! They tried to give me a good chance to make it. That school played a big part too in the growth of my voice. The people, the curriculum, it challenged me. Those four years were hard for me, but because of them, my voice grew louder and louder. My writings, self-esteem and confidence grew stronger and stronger. Not only was I Prom Queen, in 1987, I graduated on the honor roll and received the Principals Award. The highest award you could get from St. Martin De Porres (as was told to me by Principal Hughes, at the time). It was an honorable achievement because it was given to the most improved Graduating over their time there. And to my surprise, I got it! Geez, talk about a confidence booster and Mrs. Rosa Parks was there too as an invited guest! What a day to remember for a broken, nearly destroyed gift to the world. At least a gift to somebody, as I believe all children start out to be.
I was fortunate that in Foster Care, I was surrounded by some pretty amazing, safe caring people. I am aware that that is not always the case! They took care of me. Even battling me to take care of me! I was given counseling and time to heal. I found strength there and I also found my voice. In Foster care is where I learned to pray on my own. I learned that God hears and is actively caring for us. During that time, I learned I had voice, a beautiful voice that deserved to be heard. And understand, the beauty I am referring to doesn't necessarily have anything to do with a wonderful sound coming out!
The beauty I am referring to is the freedom of speaking up and out. Free yourself! And what you just might find is that, what you have isn't even just for you! That it can be used for a much larger purpose. Understand, if you use that God given form of expression, whatever it is that helps you find your voice, (minus self-destructive things, of course) it can be a HUGELY IMPORTANT and magnificent key to your healing. A key that could lead you into your future purpose. Somehow, someway, you will find yourself prospering because of it. I am not just talking money either. There are other ways. You may just find your gifting encourages others in a great way! Perhaps, encouraging them to find their voice. But first, finding your voice is about your freedom.
FINDING MY VOICE
My voice came through the form of writing. And writing for me, was an answer to a prayer. I remember praying to God, (as I had attended vacation Bible school, church after school etc. I had come to believe that there was a Loving God who cared). At 15, and still not trusting anyone at that point, I remember praying in my room. It started on a warm August day in 1984, and I could see the other girls of the house playing Volleyball in the yard, from my bedroom window. I wasn't comfortable there yet so the staff allowed me a few weeks to get my bearings. I needed something more than games, I needed an outlet where I could get out what had been pent up in me for so long. I needed the freedom of expressing myself without the threats of punishment, shame or death that hung over my head form the hands of my abusers.
I SO MUCH needed that precious gift of freedom, of safety, of Joy, laughter, open conversation, which had been taken from me for so long.
So, alone in my room, in my new Foster Care Home, I prayed! I prayed for an outlet. I had so much to say, it was bursting from the seams! I literally felt like I was going to combust from carrying so much inside. And the answer I kept getting was "write your feelings down." The more I prayed, the louder that answer got inside of me.
"Write your feelings down."
And to be honest with you, at 15 years of age and having heard how powerful God is, I thought my answer was going to come through some bigger way.
Like maybe he would've sent a bird to land on my window sill and sing to me or send lightening bolts right down the middle of the street or sent dark clouds overshadowing everything accompanied by claps of Thunder that would ring out over the neighborhood in answer to my prayer. These things didn't happen, but Believe me, I was watching for it everyday!
You laugh, but it's true! It's alright. I'm laughing right along with you. Seriously I am!
In any case, I just kept hearing, "Write your feelings down." I prayed for 3 whole weeks straight, every day and every day for 3 whole weeks, I got the same answer.
After the three weeks in frustration and watching, I gave in! I started writing my thoughts and feelings about my life up to then. At first, I was afraid to write too much, thinking if someone found my journal, they would not understand and I'd be criticised. The funny thing was, I discovered the more I wrote, the more
I wanted to write! And the more I wanted to write, I also discovered the more
I needed to write. It was then that I also discovered that...
God doesn't do anything small. "Cause along with my words, I noticed melodies started coming up and out me right along with them. WOW! That nearly blew my mind. I was encouraged to keep writing my feelings down and singing my tunes, if only to myself. My Foster family recognized that I had started to smile and celebrated when they first heard me laugh. It had been about 2 or 3 months after I got there, by then. Boom! I had truly discovered, my voice!
To this day, it's not much that will keep me from writing for too long. Not even sickness!
As I am recovering from a bout with terrible dehydration that caused such pain in my joints, muscles, my head, just all through my body! My legs felt like cement. I am battling nausea still. I had the chills and then the sweats off and on. In the beginning, it hurt so bad that even when I took a step, I could feel it pounding through my body. My head would throb, the pain would freeze me right in my step! This is day 7th day of recuperation. Still not 100 %. I can sit up longer, the pain is not as bad. I don't have the chills or sweats anymore. Still, I gotta write!
It's like a part of me is missing, if I don't!
I gotta tell you this, my son has been a great help taking care of me through these past few day, even with my writing. While I dictated, he even typed some of my article about Mr. Peabody's Apples. I spoke until I grew too tired to talk, which wasn't long. But like I said, when I'm not writing, I often feel like an important part of me is missing. Since that time when I was 15, I have always felt like writing and writing (speaking) the way I do is a gift to me, Blessed (gifted to me) by God. Writing is a HUGE part of who I am and was made to be. And it's good for me that my son understands the power of finding your voice as he is a great writer too and graphic artist! His writings are totally different than mine, but he respects my use of mine and uses his voice just as much.
Whether you are in pain like I was or not, I hope this column helps you to find your voice as I found mine, or at least use it! So, I've dedicated this column to the things important that are important to young people. Those above 9 years of age up through 22. My own 20 year old son has read the articles in this column, with his approval. Often times, he gives me thoughts to interjects, he will proof read, and even brainstorm with me to get it done. So, let it rip yall! Come on and give me your topic suggestions, your ideas of article that you want to see me write. Beyond that, I'm also going to do something new on here, just to encourage you to use all the vehicles available to you as well as Teen Speak.
I am offering you the ability to send me your own articles about what types of things concern young people and I will post it. AS LONG AS, it is not offensive to any particular ethnic, economic or religious group, for starters. So let's just start there. Send your articles to me by e-mail at meetta@hotmail.com and label them, articles for TEEN SPEAK. Also understand that all articles are open to my editing. As this is my post and I have to utilize discernment, I retain the right to edit what you would like to post on this site. So, OK then. Well, lets get writing and vocalizing.
STILL READING?
WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?
GOODBYE ! Waiting to hear from you, Love Meetta
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