“I spent eighteen months in that home. Then one morning a social worker showed up, put my stuff in a trash bag, and took me to the next place. Before the age of eleven I would live in six different foster homes. They kinda blend together. The sexual abuse only happened in one of them. But I was physically abused in three or four. There wasn’t anyone to talk to. Nobody ever asked: ‘Are you doing well? Do you feel safe?’ Not the caseworkers, or social workers, or anyone. But even if someone had asked, even if someone had cared—I’m not sure I’d have spoken up. Because I didn’t know what would come next. There were always worse places; so I didn’t want to risk it. Books were an escape for me. If I could get my hands on a book, I could sit in the corner, and shrink myself, and not be in the way. It was a way to keep people from bothering me or hitting me or making me feel bad. It gave me a little bit of control. Another thing I could control was my clothes. I loved to wear dresses. Especially colorful ones. When I was in care I wore a lot of hand-me-downs, and donated clothes, but I’d always ask to wear dresses. Even in the winter. Because I felt pretty in a dress. I know it’s cliché. But for me it’s always been so true. My time in each foster home would end the same way. One morning I’d wake up and all my stuff would be in a trash bag. I never knew when that was going to happen. They don’t tell you. Maybe they think that if they’d told you—you’d freak out, and run away. But it’s so much worse. Not knowing is so much worse. Just waking up and seeing your stuff in a trash bag. And feeling like trash. Feeling unwanted. It’s an awful, awful feeling. I think that’s why I loved school so much. It was the one place I felt praised. I had teachers saying: ‘Good job, you’re doing great.’ I’d read all the textbooks. I’d do all my homework. I signed up for all the after-school stuff. My teachers loved me. They took an interest. And at the end of middle school, one of them encouraged me to apply for a scholarship at a boarding school in Arizona. I was so excited when my application got accepted, but I had no idea what to expect. I’d never even been on a plane before.”


“I brought an old tennis racket to boarding school. I had never played before, but I decided to make it my thing. I practiced so hard. I didn’t chit chat. And my freshman year I made the team. I’m what they call an aggressive baseliner. You think the ball is going out, but it’s not. It’s going in. Because I always hit the lines. Our first match was at an actual country club. I was so out of place. Everyone was wearing tennis skirts, and all I had were athletic shorts. But I just kicked this chick’s butt. I think it was 6-0, 6-1, 6-0. It felt so good. Thank God for tennis. Because it’s hard to feel ‘less than’ when you’re winning. After that match I used all my money to buy a tennis skirt. I bought it too large, and I pinned it. So I could wear it for all four years. I was that way with all my clothes. Finally I could control what I wore, and I was smart about it. I bought things I could wear again and again. Things I could mix and match. Fashion became my armor. It was my way of controlling how other people see me. My freshman year people were making fun of my clothes. But by the time I left, I was voted ‘best dressed.’ I’ve had a lot of different jobs since college. But I’ve always been involved in fashion. It’s mostly on social: talking about trends, and how to make them your own. But I take every opportunity to be on camera. Two years back I was invited on a TV show to talk about Halloween costumes for dogs. I wanted so bad to say ‘no.’ But I knew: if this is what I wanted to do, I needed to push past the fear. I was petrified the entire time we were filming. You can hear my voice crack. But I did it. And after the show I pet my first dog. I can hold them now. I can play with them. I don’t have that fear anymore. Looking back, it was never the dog I was truly afraid of. I thought it was. But now I just feel so sorry for him. Those people treated him so badly. Nobody was taking him on walks. They were poking him with sticks. He was in that cage all the time. He was barking because he was cold, and angry, and scared. I just feel so sad for him. I always thought it was him. For the longest time I thought it was him. But it was never him. It was the home.”
------------------------------------
Charell asks for anyone with love in their home to consider fostering a child. She's also set up a fundraiser for anyone who's been moved by her story to support foster youth: https://bit.ly/supportcharell