ANN MARIE RUSSELL: My sister and I freak out.

"What?

Leaving the country?

"But what about school?

What about our friends?"

SUNA TURGAY: I fell in love with a summer camp, so when I have the opportunity to be the director of this camp, I take it.

HOLLY SEAVER: I think, "Maybe this is something I can do."

Many conversations later, we agree to become foster parents and do short-term foster care.

THERESA OKOKON: Tonight's theme is "Women in Action."

Action is a language that speaks louder than words.

It is the manifestation of intention.

It is thoughts transformed into reality.

Tonight's stories go beyond the personal accomplishments of these storytellers.

They are representation of the tenacious spirit of women and what that spirit can do when it's trying to overcome obstacles, sometimes in the face of tremendous odds.

♪ ♪ TURGAY: My name is Suna Turgay.

I am a native of Turkey.

I grew up in Canada.

I live in Northampton, Massachusetts, and I'm co-owner of a flower farm in Northampton.

Can you talk to me about, like, what the ebbs and flows, what's a typical day at the flower farm?

Well, this time of year, it's spring, and I have a small greenhouse in my backyard, it's heated, and I'm starting seeds, which is actually my favorite part of flower-farming-- watching things come alive.

I'm wondering what impact nature plays in your life.

I started growing flowers and I started thinking, "Oh, I can have a flower business."

And I wanted to have a flower business that was connected to people, particularly connected to people with intellectual disabilities.

And there's something about flowers that are really therapeutic, I think.

It's, it's almost like I'm growing my own art supplies, and I think that the way you connect with colors, and putting colors together, and designing things and creating things, it, like, makes my brain relax and it makes other things go away.

♪ ♪ During my college years, I fell in love with a summer camp.

It's in Vermont, an overnight camp down a long dirt road up the side of a mountain into the middle of nowhere, where I met my best friends in the world.

And in the summer, it's full of songs and forts and epic dance parties.

So when I have the opportunity to be the director of this camp, I take it.

This time, with a new baby under my arm, we go down this dirt road.

It turns out that it's more fun to be a director than a counselor.

I get to pick the staff and pick where the money in the budget's going and write grants for things that I care deeply about, like connecting with local farmers and local food.

And I work with cooks who are just as excited about fresh eggs and heirloom tomatoes and real maple syrup on campers' plates.

What I think is most special about camp is that it exists to create community, to spark joy and curiosity, to connect with people, to connect with nature, to live in a place where you can feel safe, to take risks and challenge yourself and grow.

To me, this is the essence of life.

It's what I wish that every day everywhere prioritized.

Four years later, my younger child is born, and we find ourselves in the intensive care unit, and learn that she has a rare genetic disorder, a constellation of medical issues, developmental delays, autism.

And so I quit my job.

Which is common for people who have complex kids to do because they need somebody to care for them.

She has appointments and surgeries and therapies and prolonged illnesses, but despite all this, she is fun and funny and doesn't want to miss out on anything.

And she ends up at this wonderful elementary school, where they embrace her and they include her in all of the things.

Which makes going to middle school really hard, because she's immediately separated from the only friends she's ever had, she's segregated into a special room, and it's made clear to her that she is different and that she's no longer going to be able to participate in all the things.

And this makes her angry, and it makes her anxious, and it makes her isolated.

And she stops going to school, because school is no longer a safe place for her to be.

And this now makes me angry and anxious and isolated.

And just as we're starting to meet with the district and try and figure out ways of how to make school accessible to her, COVID happens.

And for a moment, I'm relieved, because now nobody goes to school, and everybody is angry and anxious and isolated.

(audience laughing) But again, for us, it's, we're okay.

We have a homestead and a budding flower farm, and she's by my side all the time doing all of the things.

And she really likes a task, something with a clear beginning and a clear end, something that can be crossed off a list.

So we're making lists and we're crossing things off, and we're starting seeds and we're prepping beds and we're attending to the chickens.

And the weeks go by, and the months go by, and the years go by, and suddenly, it's time to go back to school.

And now it's time for high school, and it's a new, big, unfamiliar building with big, unfamiliar, masked faces, and it's not going very well.

