Dear 10-Year-Old Self: Letter from A Former Foster Youth

Note: This “letter” was written by a former AFS foster youth, describing what they would tell a past version of themselves now.

Dear 10-year-old self, know that you are loved, valued, and incredibly strong. Our journey is a testament to the power of resilience, a reminder that dawn always breaks no matter how dark the night is.

Dear 10-Year-Old Self,

I’m reaching out across the years to hold your hand and share the journey we’ve embarked on, from the darkness into light, from despair to hope. I know the world has been a terrifying maze of confusion and pain for you, a place where innocence was overshadowed by betrayal.

At 10, you found yourself in a reality no child should ever know. You were given the title of “girlfriend” by someone who should have protected you and showered you with gifts and attention that were nothing but veils for exploitation. Your instincts whispered the truth of the wrongs, yet the allure of feeling grown-up, of being special, obscured that voice.

The confusion you felt, the transformation of your body, the emergence of life within you at such a tender age—it was a burden no one so young should bear. The shock, the fear, and the pain of childbirth became your reality, stripping away the remnants of childhood innocence. Suddenly, you were a mother, yet still a child, thrust into a whirlwind of change that took everything familiar away.

The aftermath was many voices and decisions made for you, about you, without you. Your family, the system, the very fabric of your world unraveled, leaving you isolated in a foster system that became your new reality. The court’s verdict, the separation from those you knew, the loss of your child—all these moments are etched in your memory, a testament to your survival.

But dear, younger me, in the depths of despair, when life seemed unbearable, you held on. Your resilience, even when you couldn’t see it, was a flicker of light in the darkness. You spoke your truth, and though the path was fraught with judgment and pain, it led to healing and strength.

Now, at 20, I stand on the threshold of a future once unimaginable. The scars remain but are not the sum of who we are. We have found our voice, worth, and a sense of belonging that no one can take away. We’ve discovered that our past does not dictate our future and that we are worthy of love, respect, and happiness.

Our journey to UC Berkeley, the accolades we’ve achieved, and the self-love we’ve nurtured—are proof of our strength, our purpose, and our resilience. We dance with abandon, love without fear, and embrace our identity as queens in training, fixing our crowns and walking with heads held high.

Dear 10-year-old self, know that you are loved, valued, and incredibly strong. Our journey is a testament to the power of resilience, a reminder that dawn always breaks no matter how dark the night is.