Thread by @MdSheryl

Good morning! I would love to reintroduce myself, since I have so many new followers.

I’m a mom of 3 adult kids, wife of a cool guy from Guatemala, fluent Spanish speaker, family medicine hospitalist physician (doing travel work/locums), author, and former homeless youth.

Before I went to med school, I taught high school bio and chem for 8 years. I had given up on my dream because I didn’t feel like I deserved to have what I wanted more than anything. I had a lot of self blame for my teen years that I carried with me.

A fellow teacher pulled me aside and set me straight. She told me I owed it to myself to chase the dream. She was right. I was miserable as a teacher. I had tried so hard to make myself fit into a career I’d never wanted, just to have a stable paycheck and a home.

I volunteered at a local hospital and we had a patient who was unhoused, in alcohol withdrawal, struggling. I instantly felt like I was “home.” I NEEDED to become a doctor. And I did everything I could to make that dream happen.

I’d had a rough year in undergrad, back when I’d transferred into UCLA. I was pregnant with my second kid, working full time, and at that time, we had custody of my husband’s niece. I was busy, there weren’t any resources, and I failed a class.

I hadn’t set myself up for success. We figured out a way for me to quit that job. We had our second kid, and even though it was hard, we made it work. But my third year of school had a horrific math/science gpa.

Even though I graduated, got a second bachelors, a masters in education, even with though I had excellent grades in all my post bacc coursework, volunteered at 2 hospitals, did research… no US interviews when I applied to med school.

I applied to Ross University in the Caribbean (then, it was in Dominica) and I got in! That one interview was my ONE chance. I was so grateful for the opportunity.

One chance, and I took it. I moved down to the island with my husband and kids. It was hard. But it was also beautiful. I loved Dominica. And I started to finally identify the boatload of trauma I was carrying and begin the healing process.

When I was in clinicals, I met so many patients who immediately felt at ease with me. Told me important details they’d never shared before. I didn’t get it. It was a pediatrician that figured it out for me.

I was seeing patients with him on my first morning in his office. He immediately pulled me aside and told me he knew if grown up rough. I asked him how he knew.

That’s the key. He told me I didn’t react. I just listened and talked to people like they were people.

I got into Family Medicine residency in California. I wanted to be able to care for kids and adults. And during my training, I learned about the ACEs study. Adverse Childhood Experiences.

I saw this Ted talk by @DrBurkeHarris and it astounded me.

ted.com/talks/nadine_b…

I realized my ACE score was ridiculously high. 9/10. I also discovered that people with high ACE scores are more likely to die up to 20 years earlier.

That meant that the trauma that didn’t kill me when I was younger could still kill me. I needed to heal. I made it my priority.

Part of healing for me was volunteering w/ young people. I have always loved @MFPLA.

They became my chosen family at many pivotal moments. Staff visited me at the hospital when each child was born. Came to my wedding. Graduation. They saved me as a teen & I held onto them.

I started a scholarship fund at @MFPLA in 2018. The Impact Scholarship. A program designed for young people who have gotten off the streets, chosen college, and need a little extra help.

I got the idea from a scholarship I got from MFP from a donor when I was in college.

Thanks, @WendieMalick, for donating that money to help me back when I was in undergrad. I kept going, and I loved school. It was the great equalizer for me. I want it to be the same for so many other young people.

I started writing. I lost my oldest brother to suicide in 2017 and realized that I was not alone in having massive childhood trauma. I realized it was time to tell my story.

Hindsight. Things not understood until later on. A life that didn’t make sense until it did.

A link to Hindsight. This book is literally my heart and soul on paper. Why did I do the things I did? How did I survive?

amazon.com/gp/aw/d/173285…

Immediately after I published it, colleagues started telling me that my words had changed how they treat patients. That they had learned from the awful moments I described, learned how to better treat people in crisis. ❤️

I kept writing, using words as my loud advocacy for young people.

