Whenever I tell this story, people think it sounds like a movie script. Maybe I’ll write this into a book someday, but here’s a preview:
When I was 13 years old (and my sister was 15), our biological parents died in a car accident. Within a few weeks we ended up placed with a Mormon family through our state’s foster system.
Our bio parents were really well off, and they were able to leave us with a really healthy trust fund. The rules were that while we were underage, the fund could only be used for educational or health expenses. Then once we graduated high school, each of us would take over our half of the fund on our next birthday. This was all managed by a non-Mormon lawyer who was a friend of my bio parents.
The foster dad, however, had different ideas. During all the time we were living with them, he gaslit us into the idea that once we came of age, we would tithe to the Mormon church, then fund our own missions, and then donate the rest to them in “gratitude” for the work they’d done in raising us.
Things got worse a couple of years into the arrangment when my sister (17 at the time) had a meltdown because the fosters weren’t meeting her needs. She got removed to a group home where they could serve her needs better.
That left me as the only fundholder in the household. The dad doubled down on that expectation with me. I’m pretty much non-confrontational by nature – I never actually believed in his church, but I played along and went “Molly Mormon good girl” all the way through high school.
We got to graduation year and things got even more intense – the foster dad even had his financial expectations placed into my “Patriarchal Blessing” – that’s a unique Mormon prayer ritual that’s performed during coming of age moments. Still, I played along.
We got to graduation day that May, and I kept up the front. But a couple of weeks later I went in to the lawyer’s office just to confirm – was I required to hand the fund over to the fosters like I was being asked? He confirmed “no”, I was entitled to do with it what I wanted.
So my 19th birthday came in July. We all went in to the lawyer’s office for signing day – he had foresight enough to hire an off-duty police officer to come in for security when I told the fosters that I was keeping the fund for myself. Fosters were escorted out (the dad was fuming, and the mom was in tears), while I signed over everything into my own name. Then the officer escorted me back to the fosters’ place where I packed up all my stuff and moved on to a safe house I’d arranged.
I’ve been no-contact with the fosters since then. I used the fund to get myself through college, Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees. A couple of years ago I landed my dream job (with a promotion to management), and then a phenomenal SO. We’re getting married next month and I couldn’t be happier!
I left my very small hometown for college in a much larger town at 18. I went from living with a very close, supportive family to living with strangers. Went from having a financial safety net with my parents always willing to lend me a couple bucks, to budgeting every quarter to make sure I could do laundry. Everything in my life took a hard 180 and I crashed and burned spectacularly.
But I made it through. Wasn’t pretty, but I made it through.
Now, 20+ years later, I’ve been in similar situations where everything I knew and depended on was taken away, and each time I’ve made it through.
There’s a weird confidence that comes from failing and starting over.
Honestly, being super introverted at work. I hate to say it but these days networking is better than skills and degree. I thought keeping my head down and doing my best was going to help me succeed. It didn’t. Talking with the right people, being likable, being extroverted helped a lot more. It’s just exhausting being that fake
At 14, I didn’t think I’d live past 18/19. I was struggling with anxiety, o c d, and depression. By 18 I had attempted ending my life thrice. Nobody knew, I still don’t know how but nobody knew, I was incredibly high functioning.
I asked for help, first my parents, then they helped me find a counsellor, then she referred me to a mental health institution. I received therapy thrice a week and was put on antidepressants, then tapered down to twice a week and eventually once a week.
I am going to celebrate my 24th birthday. I got into my dream college, graduated, made some wonderful friends, got a job in the best audit firm, got a promotion, took a solo trip, lived alone for a year, got an amazing boyfriend, and now I am studying for a professional license with ny own savings.
It’s nothing to sing about, but I didn’t think I’d be alive.
I overcame alcohol and benzo addiction, with a huge side of bipolar disorder. There were years I don’t even fully remember because I was either too high, too drunk, or too deep in a manic or depressive episode to function. I made reckless decisions, lost time, scared the people who loved me, and came close to dying more than once. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m still alive. But I got help. I got sober. I got medicated. And now I manage my illness one day at a time. It’s not linear, but I’m still here and that’s something.