And I'm getting calls on most days at 11:00 to come pick her up.

And on this particular day, I'm getting a call at 11:00 because for the third time that morning, she has ripped up the worksheet that they put in front of her and balled it into a ball and chucked it at the kid sitting next to her.

She's received three little hash marks for disruptive and aggressive behavior, and they're escorting her out of the building, and I'm picking her up, and she's mad, and she just wants to go home and get in bed and sleep for the rest of the day, until dinnertime.

And I don't feel good about myself, because I've dedicated my life to her well-being and her happiness.

And the school is now pointing their fingers at me, questioning my competence as a parent.

And it's time for us to look for something else.

But there isn't something else.

And I remember a friend of mine telling me about Prospect Meadow Farm in Western Mass.

that is staffed by people with intellectual disabilities.

And they have a farm share and vegetables and animals and eggs and mushrooms.

And I contact the director of the program and he says, "Well, we've never had kids work here before," but he says, "Let's give it a try."

So we go-- on the first day, she's there for five minutes.

On the second day, she's there for ten, and the goats are very welcoming to her.

And by the end of the week, I'm getting a message from the program director, and she is so encouraging, and she says, "Oh, she stayed for 20 minutes today.

"And she came into the building and she read through the list of chores, and it was great."

And so by the summertime, she's going every day, every morning, for several hours, with a smile on her face, with pride.

And by Brussels sprout season, I get another message from the program director.

And this time it says that she has picked a Brussels sprout off the stalk and chucked it at the person working next to her.

And this person laughs, picks up the Brussels sprout, throws it back at her, which causes her to laugh.

Which gives the program director the opportunity to hear what the sound of her laugh is like.

And she thinks it's important for her, for me to know that.

Which totally gives me camp vibes.

And as she approaches adulthood and I approach my 50s, I can't help but long for camp, and I can't help but wonder if I could create camp at my farm.

And in my life right now, I'm just looking for others who want to help me make that dream come true.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪ RUSSELL: My name is Ann Marie Russell, I'm from Amherst, Massachusetts, and I work as an associate dean at UMass Amherst.

How did you get interested in work in higher education?

I had a phenomenal experience as a UMass Amherst student a few decades ago.

I'm the first person in my family to go to college, and by me coming to college, I have been able to sort of upgrade my family's circumstances and also grow as a human being.

So I just love higher education as an engine for, for change.

OKOKON: Mm-hmm.

And in your work as an associate dean, obviously, you're interacting with students quite a bit.

What's your favorite part about working with students?

RUSSELL: I love working with students, because they are in such a hopeful stage in their lives.

When you're around college students, you're around people who are thinking about their futures and thinking about becoming the best possible versions of themselves, and I love being part of that journey with the students.

And what role does storytelling play in your work with students?

RUSSELL: I'm able to share things about my life that maybe they wouldn't expect.

I'm able to share things about, you know, my childhood, my upbringing, the challenges that I've overcome, and it helps them to relate to me, and it helps them to look at me and think, "If she did it, then I can do it, too."

♪ ♪ It's the middle of the night and my loving mom is frantically, but silently, waking me and my ten-year-old sister up and instructing us to go outside and get in the car.

We get in the car, and she starts driving, and eventually tells us that we're leaving the country.

It's the only way that we can escape from them, the dangerous people who are stalking and harassing us.

My sister and I freak out.

"What?

Leaving the country?

"But what about school?

What about our friends?

"What about my clarinet that I rented from school and would need to return?"

We barrage my mother with these questions in the hours-long drive, but she ignores us, save for an out-of-character, frustrated moment of telling us she wishes she'd never had us.

She's trying to save our lives, after all.

We stop complaining.

We arrive in Canada to a relative's home and sleep for a day.

But by nightfall, my mom realizes that the people who are stalking us may have tracked us down.

We leave again at midnight, as quietly as we can, but I accidentally slam the car door.

Immediately, a car drives by and we realize that we've alerted them to our movements.

My mother is beside herself, and I experience a guilt that will never leave me.

She decides to drive as far away as we can.

Surely, they would tire of their efforts and leave us alone.

