u/Own_Task_7932

Mine is meditation, breathing exercises, and body mindfulness — but I also really love poetry, and I’d love to share some of mine.

Push and pull, push and pull—

I know this rhythm, I know this role.

It lives in my chest,

in the back of my throat,

in the things I don’t say

but my body still knows.

You’re softer today.

You’re kinder today.

You reach for me in a gentle way.

And I want it—God, I want it—

not loud, not desperate,

just quiet enough

to feel like a need I don’t speak of.

To be wanted.

To be chosen.

To be held

without having to fold first.

So I match you.

I mirror.

I measure my tone to fit yours.

I soften my edges,

I slow down my pace,

I become the version

that’s easy to place—

inside your comfort,

inside your view,

just enough of me

to be shaped by you.

And it almost works.

It almost stays.

It almost feels

like safer days.

But my body—

my body don’t trust that calm.

It hums underneath

like a low alarm,

like “wait for the shift,”

like “watch the air,”

like something is coming—

just stand prepared.

And there it is.

Not loud.

Not clear.

Just a look

that lands a little too near.

A pause that stretches,

a silence that speaks,

and suddenly I’m back in between—

what I felt,

and what I should be,

what I said,

and what you saw in me.

So I edit.

I rewind.

I replay the moment

to get it right.

Because wanting to be wanted

starts to feel like getting it right—

like if I just hold the shape,

I can stay in the light.

But I’ve done that before.

God, I’ve done that well.

Turned myself into something

I could barely tell

was me.

And I was wanted there.

I was easy to keep.

I was soft in the places

that buried me deep.

And I won’t go back.

I won’t bend like that.

I won’t lose my voice

just to not react.

Because this push and pull,

this silent game,

this almost love

without a name—

it keeps me close

but not at peace,

keeps me seen

but not released.

And I feel it now—

clear, true, loud:

I don’t want to be wanted

if I have to break to fit.

I don’t want to be chosen

if I disappear in it.

Push and pull, push and pull—

I know this rhythm.

And I won’t play the role.

What’s Next After TTI?

I think an important conversation we need to start having as survivors is not just exposing what’s wrong with the TTI, but talking about what would actually work better — both during treatment and after programs.

One thing I don’t think people fully understand is how hard it can be transitioning back into society after institutionalization. A lot of us left these programs emotionally shut down, hypervigilant, socially isolated, undereducated, and stuck in survival mode. Some of us aged out with no credits, no healthcare, no support systems, no job experience, and nowhere stable to go.

You spend years being controlled, monitored, punished, stripped of your identity, and told when to eat, sleep, shower, talk, and think — then suddenly you’re expected to function like a normal adult overnight.

A lot of us struggled with:

• Emotional regulation

• Trusting people and authority figures

• Feeling safe in normal social environments

• Anxiety, anger, grief, or emotional numbness

• Education gaps and lack of work experience

• Hyper-independence and survival behaviors

• Feeling disconnected from peers who had normal teenage experiences

• Shame and feeling “behind” everyone else

• Difficulty adjusting to freedom after years of control

Some people end up homeless, addicted, incarcerated, or back in programs because they never actually received the support they needed to heal and transition into adulthood safely.

I honestly believe outcomes would be very different if treatment focused less on punishment, humiliation, and control, and more on dignity, stability, individuality, and genuine support.

One thing I would personally love to see is transitional housing communities for teens and young adults leaving programs, foster care, or state custody. Not institutions — actual supportive communities where young people can safely transition into adulthood while still having guidance and support.

Imagine having:

• Your own room and personal space

• A community center where people cook meals together, socialize, and build healthy relationships

• Independent living classes teaching budgeting, cooking, hygiene, job skills, transportation, and emotional regulation

• Social workers and caseworkers who actively help with education, employment, healthcare, housing, and reconnecting with safe family members

• Access to therapy and long-term emotional support

• Mentorship, community activities, and real-world integration instead of isolation

I think many of us didn’t need to be “broken down.” We needed stability, belonging, emotional safety, guidance, and support learning how to function in the world after years of trauma and institutionalization.

The goal shouldn’t be creating compliant kids.

The goal should be helping young people become healthy, stable, supported adults.

I’d genuinely love to hear from other survivors:

What struggles did you face transitioning back into society, and what do you think would have actually helped?

I was in foster care from 11 to 18 years old. Lately, I’ve been having flashbacks of the past coming up. I think I’m just questioning what made me like that. I guess I’m questioning whether it was my fault again, or if I deserved being given away.

