I remember the stares most of all.
In the grocery store, people tried to make sense of my family — how these Black, Hispanic, and white children all belonged to the same woman.
The insatiably curious strangers would stop my mother to comment on her “beautiful family,” hoping she’d explain us. She never did.
I love that she never felt she owed anyone an explanation for her children.
It started with just three of us — my biological brother, sister, and me — your average American, blue-collar family. But when my parents decided to foster kids, our world expanded.
From then on, our sibling count fluctuated. Usually, we had between four and six kids in our home. Over the years, my parents adopted five of my foster siblings, bringing our total to eight.
Growing up as the oldest in a family built through foster care and adoption shaped me in ways I didn’t understand, but I feel them everywhere now.
Not fitting in taught me empathy
We didn’t fit the box of a “nice little American family.” My younger siblings might’ve been too young to notice people’s stares, but I wasn’t. I saw the disapproving looks when my 2-year-old foster sister dumped a carton of eggs onto the grocery store floor or melted down in the cereal aisle.
It was humbling to feel different. To feel like you were “that family.” The one that stood out for the wrong reasons.
In hindsight, it taught me empathy at an early age. To this day, I try to be aware when others feel they aren’t fitting in or measuring up to some impossible standard. I want people to feel like they can be their imperfect selves around me.
I learned that just because something hurts doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing
People often told my mother, “Oh, I could never foster. I’d get too attached. My heart would break if they went home. “
My mother hated these comments. Her heart shattered every time we got a call that one of our siblings was leaving. She loved those children like her own — and then they were gone, often returning to situations that didn’t feel stable. She was powerless to stop it and grieved hard.
People don’t want to foster because it’ll be painful when the children leave, but my mother taught me that you let your heart hurt if it means you can help the hurting.
In a big family, we learned to pull our weight
I vaguely remember doing chores before my foster siblings arrived — but I vividly remember chores after. Suddenly, my mom was overwhelmed, and helping became non-negotiable. At 11, I was in charge of my 1- and 2-year-old sisters’ bedtime routine. By 12, I was the family dishwasher, and by 17, the laundress. And, of course, I babysat.
Every day was a lesson in teamwork and helping out. Not just for me, but for my siblings, too. Many of us who grew up in that house went on to pursue entrepreneurship. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.
If there’s something good, better get it before it’s gone
Scarcity mindset is real when you grow up with so many siblings. Act fast, or there won’t be anything left. Even now as an adult, I have to remind myself not to overfill my plate or worry about something running out. It took me a long time to learn to savor things and not worry about the sense of “not enough.”
Still, that mindset made me scrappy, which has come in handy over the years. When I was young and first married, we needed extra money. I began buying and selling furniture on Craigslist and renting out our home on Airbnb. My book club once voted me “most likely to survive the Hunger Games.”
The demands of parenting didn’t surprise me
My friends used to talk dreamily about their future families. I didn’t. I knew what snot-nosed temper tantrums looked like. For a long time, I wasn’t even sure I wanted kids.
Eventually, I changed my mind and became a mother. Sometimes, helicopter parents ask me how I’m so chill with my kids. Coming from a big family, I’m not worried about a little chaos. Balls and tricycles in the house? Sure. Stomp around in the mud and puddles? Go right ahead. Running around in a diaper? You do you.
In a big family, there’s always room for one more at the table
I love our loud, boisterous family gatherings — my seven siblings, their spouses, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins. It’s wonderful chaos.
Whenever I ask to bring a lonely neighbor or another family along, my mom always says the same thing: “Of course! I’ll make sure we have enough chairs.”
That’s my favorite part of belonging to a big family — when you have so many, what’s a few more?
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