Thread by @FeralHeather

Twitter: can you help me find this woman? She was my “Big Sister” (from Big Brothers Big Sisters) in early 2000s in Marin County, CA. She saved my life when I was an at-risk youth enduring extreme trauma and abuse.

I want to tell her thank you.

Unfortunately I have trauma-related memory loss and I cannot remember her name. But largely thanks to her I made it through. I’ve since volunteered myself as a “Big Sister” to an at-risk youth & also tutored at-risk youth at a rehab facility to help others the way she helped me.

Because of some good advice on this thread: I left my contact info with BBBS so she can choose to contact me (or not if she doesn’t want to!). I am hoping she sees this post so she can contact me directly. No need publicly name her. Thank you all for your kind words & help!

Update: I am in contact with Big Brothers Big Sisters. They are looking into it! They say it can take a few weeks. Someone also recognized this person (credible lead) & has reached out to person we think is Big Sister, so, fingers crossed, this is them! Will let you know.

Update: WE FOUND HER!!!!! Thank you for all your help! Wow, the internet can be a mean place but it can also be an amazing place. She reached out. We are now friends on social media. Will update y’all if she consents & is willing to share. Thank you again everyone 😭❤️

After 21 years apart, we met up yesterday under my dad’s memorial magnolia. It felt poetic, since in 2001, while he was dying from ALS, my dad kept encouraging me to spend time with my Big Sister, “nice Nancy” (🧵)

At the time, I kept flaking on “nice Nancy.” Running away from home. Running away from school. She kept showing up anyway. When my dad died, she went to his funeral to try and reconnect with me.

Problem: I didn’t go to my dad’s own funeral.

Why not? When he died I lost my entire world. Because of my mom’s complicated struggles (addiction, mental health, incarceration) she was not a fit parent. I was put in child protective services because of her domestic violence towards me & my dad.

My dad filled both parent roles. Worked overtime for city parks to provide for our family, spent his scant free time taking me hiking and camping, & did his best to protect me from my mom’s worst. He took a tough situation & gave me what moments of magic he could.

When he fell sick with ALS, I didn’t just lose someone to protect me from my mom. I lost a literal world. Traded redwoods & fishing for red ambulances & wishing for a few more months together.

When he fell sick I did what a lot of traumatized kids do: became an absolute asshole. Acted out. Petty theft, truancy, running away, name-calling, aggressive outbursts. It was a lot easier to express anger than what I really felt: scared. Sad. A lot easier to run away.

Poor Nancy was not immune from Hyde-Heather. But she didn’t give up. Moments hiking with her were some of the only bright memories from then. & like streetlights they guided me home to myself. Later in life like beacons they helped me find the path again, though it was rough.

So I skipped my own dad’s funeral. Ran away. Where did I go when I ran away? The nature spaces that reminded me of my dad. Reading books he left me to read. Anything to feel like I could keep him alive a little longer. A funeral was a door I was not ready to close.

Eventually my running away from home combined with my mother’s running away from responsibility had me hospitalized, then in the juvenile justice system, then sent away to a facility now known infamously as part of the #TroubledTeenIndustry or TTI.

My Big Sister Nancy tried to reconnect with me, but I had disappeared. Gone. What she didn’t know was that I wasn’t even in California anymore, but trapped in a cult-like Christian all-girls facility for at-risk youth in Montana, not permitted contact with the outside world.

#TTI is a permutation of the prison industrial complex. Basically, they ship at-risk youth to other states or countries with fewer regulations. Mine was not as bad as some facilities, but it was bad. We were often denied medical care, food, & water as punishment.

We were subjected to “attack therapy,” which is basically staff (often not certified mental health professionals) egging traumatized girls on to attack each other verbally. Often these attacks were shame-based. One example: telling someone how disgusting they are for being LGBTQ.

Girls who attended this facility report it left them with more trauma than when they went in. Several have killed themselves after expressing how abuse at the facility damaged them. Listen to one of my fellow survivors’ story: podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/bon…

(@ParisHilton made a documentary about this industry & is fighting to regulate it to stop the abuse. There is also one about Montana in particular on PBS you all should watch if you want to learn more. It’s free: pbs.org/video/montanap…) check out Maia Szalavitz’ book, too

Eventually I escaped the facility. Landed my first job at the local newspaper. Tried to make a life for myself free from the cycle of trauma to which I had become accustomed. Teachers, coaches, & my newspaper editors saved my life by giving me a chance.

Moved back to California. Went to the same community college my dad did. Transferred to UC Berkeley, graduated. Next: grad school in Alaska where I became a Big Sister myself. Met this medically-retiring Army Ranger who understood my PTSD & eventually became my husband.

While in Alaska volunteering for Big Brothers Big Sisters 2012-2013, I tried to get ahold of my Big Sister. Big Brothers Big Sisters of Alaska couldn’t connect us. I decided because I couldn’t thank her directly, I would thank her by helping strangers like she helped me…

Fundraising for non-profits. Tutoring at-risk youth. Training service dogs. Teaching kiddos about the magic of nature while working for the parks like my dad did. Helping young writers find their voices. Fighting for civil rights.

Helping folks going through trauma is tough. Recently I’ve felt like I’ve failed those I was trying to help. So I thumbed through pictures of myself as a young person to try and remember how I got through the bad times. Spoiler alert: imperfect mentors who kept believing in me.

When I stumbled on this picture, it all came flooding back. That feeling of someone believing in you even when — especially when — you feel like you don’t deserve it. And I felt like it was time to find her and tell her thank you…

To show her it was worth it tolerating a little punk for a few hours a month. To show her how her kindness has rippled outward, saving lives beyond mine. My husband probably never would have been in California if it wasn’t for her keeping me alive back in 2001.

Thanks to y’all, me and my Big Sister were able to meet yesterday & restart our relationship cut short 21 years ago. Thank you all for your help, thank you for reading this far, and I hope you go do some good in the world today. Maybe volunteer for BBBS? bbbs.org/get-involved/b…

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