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Whenever I tell this story, people think it sounds like a movie script. Maybe I’ll write this into a book someday, but here’s a preview:
When I was 13 years old (and my sister was 15), our biological parents died in a car accident. Within a few weeks we ended up placed with a Mormon family through our state’s foster system.
Our bio parents were really well off, and they were able to leave us with a really healthy trust fund. The rules were that while we were underage, the fund could only be used for educational or health expenses. Then once we graduated high school, each of us would take over our half of the fund on our next birthday. This was all managed by a non-Mormon lawyer who was a friend of my bio parents.
The foster dad, however, had different ideas. During all the time we were living with them, he gaslit us into the idea that once we came of age, we would tithe to the Mormon church, then fund our own missions, and then donate the rest to them in “gratitude” for the work they’d done in raising us.
Things got worse a couple of years into the arrangment when my sister (17 at the time) had a meltdown because the fosters weren’t meeting her needs. She got removed to a group home where they could serve her needs better.
That left me as the only fundholder in the household. The dad doubled down on that expectation with me. I’m pretty much non-confrontational by nature – I never actually believed in his church, but I played along and went “Molly Mormon good girl” all the way through high school.
We got to graduation year and things got even more intense – the foster dad even had his financial expectations placed into my “Patriarchal Blessing” – that’s a unique Mormon prayer ritual that’s performed during coming of age moments. Still, I played along.
We got to graduation day that May, and I kept up the front. But a couple of weeks later I went in to the lawyer’s office just to confirm – was I required to hand the fund over to the fosters like I was being asked? He confirmed “no”, I was entitled to do with it what I wanted.
So my 19th birthday came in July. We all went in to the lawyer’s office for signing day – he had foresight enough to hire an off-duty police officer to come in for security when I told the fosters that I was keeping the fund for myself. Fosters were escorted out (the dad was fuming, and the mom was in tears), while I signed over everything into my own name. Then the officer escorted me back to the fosters’ place where I packed up all my stuff and moved on to a safe house I’d arranged.
I’ve been no-contact with the fosters since then. I used the fund to get myself through college, Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees. A couple of years ago I landed my dream job (with a promotion to management), and then a phenomenal SO. We’re getting married next month and I couldn’t be happier!
I’m really good at thinking past being angry.
Removing myself from toxic situations and putting my happiness first
I left my very small hometown for college in a much larger town at 18. I went from living with a very close, supportive family to living with strangers. Went from having a financial safety net with my parents always willing to lend me a couple bucks, to budgeting every quarter to make sure I could do laundry. Everything in my life took a hard 180 and I crashed and burned spectacularly.
But I made it through. Wasn’t pretty, but I made it through.
Now, 20+ years later, I’ve been in similar situations where everything I knew and depended on was taken away, and each time I’ve made it through.
There’s a weird confidence that comes from failing and starting over.
Honestly, being super introverted at work. I hate to say it but these days networking is better than skills and degree. I thought keeping my head down and doing my best was going to help me succeed. It didn’t. Talking with the right people, being likable, being extroverted helped a lot more. It’s just exhausting being that fake
At 14, I didn’t think I’d live past 18/19. I was struggling with anxiety, o c d, and depression. By 18 I had attempted ending my life thrice. Nobody knew, I still don’t know how but nobody knew, I was incredibly high functioning.
I asked for help, first my parents, then they helped me find a counsellor, then she referred me to a mental health institution. I received therapy thrice a week and was put on antidepressants, then tapered down to twice a week and eventually once a week.
I am going to celebrate my 24th birthday. I got into my dream college, graduated, made some wonderful friends, got a job in the best audit firm, got a promotion, took a solo trip, lived alone for a year, got an amazing boyfriend, and now I am studying for a professional license with ny own savings.
It’s nothing to sing about, but I didn’t think I’d be alive.
I overcame alcohol and benzo addiction, with a huge side of bipolar disorder. There were years I don’t even fully remember because I was either too high, too drunk, or too deep in a manic or depressive episode to function. I made reckless decisions, lost time, scared the people who loved me, and came close to dying more than once. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m still alive. But I got help. I got sober. I got medicated. And now I manage my illness one day at a time. It’s not linear, but I’m still here and that’s something.
Single motherhood. To all the single moms out there… I see you 👀🫶🏻