By: Jazmine Williams

“I had decided to become a statistic." 

Before our transitional homes existed, aging out of foster care often meant one thing: homelessness. Tyler was a statistic waiting to happen, just like so many others in the system. When he walked through the doors of Anchor House at seventeen, he carried that weight. “I had decided to become a statistic,” he told us. Bright, gentle, and deeply wounded, Tyler arrived with no expectations—no hope, no plan, no sense that his story could change.

What he didn’t know was that a miracle was waiting for him.

It was the miracle of Anchor House.

“I just kept waiting for people to treat me like garbage, because that’s how I felt about myself,” he said. But the staff at Anchor House did the opposite. They saw him. They listened. They loved him—not because he earned it, but because they believed he was worth it.

“I didn’t understand it,” Tyler admitted. “I kept waiting for them to treat me badly, but it never happened. They cared for me, and I could tell that it was real.”

The turning point in Tyler’s life came just before his eighteenth birthday. He had started to imagine what it would feel like to be completely alone—no home to return to, no bed to sleep in, no one waiting for him. The thought was heavy, and it was beginning to settle in. Then one day, out of nowhere, Misty Linville—our office manager—asked him a simple question: “Where will you go when you turn eighteen?” Tyler looked down and quietly admitted, “I don’t know.”

What she said next stopped him in his tracks.

“Well,” she said gently, “would you like to come live at my house? With my family?”

Tyler was stunned. He had no words. How could someone who had only known him for a short time care so deeply? He went to his room and wept—silent, shaking sobs that lasted for over an hour. Not because he was afraid, but because, for the first time in his life, he felt wanted. He felt loved. He had a place to belong. Fate had been interrupted by love.

Tyler has now graduated from the University of Florida. His whole life has changed. And yes, he did become a statistic—but not the kind he once feared. Instead, he’s part of a growing number of young men whose stories have been rewritten at Anchor House. Boys who once felt forgotten are finishing school, going to college, finding jobs, and building lives filled with purpose. Over 95% of those in our transitional programs complete high school or earn their GED, and half go on to college. These aren’t just numbers—they’re names, faces, futures. They are living proof that hope can be restored, and lives can be changed.