The Mom Who Became the Adoptive Parent She Never Had

Because no two paths to parenthood look the same, “How I Got This Baby” is a series that invites parents to share their stories.

Because her parents were by no means reliable caretakers for a child, Charell Star lived with her great-grandmother her first few years of life. And she still has fond memories of living with her in her Esplanade Gardens apartment in Harlem. “My great-grandmother was always home for me,” she says. But when Charell was 3 or 4 years old, she entered the foster-care system. Charell recounts growing up in foster homes — along with brief stints with various family members — and how that experience led her to pursue open adoption as her path to motherhood. 

On entering the foster-care system:

The day the social worker came to take me away, I was living with my great-grandmother in an apartment in Harlem. I woke up and saw this stranger in the living room, who turned out to be my social worker, and a trash bag filled with my things. Then the social worker put me in her car and drove me to my first foster family’s house. I don’t remember if I said good-bye. No one had told me that my great-grandmother was sick or why I had to leave. The foster family was a dad, a mom, and their daughter who was a couple of years older than me, plus a big dog. The social worker told me that I lived at this new place now and left. I bawled.

I don’t remember much more about that first day, but I soon learned they were not a good family. I got smacked nonstop. They were always yelling at me, pulling me, pushing me. They threatened to let their dog bite me. They made me get a switch from outside so they could hit me with it on my butt and back. I remember sitting in the living room and trying not to move, mostly because I knew if I did anything, I would get hit. That was my life for about a year.

I don’t remember the parents hitting their own daughter or even yelling at her. There was definitely a difference in how we were treated, which happens a lot in foster care. People take kids in for the wrong reasons because there’s a check attached to it, and some kids get treated poorly.
Then my social worker told me that my great-grandmother was feeling better and I could live with her. The day I was supposed to move out, the social worker came to tell me that I couldn’t go because she was sick again.

On bouncing from place to place:

After that, I was placed in about five different homes. Some are more memorable than others. There was a mix of foster care and kinship care, when you’re placed with distant family members for foster care. When I was in second grade, I got placed in a kinship placement with my dad’s girlfriend and three of her children, including my half-brother. He and I hadn’t met until I moved in, and we’re only two months apart in age (if that gives you any indication of the family dynamic with my dad at the time).

My dad would live there at times, too, but his girlfriend took care of most things — she enrolled me in school, took me shopping, made us clothes — while he slept during the day and went out at night. Looking back as an adult, I realize he was a drug dealer. And that wasn’t all: One day, his girlfriend took me and my half-brother to the courthouse. I didn’t know why. The courtroom doors opened and my brother realized before I did: our dad in handcuffs and chains around his feet. My brother fell to the ground, crying. Then it hit me: Oh, he’s in handcuffs. He did a bad thing. He’s not coming home. He was found guilty of murder and sentenced to 40 years to life in prison. I was going to miss him — but I didn’t realize that him going to prison meant that I had to live somewhere else.

Next, I went to live with my mother’s mother. No one had ever asked me if I liked her. I just had to move in with her and my baby sister, who my grandmother was also taking care of. I was 6 or 7, and my sister was under 2, but it felt like I was the adult. I became responsible for getting her dressed and fed before I had to go to school. It was hard to predict where my grandmother would be: She’d be gone in the morning, and there were times when I’d come home from school she still wouldn’t be home. And when she was there, you never knew what you were walking into. She was big on showering you with presents and then, later that day, hitting, yelling, or threatening you.

Then one day, we got out of bed and there was a social worker and our stuff in a trash bag. My grandmother had put us back in foster care and I never knew why.

On landing in a good placement

My sister and I moved in with a lovely woman who had two biological kids, a son and a daughter, and another foster child who was a baby that she was trying to get custody of. She was a nurse who worked the night shift. Her son was 16, so he was there with us overnight.

We only lived with her for a year, but I have warm memories of my time there: She’d check our homework and make us pancakes for breakfast. I can still picture her pulling clothes out of her closet to help me pull together a costume for my school play. I only had two lines, but she came to the play and brought flowers. It was the first time someone had come to school for me and had been there for me. She was wonderful. After going through so many homes, you can see when people are doing it for the right reasons. She had an extra bedroom, and she just thought she could help.

On living with her mom for the first time in her life

In the fifth grade, I moved in with Mom in Harlem. She had gotten clean and was trying to find steady work, which was great. But it was still really hard, and a lot of the housework once again fell on me. I loved school and had always gotten really good grades, but couldn’t do after-school activities like other kids, because I had to go straight home and take care of my sister. My mom and I butted heads a lot. She’d try to set rules, and I’d be like, “What are we talking about? I am the one who makes breakfast and dinner here.”