We need to end youth homelessness. We need to put an end to so many systems that harm young people. Reduce the number of kids in foster care. Support families who want to stay together.

A wise interviewer at @uclaextension was chatting with me for their podcast. He asked me at what age I could’ve best received intervention. And I realized it was when I was 10 or 11. And then promptly kicked myself for writing Hindsight for 14+.

So a new project was born. My Hindsight Junior Series, which releases very soon.

The ebooks are available for preorder. The paperbacks will be available on release day.

amazon.com/dp/B0B5M45S7V

What I realized was that my story was so much more than surviving the streets. The catalyst, the thing that provoked everything, was me being trapped in a psych hospital at 11yo, because my dad knew how to make it happen and he wanted to control me.

I was abused there. I was placed in isolation, forced to take meds, restrained. I wasn’t allowed to call my mom. (My dad had custody, my mom had bipolar disorder & the courts said I couldn’t live with her but she was my lifeline).

When I was released after 2 months and 10 days, he wanted me to keep my mouth shut and pretend it never happened. It conveniently occurred over a summer break. So I walked into 6th grade, newly traumatized, and no one knew.

I started running away. I knew I needed to go someplace else.

It was even the first time I’d tried. I’d tried to escape at 5yo, when my second brother was sent off to foster care.

I was desperate. I was contemplating suicide. So I stole $250 from my dad and bought a bus ticket from NC to Los Angeles. It seemed far enough away. I didn’t have a plan, I just needed to escape. He was threatening to send me back to the hospital or a wilderness camp (#TTI).

I arrived in Los Angeles and immediately found out how dangerous it was. A kind woman pointed me towards youth programs in Hollywood. I hadn’t even known that Hollywood was in L.A.

But I was afraid to stay in the shelter. I had to agree to let them call my dad if I stayed. So I stayed on the streets instead.

They ended up calling the cops because I was too young to be on the streets. I was arrested a week later for being a runaway.

I was taken to Central Juvenile Hall. It was terrifying. I was 13.

The judge told me I had to go back to NC. I begged to stay, but it wasn’t up to me. They flew me back.

I was placed in foster care, but again, I wasn’t allowed to call or see my mom. She was my only connection. And I was struggling with some big traumas.

So I kept running.

My dad pressed charges for the money I’d stolen. The judge let him. I was sentenced to up to 2 years in maximum security juvenile prison at C.A. Dillon (it was co-ed back then). For misdemeanor larceny.

It was horrific. I was ambushed in the shower my first night and beat up. I’d been running to avoid being sent away and got sent away to the worst possible place.

And still, no one was asking the important questions. Why? What did I need?

I was placed back in my dad’s custody when I got out, 10 months later. (Early, on good behavior. I was actually a really well behaved kid).

It was terrible.

I broke my probation and ran again. Nothing had changed. And when I was sent back to my dad’s house afterwards, I swallowed 3 bottles of pills and said “enough.”

But I didn’t die. I was rightfully placed back into a hospital. I stayed there for a month. While I was there, my probation officer dismissed my probation. I’d like to think that even he realized I wasn’t a bad kid, just a broken kid.

I was 14. I was angry. And I had a brutal stepmom. But she divorced my dad and things grew calm. Briefly.

I got great grades. I joined the cross country team (because I knew how to run, haha). I turned 15. 16. I got a job. I volunteered at the homeless shelter.

But my dad got engaged again. One night, my brother visited. He said they were going out to dinner. He told me he didn’t care if I was there or not when he got back.

So I left.

Remember, I was still massively traumatized and hadn’t worked through any of it. So many things had happened.

I did what I’d felt like I’d needed all along. I bought a new bus ticket back to CA with my own money. I was leaving for good.

For me, being homeless was safer than being housed. I was always waiting for the next bad thing to happen. The next hospital, wilderness camp, prison, angry tirade from my dad.

Like many youths, I was safer on the streets.

