Not everyone from Chicago is or was a gangbanger, drug dealer, or user. Despite what is used as the face of inner-city Chicago, the majority of us are the casualties of this lifestyle that was chosen by others. People that were wounded and hurt in their own childhoods and decided to pass down the dysfunction and pain. After decades of sifting through the chaos I inherited as a casualty, I decided to give some things back. Some things that belong to others so that I can work on only what belongs to me.

This is my story. These are my experiences and reflections about growing up in the foster care system during the 1980s and 90s after losing a brother. With a father in prison and a negligent mother, I wanted to know how (and why) my siblings and I got to where we were. Separated, and in the system for over a decade. I wanted to know what was going on in my family that so many were involved in gangs, drugs, and violence. Becoming a victim to murder was too common, and prison was a norm even for minors.

With my DCFS (Illinois’ Department of Children and Family Services) file, along with included reports from family members, counselors, and psychiatrist from that time, I was able to gain more insight to what I had really experienced. I was a daughter of the system. I was taken from my grandparents at six years old, with no one in my family thinking of me until I was ten. Even after coming into the family, I was reminded that I didn't belong. I was a ward of the state. I was Chicago’s daughter.