We drive the entire East Coast from Canada to Atlanta, but once we get to Atlanta, a place where we know no one, we don't know what to do, and the people who are stalking us still seem to be on our tail.

So my mother prays and prays and reads the Bible until she hears an answer from God.

We should go to Boston.

That night, we begin our travel back up the East Coast, but our poor, scrappy little car is starting to give out in South Carolina.

We absolutely panic.

We're terrified.

We slowly make our way off the road, but the distance that my mom had put between us and the cars that were behind us is closing.

I look behind us, and the menacing lights of the cars are getting closer and closer.

My sister and I duck down in the back seat, me in shocked silence, my sister quietly crying.

My mom screams that they're going to kill us, and cries out, "Lord, save us!

Prove Yourself to these children right now!"

To this day, I cannot tell you how that night ended.

I don't remember going to sleep, I don't remember getting back on the road, and I don't remember how we ended up in Boston.

What I do know is that once we get to Boston, we were taken in by a church leader we called Mother Goldbourne.

She had livable space in her attic that she welcomed our family to stay in.

Living with Mother Goldbourne and immersing ourselves in church is a stabilizing force for our family.

Yes, we're still being persecuted and stalked.

Our phone is tapped, our house is bugged.

Every time we leave the house, we have a tail.

But God was in control, and we felt some sense of protection living under His watchful eye.

Religion, school, and Mother Goldbourne's attic give us structure which we needed after years of living in and out of homelessness.

You see, living on the run from the people who were stalking us, my mom could not work consistently, and we could never afford to live in a proper home.

In the best of times, the three of us shared a single bed in a room in someone else's apartment or home.

In bad times, we lived out of that same scrappy little car, surviving on food that was free or scavenged, bathing out of sinks in public bathrooms, and even urinating into Tupperware containers when bathrooms were not accessible.

Here at Mother Goldbourne's attic, we are spared these indignities, and we have some semblance of a normal life.

However, as a teenager during this time of stability, I start to question and become very confused about the people who are stalking us.

What is their endgame?

Why are there so many of them?

And why harass us for years, when they could just kill us and get it over with?

And what about that time when I snuck out of my house late at night to meet up with a friend in a dangerous neighborhood, and nothing bad happened?

I quietly go through high school with these questions, and, eventually, to college.

At college, I make an appointment to meet with one of my psychology professors.

I go to her office and I unload about all that my family has been through and the long-term organized stalking and harassment.

She looks at me with a face of concern and conviction, and without blinking, says something along the lines of, "How long has your mother been mentally ill?

Is she being treated?"

There is absolutely no doubt in her mind that all my family had been experiencing all of these years was absolutely not real.

I am stunned and shocked into this new reality.

Sure, I'd had my suspicions, but this was different.

This psychology professor was 100% sure all of those years of running, of talking in code on the phone, of keeping the curtains closed, that night on the highway, that was all in my mother's head, and, by extension, my own.

It takes years of counseling and education to unlearn my mother's delusional paranoia.

But I do forge my own path, and pursue and obtain my own PhD in psychology.

And today, I work at a university.

In fact, the very same university where my new reality was made plain.

And now I sit on the other side of conversations with students from challenging backgrounds not unlike my own, and because of the trials that I've been through, and the work that I put in to travel the distance from delusional existence to reality, I'm in a position to guide these students with a well-earned sense of hope.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪ SEAVER: I'm Holly Seaver, I'm 69 years old, I am a nurse, a mother, a grandma, a cat mom, a foster mom, and wife of a very understanding husband.

Tell me more about nursing and how that became part of your life and what drew you to the field.

I was always interested in the field of mental health.

You know, I felt like mental health is something that, you can manage it.

OKOKON: Hm.

- And people with mental health disorders are often discriminated against, so I wanted to be in a field where I felt like I could really make a difference, and have people better their lives.

When you consider the story you're going to be telling us tonight, what are you hoping that the audience takes away from your story?

I'm hoping that people realize that you're never too old to try something new.

You're never too old to lend a hand to someone else.

You're never too old to open your heart to new experiences in your life.

♪ ♪ It's 2018.

I'm a nurse working in addiction recovery.