It was hard, but I was older. I figured I’d get a job, finish school, get an apartment.

Haha. I was so naive.

I spent a few days at the emergency shelter every once in awhile, but mostly became a “squatter.” I stayed with a group of homeless youths in the entryway of Pantages theater. Back in the 90s, it was closed down, and they didn’t seem to mind if we slept there at night.

I eventually found a job but the manager was gross and tried to lock himself in the walk-in freezer with me. I quit.

I did find a continuation high school and I enrolled in school that summer. I wanted to graduate.

I finished high school, mostly doing my assignments at the public library (on Ivar, thank you librarians!), at shelters, and at coffeehouses.

And eventually I trusted adults enough to stay at a shelter, get a job, and turn 18.

It’s weird. I had my 18th birthday at a teen shelter. But that also impacted my chances for financial aid later. I’d turned down foster care, so I wasn’t eligible.

I paid for my first semester at @LAValleyCollege with money from my 2 jobs, but couldn’t buy books.

I’d gotten an apartment with another girl from the shelter, and I thought I had it all figured out. I could do this. I could stay off the streets and be independent.

But then I ran into my ex boyfriend. He was sweet. I’d missed him. So, well, I got pregnant.

And I didn’t tell him because he told me he had to go back to his home country of Guatemala. His dad had been in a bad accident. If he left, he wouldn’t be able to come back.

I figured I’d make it on my own. I’d survived that far. But I had to give up the apartment when I was too pregnant to work and go to school. I ended up back in the shelter in Hollywood.

But they didn’t let pregnant girls stay for very long. I ended up back on the streets. I used to stay up all night at a 24 hr McDonalds, then go to the shelter in the morning for food and a shower.

My friend Michelle from the shelter found me. She let me come stay with her, and that carried us until the end of my pregnancy.

When my first kid Roxy was born, I called a friend from work and he decided to rent his sofa to me for $100 a month. I had a safe place to stay!

And I was finally ready to ask for help. I met with my case manager at @MFPLA every week and she helped me make a plan. She helped me figure out double coupons and ordered formula coupons so I could feed my kid when WIC wasn’t enough.

And she got me into a single moms housing program, where I stayed until I ran into Roxy’s dad and we decided to move in together.

Finally, I was able to breathe. He’s a good guy. And a great dad.

We both had our own trauma and we were young, but we figured out the whole parenting thing. I continued in school, hoping to someday become a doctor. I was back at LAVC, then transferred to UCLA.

When I graduated, I had to finish a year ahead of schedule (was doing a double major, ran out of childcare funding). A beloved bio professor from LAVC told me how to apply to LAUSD as a teacher. They would train me. I needed a job, so I applied.

But I had to set my dreams aside. I’d had a second kid while at UCLA and he had some challenging needs. Our third kid was born after I became a teacher. Our little family was complete.

And that’s how I got stuck in a job, losing sight of my dreams. My son was in speech therapy for a profound speech impairment, he ended up needing two surgeries, and when he was 9, he finally was at grade level.

I was able to start thinking about pursuing my dreams.

Looking back, it’s been a wild ride. I’ve lived many lives. But also, it’s made me a fighter. I will continue to advocate for young people. We have to protect them from all abusive systems. We have to end youth homelessness.

I’m now the first alumni board member at @MFPLA. Someday, I won’t be the only one. And hopefully someday, there won’t be young people trying to survive the streets because we’ll have a plan to protect them and house them.

Donate to them and/or programs in your own communities.

So, thank you for joining me here. I will always talk about things that affect young people. Trauma, abuse, foster care, incarceration, homelessness. I will fight for historically excluded people, for POC, LGBTQ, and disabled youths. And I will continue asking hard questions.

No one ever asked me why. I will be the mom, doctor, community member who asks & cares about the answers. Together, we can do better. We can make our communities safer and better for everyone. Every single person deserves love, hope, housing. We can and will do this. We have to.

*wasn’t