At that point, I didn’t really know my mom or dad. They had shown up here and there, but they were essentially strangers. When I was staying in different foster homes, what I wished for was to live with my great-grandmother again. I felt safe with her and knew she loved me.
Looking back, I know my mom was trying her hardest to move up and build a home for us. It just never felt like home to me. I had a lot of trauma to deal with, plus I didn’t know how to live with her.

On getting a scholarship

The first week of junior high school, my teachers rounded up about ten of us and put us on a separate track to take English, math, and science at Columbia University. On the weekend, they made us take Kaplan prep classes with the goal of testing into specialized high schools or to get a scholarship to a private school or a boarding school. It was a special, unsanctioned program; the teachers pulled it together ad hoc. No one I’ve talked to in the Department of Education knew this existed. I did that for two years. I ended up getting a scholarship to a boarding school. So at age 14, I moved across the country to go to a college-prep boarding school on a working cattle ranch in Arizona.

On adapting to boarding school

It was a different world. But I’m thankful I went. At the time, it was $20,000 a year — more money than I could’ve imagined. There were a lot of wealthy kids who’d get BMWs for their 16th birthdays. One student’s dad had the strawberries he had picked that morning flown in on his private jet to Arizona so we could have fresh strawberries as a treat.

Freshman year was hard. Unlike my wealthy peers, I had to spend most of my free time working, babysitting the teachers’ kids and working in the campus convenience store. In addition to money, there was major culture shock: All the Black kids were scholarship kids, and there was a lot of racism and sexism at the school that I wasn’t used to coming from New York City. I became suicidal because I hadn’t dealt with the trauma from foster care, the oddness of living with my mom, and the unspoken things that we never talked about. My spring semester, I went out for tennis because my godmother had given me an old racquet and I already had a pair of sneakers, and you didn’t have to buy anything else to be on the tennis team.

Turns out, I was very good at tennis. I had just learned how to play, and suddenly, I’m winning tournaments. That was a turning point for me. Up until then, I didn’t feel like I had value. Playing tennis made me feel like I had purpose and belonged. Tennis saved my life.

On thriving professionally but still carrying childhood shame

I went to college on a partial scholarship. After graduation, I got a job at a nonprofit. During an icebreaker, I made the mistake of mentioning I had been in foster care. From that moment on, my boss treated me differently. Before, I had been getting accolades and I was training people on my own. After that, she micromanaged me and went through my expense reports with a fine-tooth comb. I decided to quit.

Everything I did from that point on, I was like, I can’t tell anyone I was in foster care. I put up a wall, especially in my professional life. Eventually, I got a job at a marketing agency. I was standoffish with my co-workers and didn’t let them get to know me. I didn’t talk about my past or even my weekend. I felt like anything I revealed might be used to undermine me.

On becoming receptive to therapy with the help of Maya Angelou

I was in my late 20s when my best friend that I had known since my first day of college told me I should consider therapy and talk to someone about my past. Until that point, I hadn’t really thought of what I had gone through as trauma. I didn’t think it was holding me back.

One day, through my marketing-agency job, I had the opportunity to spend the day with Maya Angelou working at her house in Harlem. At the end of the day, I worked up the courage to ask her to sign a copy of I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings for me. I never asked talent to sign anything or take photos at work events, but I had read everything this woman had ever written, and she helped define my teenage years. As she signed my book, she said, “I think you did a really good job, but I think you would do even better if you learned to take people within your trust.” Her words helped me come to terms with the fact that I needed to go to therapy and start talking through my pain and trauma.

Getting help did help me learn to trust myself and open up more, and ultimately fall in love and build a life with my now-husband, Stephen.
It’s also helped me find courage in telling my foster-care story. I’ve even shared my story in a short documentary about people who had gone through the foster-care system called Feeling Wanted. It’s been used as a training tool for foster parents, foster advocates, and judges. Today, I’m on the board for Casa-NYC, an organization that helps children in foster care, and City Living NY, which helps youth who have aged out of foster care avoid homelessness.

On beginning the process of starting a family

I’ve always known that I wanted to adopt a child. Being in foster care and knowing how many bad homes are out there — and actually experiencing good homes, too — I knew I wanted to do that for a child. I wanted to be a safe place for someone.

My husband Stephen and I had talked early on in our relationship about wanting to have a family and wanting to adopt. We both felt comfortable in our lives and where we were in our careers. We were married with a house in the suburbs. Let’s do this.

