My biological mother was 16 when she had me and my father was a drug addict. I was removed by the Department of Child and Family Services, placed into foster care at 4 and adopted at 9.
But my rough start in life was not as tough as elementary school in my hometown of Hartford, Connecticut, where I languished in special education classes.
Except I was not a special education child.
The trauma of entering foster care and being removed from my mother shut me down and I didn’t socialize with other children. Because I had difficulty speaking about what I was experiencing, I was mistakenly labeled as needing special education.
Originally published in Education Post. Read the rest of the blog here.