Many of my patients are parents.

Many of their kids have ended up in foster care.

The opiate epidemic has created an enormous need for foster families.

I'd like to help.

I love kids.

But foster parents?

(scoffing) No, not for me.

I'm 62 years old, I'm still working, and my husband, Ralph, would never go for this.

(audience chuckles) We've raised our kids.

We have an empty nest, and he likes it that way.

Really?

The real reason?

I'd get too attached.

I would be heartbroken when they leave.

I read an article in the newspaper.

Stan and Eileen Elias.

They're 70, they're working, and they do foster care.

They do short-term foster care.

Kids stay with them for less than a month.

I think, "Maybe this is something I can do."

And I can't stop thinking about it.

Many conversations later with Ralph, we agree to become foster parents and do short-term foster care.

The kids are in and out of our house.

Three days, some of them stay for three weeks.

It's going well.

It's sad when they leave, but it's not heartbreaking.

I love having kids in the house again.

I think Ralph does, too.

(audience chuckles) A year goes by.

Ralph and I are sitting on the couch, and he turns to me and he says, "Wouldn't it be great if we did some long-term foster care?

(audience laughs) Get to know the kids better, get into a routine."

I think, "Did he just say that?

(audience laughs) "Is he serious?

Oh, ah, well, it's never going to happen."

I tell him, "Yeah, sure.

Yeah, that'd be a great idea."

The next day... (audience laughs) ...Mike, the social worker, calls.

"Holly, I have two girls, eight and 11.

"They need a long-term foster home.

"I know you do short-term care, but would you be willing to take them?"

I think, "Was somebody up there listening?"

(audience laughs) "Yes, Mike, we'll take them."

I drive to pick up the girls.

I bring them to our house.

I introduce them to Ralph and our two cats.

I show them the mermaid-themed bedroom we have for them.

I tell them about all the fun we're going to have while we're together.

We make dinner together.

We're talking, we're having fun.

We eat dinner, we get them washed up and into bed.

We're off to a great start.

The next week, Mike, the social worker, calls.

"Holly, the girls have a younger sister.

(audience laughs) "Age seven.

"She's been living in a different foster home.

"There's no foster home that can take all three of them.

Would you be willing to take her, too?"

"Of course!

Yes!

I don't want these girls to be separated."

I pick up girl number three, I bring her to our house, and the girls are so excited to be reunited for the first time in a long time.

Months go by.

We're falling in love with all of them.

The girls have a weekly visit with their mom.

The social worker tells me, "Mom is doing better.

"She's working really hard to get those kids back.

We're thinking about reuniting them."

(moans): Oh, no.

This is just what I was afraid of.

Those girls are going to leave.

I'm going to get my heart broken.

I'll never see them again.

Oh!

(breathes deeply) I see the girls when they visit with their mom.

It's clear they love each other.

It's clear they want to be a family living together again.

(breathes deeply) Reunification is coming.

So is Christmas.

Christmas, we take the girls to see Christmas lights.

And we invite their mom to come along.

The Christmas lights are shining overhead.

There is joy on the girls' faces, just because they're with their mom.

It's a magical moment.

It's like a Hallmark movie.

(audience laughs) February is when the Department of Children and Families decides the girls are going home.

Mom comes to help pack up their things.

I am fighting back tears.

"Thank you," she says, "for taking such good care of the girls.

Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Yes, yes, what can I do?"

She says, "Would you agree "to be their 'in case of emergency' person?

"I want you to stay in their lives.

"I want you to do things together.

I want you to come to their birthday parties."

Yes!

(audience laughs) Oh!

She shows me her phone.

She's decorated the house for their homecoming.

There's balloons and streamers and heart-shaped cutouts, because the day they're going home is Valentine's Day.

My heart didn't break that day-- it opened.

Ralph and I continue to foster, and we've fostered a total of 18 kids.

And two we adopted.

(audience murmurs) And we do get to see the girls.

We get to see them grow up in their own family.

And we get to go to their birthday parties.

I took a risk.

A risk that my heart would be broken.

Instead, I got this crazy life full of challenges and joy and a whole lot of love.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