Originally, we had wanted to adopt through foster care, and so we wanted to adopt a child who had a termination of parental rights, meaning they were eligible for adoption. But we ran up against the fact that in New Jersey at the time, they were only allowing you to be considered as a placement for adoption if you were willing to take a sibling group of five or more kids or take a youth with extreme needs. That wasn’t realistic for us. We don’t have room for five kids in our house, and we couldn’t afford the house updates to accommodate a high-needs child. We had to look in a different direction.

We spent time screening different adoption agencies until we found one I felt comfortable with. Other agencies we talked to seemed like they were commoditizing the kids in their placements: Their goal was getting the adoptive parents a baby rather than doing what’s best for the biological mothers and their children. The one we settled on was Open Arms, and they stress keeping the “open” part front and center. Open adoptions are better for adoptees. Adoptees are four times more likely to attempt suicide than non-adopted kids. Part of that is due to not keeping them connected to their original family. This adoption agency leaned into ensuring that the bio parents never feel pressured. They were clear in saying that, if for any reason, it feels like an adoption plan may change to a mom wanting to parent, we will slow down the process and help her work on wanting to parent. I appreciated that because we should only be looking for homes for kids who need them and not for kids who don’t.

We were open to children of all ages, but Open Arms focuses on newborns to age 4. The agency provided training sessions on bottle feeding and things like that, but also cultural training to make sure hopeful adoptive parents know what it means to create an environment for their kid that’s connected to their culture.

We organized all the pre-adoption paperwork for review. We had to pull all our financial and medical records, get background checks and police clearance, get fingerprinted, verify our employment, and obtain references from family and friends. There were several authorization and release forms we completed as well. I created a checklist to stay on top of everything, and it ended up being 30 rows long.

On receiving a call about a baby

I thought the adoption process was going to take at least two years. But three months after we had completed everything, we got a call about a baby who possibly could be placed with us. Unfortunately, I had a surgery scheduled the next week, and I was going to be down for anywhere from six to 12 weeks.

After talking it over, we decided to pass. The first few months of the baby’s life are key for bonding, and we could not have been able to provide the right home for that child. It was the right decision, but in the back of my head, I worried, What if we never get another call? Was this our time?

On getting another call

A number of months later, we got a call for another placement for a 2-year-old girl. We excitedly agreed. The agency told us we should start getting some things ready for the child. We had a guest room that we were going to convert into a child’s room, but other than that, we had nothing. Now that we knew the age of the child, we had to scramble to get a crib, a stroller, and a car seat. We didn’t tell any of our family or friends that we had been selected for a placement just in case the adoption plan changed.

That’s what happened. Nearly three weeks after we got the call, the bio mom decided she wanted to continue parenting. We knew there was the possibility of the adoption falling through, and that’s why we specifically chose an adoption agency that prioritized the well-being of both the child and the birth parents. However, we hadn’t fully considered the emotional impact of this experience on us as a couple. We were happy that this child would grow up with their biological mother, but we had emotionally made room in our hearts for that child, too, so we had to sit with that loss and talk it through. Yes, we wanted to be parents. But this child had the family she needed, and we wanted to be a family for a child that needed us.

On finally receiving good news

A few months later, we got another call from the adoption agency. There was a baby boy who had been born prematurely and was currently in the NICU. They gave us his background and asked if we would be interested in being a placement for him. We said yes.

Because we had experienced an adoption plan falling through, we were cautious about getting excited. So we’re like, let’s just keep on with our lives.

The next day, I played tennis with a friend early in the morning. When I got off the court, I had five missed calls from Stephen. I called him back and he said, “We have to get to the hospital in an hour and meet our son.” I was shocked how quickly it happened.

On the first time seeing their baby

In the car, Stephen and I talked about potential names for the baby. We had assumed that the birth mom would have already selected a name and the name we chose would become his middle name.

At the hospital, we were greeted by our adoption social worker. She escorted us to the cafeteria to fill out placement paperwork before we could meet the baby. We learned that his bio mom didn’t want to give him a name, so we had to come up with a first and a middle name for him.

Once papers were signed, we headed upstairs to the NICU to meet our son. By this point, he had been in the NICU for two weeks. The nurse put him in my arms first, and my husband and I just looked at him for what felt like forever. He was long but scrunched like a little football. Everything seemed to catch his attention. His eyes darted from right to left with each new sound but each time our eyes would catch, we’d both hold the stare. He was adorable. I loved him instantly.

It was scary, though. We knew we were going to meet our son, but it wasn’t real until they put this baby in our arms and said, “All right, Mom and Dad, good luck.” That was the transition. That’s all there was.