I was awful. I didn’t even like myself. But then I remember why. Not only did we have team meetings every month where all the adults got around the table — case workers, trackers, foster parents, bio parents, therapists, program staff — and they would just grind me down to nothing, I felt like I couldn’t do anything right.

I got a certificate at school that was overlooked. I got a job — it didn’t matter. They would tell me it was the look on my face after they degraded me for an hour. There were accusations with no proof that I was doing something wrong at school. I was bullied relentlessly.

I think I was too pretty — a triple threat, not to sound vain — but I just didn’t fall in line. One girl in my class of seven would tell everyone where they could sit in the cafeteria. I’d sit wherever I wanted. She absolutely hated me. I’d stand up to her any chance I got. Once we actually got into a fight, but after that she respected me.

By this point, I was so emotionally worn down I hadn’t cried in years. I just kept it bottled up. It came out in the ugliest ways. I couldn’t cry — it was “attention seeking.” It was seen as a sign of weakness.

I have a daughter the same age I was when I was given away, and she’s so amazing. She’s so happy, she’s involved in all the school activities and after-school programs, and she’s so sweet and caring. Every time I look at her, I think: if I was just allowed to be me, she is me.

That’s my positive takeaway — I am the parent I needed.

Fhttps://www.facebook.com/groups/1846300543251911/?ref=share&mibextid=NSMWBT

This group was created for survivors of the Troubled Teen Industry, parents seeking information, and anyone trying to better understand the long-term impact these programs can have on children and families.

Our goal is to create a safe, supportive, and informative community where survivors can speak openly about their experiences without judgment, shame, or silence. Many of us were told we were “bad kids,” manipulated into believing the abuse was our fault, and punished for speaking up. This group exists to give survivors their voices back.

This is also a space for parents who may be considering sending their child to a troubled teen program. We encourage parents to listen to survivor experiences, ask questions, and explore alternatives before making life-changing decisions.

Whether you are: • Healing from trauma

• Rebuilding relationships

• Processing your experiences

• Getting sober

• Learning to trust yourself again

• Or simply looking for people who truly understand

—you are welcome here.

We also encourage members to share resources, recovery journeys, accomplishments, creative projects, photos, memories, advice, and support for one another. Survivors deserve community, connection, and a chance to rebuild the parts of themselves these programs tried to take away.

No judgment. No “working the program.” No silence.

Just truth, support, healing, and people who understand.

As someone who survived the troubled teen industry, I just want to say this:

Your child does not need to be “fixed.” They need support, guidance, safety, understanding, and community.

A lot of teens who end up in these programs are not “bad kids.”

Many are struggling with trauma, neurodivergence, bullying, depression, anxiety, identity issues, grief, abandonment, emotional dysregulation, or simply feeling misunderstood and disconnected.

Sending them away may look like help on paper, but many of us came out with deeper trauma, trust issues, CPTSD, attachment issues, fear, shame, and a broken relationship with our families.

What helped me more than punishment ever did was:

safe adults

structure without humiliation

creative outlets

sports and hobbies

mentorship

community

feeling useful and wanted

being listened to instead of controlled

Sometimes kids need redirection, not abandonment.

Look into:

after-school activities

trade programs

sports

youth groups

mentoring

volunteer work

therapy that is trauma-informed

support for neurodivergence

family therapy

community programs

Help them build purpose and belonging.

And parents — please ask questions. Research deeply. Listen to survivor stories, not just program advertisements. Some of these places are incredibly good at marketing themselves while hiding abuse behind words like “therapy,” “behavior modification,” and “tough love.”

Your child may resist help at first. That’s normal. But there is a difference between guidance and institutionalization.

Many survivors are now adults still trying to heal from what happened to us as children.

Please don’t mistake survival behaviors for evilness.

Please don’t outsource your child to systems that profit from struggling teenagers.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stay, listen, learn, and build a village around your child instead.

We were taught to believe that we were the bad kids and our parents were the good parents. We were brainwashed and indoctrinated into believing that.

I grew up in Utah state care and attended multiple troubled teen programs, including lock-up facilities.

One of the hardest things to move past is the guilt, especially when your parents refuse to take accountability or give you any closure.

The first thing you need to realize is this: you were a child when this happened. There is no excuse any parent can give to justify what you went through.

You weren’t just betrayed and abused by a system — you were betrayed by your parents too.

You can’t beg people to change or force them to see the damage they caused, and it is not your responsibility to heal them or make them acknowledge they were wrong.

None of it was ever your fault.

Parents are supposed to protect their children and be prepared for the responsibility that comes with raising them. If they had been ready for that responsibility, you would never have had to face what you did.

After realizing all of this for myself, I decided to go no contact because it was what was best for my mental health.