I grew up with a mom I thought was my best friend.

 We sang together, laughed together and had fashion shows together. But like a sudden snap of a finger, she was gone.

From the outside, my biological mom and I looked like the ultimate duo. We did the typical mother-daughter things; draw, cuddle and do each other’s makeup. 

But as I got older, reality sank in — I was alone. My biological mom, Lizzy, chose addictive substances over me. As my life dramatically changed, I questioned: is meth more valuable than me and my four other siblings? 

Behind the smile.

After being separated from Lizzy, I moved between different people in my family. Shortly after, Child Protective Services (CPS) decided it was better for me to get placed into my first foster home in 2016. Months later I got into my second foster home, which I stayed in for six months. 

I stood in front of the doorbell at the Child Protective Services (CPS) building. I wondered if my mom showed up to see me. I rang the doorbell, but received no response. I heard a woman on the other side of the speaker, “she didn’t show up, is it drugs again? I thought she was taking classes to get better but I guess she is not.” Big buildings, small rooms, children would visit their parents hoping to see improvement, hoping their parents would get better, but often left disappointed, just like me. 

I was put in the foster care system at age seven. I grew up in different families, living with people I didn’t know. Once I’d get comfortable, I would be moved again. Sad and confused, I’d question what was wrong with me. 

Why did the families I was placed in abandon me? Was I too loud? Was I too angry? 

I acted out because I didn’t understand the instability in my life — I didn’t understand the system I was thrust into. I was living through the messy aftermath of choices adults made, not choices I made. I didn’t understand my biological mom was sick and unable to heal. 

I was dealing with immature parents who weren’t ready for children, and I was angry. I put so much effort into hoping my mom would change. I missed when she once tickled me. I missed her smile, but I also missed my own. 

Hannah Galeano and Lizzy became best friends the summer before eighth grade. They would hang out every weekend, wear each other’s clothes and do each other’s hair. However, they grew apart in their early 20’s when Lizzy became unrecognizable, awash in addiction. 

After living in my last home, I got a call from Hannah one day. I was so excited; I was in the game room of my foster home, playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo, and I heard my name being called from downstairs. Running down the stairs, the phone was placed in my hand, and I was told amazing news — I would finally see my Hanny –- a nickname I gave her when I was young — because she was taking me in.  

In the car, a CPS worker drove me up a dirt road with endless land to my right. I saw a tiny home with two pittbulls to greet me and a trampoline in the back. Hannah was on the door step ready to see me and show me my new home. 

She gave me big hugs and kisses. She showed me my room, decorated in my favorite colors. It was all set up for me — her new daughter. 

Heart Mom

I want the world to understand the choices Lizzy made and how those decisions led to the trauma I carry today. While she is biologically my mother, being a parent means more than a title — it means taking responsibility, and that’s something she failed to do.

But Hannah deserves to be called mom. She is an outstanding woman and she is my favorite person. I may not be her biological child, but she took me in and chose me. 

It’s weird referring to her as Hannah because she’s the one I call mom. Hannah, my mom, has always been at my side, especially through the screaming, the crying and every bit of emotional roller coaster I put her through. She tells me I’m better than what happened, she says my past does not define me. 

I never give her the credit that she deserves. She could’ve lived her 20s like young people do, but she took me in — a child that wasn’t hers. She’s sacrificed so much, and I am incredibly blessed to be her daughter.

This story was originally published on The Hawk Eye on March 27, 2026.