The first time I felt connected to him was not the moment they placed him in my arms, but a few minutes later. He was hooked up to all these machines in the NICU, and one started buzzing. The nurses weren’t coming over. I walked over to them and said, “Hey, could someone help my son?” That’s when it hit me: This is my son. I am going to protect him, and I am going to fight for him.

On having a child of her own

We stayed with him in the NICU late into the evening that first day. We returned every day to hold him, feed him, read to him, and monitor his care until he was cleared to leave. The next week, his doctor told us we could take him home. We were ecstatic.

We worked on creating a baby routine while figuring out appointments required for his care. There were tons of visits the first couple of months, but thankfully, he was cleared by all the specialists. About eight months after we brought him home, our adoption was finalized on Valentine’s Day. It felt amazing to witness his first laugh or watch him roll over the first time. I’m grateful that I get to help him discover things he loves and give him different experiences — all those things I didn’t get to do when I was a kid, and I’m so happy that I get to do them with him.

Being a parent is the hardest thing I’ve done​​. I think we are one and done. I love being a mom, but, whoa, this is a lot. Stephen and I have had the conversation about whether we would consider growing our family if our son’s bio mom had a second child because it’s important for siblings to be together. But that would be the only way.

On keeping in contact with the bio mom

The adoption agency helps us maintain the relationship with our son’s bio mom. There’s a social worker assigned to her, and in the beginning, we wrote letters with updates about him that the social worker shared with her. We knew a bit about her from what the agency shared, but a lot is kept private.

When he was about 6 months old, we had our first video call with her. We hadn’t met or talked prior to this, so it was awkward. We had no idea what to expect or what kind of headspace she was going to be in. But there was gratitude on both sides. She told us, “I’m so happy he’s in a good home. I just want to thank you guys for taking care of him.” And we said, “Thank you for trusting us and giving us this opportunity. He’s an amazing kid.” And we told her about his life.

The call was only 15 minutes. I thought it would go longer. I remember her wanting to end the call and she said, “I just wanted to check in to make sure he was okay.” It was very emotional. She had a family member there supporting her and the social worker was on as well. She could have still been processing, but she seemed happy that we were the people she’d hoped we would be.

On the four calls we’ve had with her, we stress that we want to do this more often. She’s working on getting her life together. She’s not in a good enough place to do an in-person meeting, but we want to do that one day. We want her in our son’s life, so we are hoping that we can get to that point. ​​But we can’t go any faster than she’s ready to go. Also, as my son gets older, he gets to have a say in how fast or slow we move.

On life with her son today

He’s just a normal 2-year-old tearing up our house. He’s hit all the milestones that he’s supposed to hit. He loves soccer and tumbling.
We have this light pole with our house numbers in front of our house. One of his favorite things to do is to spin around the pole in circles and he’ll say, “Mama, Mama.” So I’ll go and spin around with him. That’s something I didn’t get to do as a kid. I didn’t get to play with my mom. And the fact that I get to do that with my son is absolutely incredible. It’s a small thing. I always think, Yeah, we have time for this. We can do this for a minute before we have to go off to do our day. If this is going to make you smile right now, let’s do this. It’s pure joy.

My son is too young to understand who his bio mom is. That said, we read a lot of adoption storybooks to him because we never want it to be a surprise to him that he’s adopted. We bring it up in conversation, even though he’s just starting to talk, but we never want “adoption” to be a new word for him.

On how things stand with her family now

I’m still very close with my sister. She has a son that’s two months younger than mine, so we like to get them together. My brother and I haven’t talked in years. He grew up with his mom, and I ended up being reunified with my mom, and we grew apart. I don’t have a relationship with my dad. He’s still in prison.

My mom and I have a really good relationship. She was here a few weeks ago to see her grandkids. She’s an amazing grandmother to my son and my sister’s son. She loves playing with them and taking them to the park.

My mom has done a lot of growing up. She’s very responsible now and doing all the right things. It’s interesting because I’ve tried to bring up my time in foster care with her, and she shuts down. But randomly one day on the phone, she said, “I have to go to court.” I asked why. She said, “I’ve got to talk to the judge so that my youth gets what they need. I’m a GAL.” A GAL stands for a guardian ad litem, which is a person appointed by a judge to help ensure that foster youth have someone speaking on their behalf in court. So my mom volunteers as a GAL in Florida where she lives. Even though she can’t have the conversation with me — I think there’s too much pain there — she’s trying to do right by other kids. I can live with that. I’m very proud of her for that.