Youth Blog

[Editor’s Note: In this guest post, Derenice Chavez, a Youth Advisory Board Member of the Reproductive Health Equity Project for Foster Youth, reflects on navigating relationships after experiencing the foster system.]

The relationship didn’t end because of a chocolate cake. But when I think back on it, it was the cake, big enough to feed 10 people, that made me finally stop making excuses.

I was enjoying a small celebration with my then-partner when he excitedly presented me with a giant chocolate-covered dessert. Most people would’ve probably shared in my partner’s excitement. The problem was, I don’t like chocolate and I don’t like cake. I had repeatedly mentioned this fact throughout our relationship. As I looked at the cake, I felt guilt more than anything else. I knew I wasn’t going to eat it, which meant I’d either have to throw it out or find someone to give it to. Instead of feeling celebrated, I felt responsible for dealing with a gift that wasn’t really for me.

On its own, the cake wasn’t a big deal. But my feelings weren’t just about the cake. I had taken time off work for this occasion and I’d asked my partner to try to do the same. He told me no. At the time, I convinced myself it wasn’t worth being upset over. But as I stared at the cake now in front of me, I realized the signs had been there all along. The person I loved wasn’t paying attention to who I was or what mattered to me. The cake just made it impossible to keep ignoring it.

That realization hit hard, likely due, at least in part, to my upbringing in the foster system. Growing up, I always had food, clothes, and a safe place to sleep. From the outside, I’m sure everything looked OK. But what I didn’t have was warmth. There weren’t hugs just because. There wasn’t much affection or emotional closeness. Care mostly meant meeting basic needs.

When that’s the version of care you grow up with, it can shape what you expect from relationships later in life. I became someone who accepted the minimum. It felt familiar. If someone showed up, I thought that was enough. I didn’t realize I’m allowed to want emotional security with someone who genuinely takes an interest in who I am.

Growing has taught me that healthy relationships aren’t about grand gestures. They’re built through paying attention. Like remembering someone’s favorite dessert. Or asking thoughtful questions and making time for the people you care about.

One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is that this doesn’t only apply to romantic relationships. Some of the hardest boundaries I’ve had to set have been with people I once considered close friends.

A few weeks ago, an old friend reached out after years of not speaking. Our friendship had ended because it had become emotionally unhealthy. I constantly felt responsible for managing her feelings, solving her problems, and reassuring her whenever life became difficult. When she contacted me again, she told me it was about a personal reproductive health issue, knowing that’s a topic I’m passionate about and a field I work in. Of course I wanted to help.

I answered her questions the way I would for anyone seeking health information. But almost immediately, the conversation shifted. Before long, she began sending texts and details about every conflict happening in her life. I realized I had slipped back into my old role and nothing had changed.

That was one of the hardest boundaries I’ve ever had to set. I told her I was happy to answer questions related to reproductive health, but I couldn’t take on everything else. Caring about someone doesn’t mean sacrificing your own mental stability.

When it comes to recognizing unhealthy relationships, there’s a lot of advice about spotting red flags, trusting our instincts, and knowing our worth. But we don’t talk enough about what comes next, which is critical.

Many of us who grew up in the foster system learned to survive by adapting to whatever environment we were placed in. We learned not to expect too much from the adults around us because it usually led to disappointment. Those survival skills helped us get through childhood, but they can be harmful in adulthood if we aren’t careful. They can make emotional distance feel normal and convince us that asking for more is somehow wrong.

One of the most freeing things I’ve discovered is that being single isn’t something to fear and that choosing myself doesn’t mean loneliness. I found space to understand what I actually wanted from the people in my life instead of accepting whatever was offered. Being alone has given me room to build a healthier relationship with myself, which impacts all my other relationships.

For anyone else struggling with these thoughts, remember: choosing yourself isn’t giving something up. It’s finally giving yourself the love and care you deserve.