I’ve been thinking about this blog post for days. I was going to write something more industry-related, throw in some graphics and insights, but that wouldn’t be me—the human me. After this past week, I feel a need to be real, to write about this. So, here I am, sharing a piece of my heart with you, my fellow research colleagues.
If you’ve been keeping up with my LinkedIn updates, you might be familiar with the volunteer work we at Harmon Research do with Hogar Montiel. For those who are new, let me give you a quick overview. Hogar Montiel is a home for 23 girls who have been removed from their homes due to social risk. This organization offers them a safe place, but what you don’t always see are the stories of change that happen there—both for the girls and for those of us who are lucky enough to help.
The Human Side of Volunteer Work
Working with Hogar Montiel isn't just about providing financial support; it's about really caring for the girls. I’ve been involved with orphanages in Costa Rica for over 19 years, and let me tell you, it’s impossible not to get emotionally invested. These girls—each with their own dreams, fears, and quirks—become a part of your life. You laugh with them, cry with them, and slowly, your life gets intertwined with theirs. These connections? They change you, deeply.
The Joys and Sorrows of Helping
There’s so much joy in this work. I’ve seen girls reunited with loving families, others getting adopted into homes where they’ll thrive. These are the stories that bring joy and hope, knowing that they have a brighter future ahead. However, not every story has a happy ending. Some girls have had to move to other orphanages, because of different circumstances, one of them being that they age out of the orphanage. Which is a difficult transition. They leave behind the familiar care of the nuns, and it’s heartbreaking to think they may not receive the same level of love and attention in their new places.
My Personal Connection
One story, though, has left a lasting mark on me. It is about a particular girl whom I met years ago when she was just nine years old. From the moment we met, there was an instant connection. I desperately wanted to foster her, but my husband didn't share the same desire. I respected his decision, I knew it was a huge ask, and he didn’t have it in his heart like me, though I continued to hope that he might change his mind.
As time passed, I did everything I could to support her through an adoption process, always eager to hear how things were going. When the adoption fell through, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps fate was giving me a second chance. She would run to me whenever she saw me, and I began to envision her as my daughter. I prayed for her, and in my heart, I pictured a future with her in my life.
Two weeks ago, I learned that she had been approved to return to her mother. The news came suddenly—she was gone the very next morning. My stomach dropped when they told me, a cold shiver ran down my back, and instant tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t say goodbye because she was gone that fast. The feeling was a mix of heartache and happiness. It was a good outcome, as returning to her mom was the best scenario for her. Yet, selfishly, I wished she could have been part of my family. I cried for days.
Lessons Learned and Personal Growth
Through my experiences with Hogar Montiel, I've learned so many lessons. This journey has taught me patience, resilience, and the power of love that goes beyond biological ties. I’ve discovered that one can love someone so deeply, regardless of circumstances. It’s something that can bloom even in the most unexpected places. They’ve taught me how to be hopeful, kind, and open-hearted, even when life gets tough.
Moving Forward with Hope
This past weekend, I visited the home again and took the girls out to the movies. It was a beautiful day, but it felt incomplete. I missed her so much. But the experience also gave me hope. Seeing the smiles and joy of the other girls grounded me, reminding me that my work is still making a difference. Even though she is no longer at the home, I am committed to continuing my efforts and supporting these incredible girls for as long as I can. Their strength and resilience inspire me daily, and I am dedicated to being a part of their journey and helping them as long as I can.
Every story, every moment, adds depth to what it means to truly care. And for that, I’m grateful.