Honest Feelings From A Foster Parent

As foster parents, or often as parents in general, we have such a strong desire to fight for our kids. We do everything we can for them. Whether it's dentist appointments, doctor's appointments, School, extracurricular activities, therapy, play dates, summer camp, or anything else along those lines, we do it. If we have to advocate for them, we advocate loudly. We stand firm, oftentimes we advocate more for them than we do for ourselves. We see their hurt and their pain, and we do everything in our power to try and take it away from them. We would rather feel the hurt and pain ourselves than see our kids live and walk through it.

When you take a child in who has been through more hurt, pain, loss and suffering than the average adult, and you start a journey of healing with them, you never quite know what will surface. That hurt, that pain, and that abuse and or neglect will come out in so many different ways. It will come out in aggression, violence, self-hatred and self destruction, behavioral issues, mental issues, emotional instability, psychological torment, eating disorders, not to mention all of the labels you can put on it:

ADD/ADHD

RAD

SPD

ASD

DMDD

PTSD

ODD

OCD

And the list goes on…

We take kids who have been through so much, and we try to help them find solid ground. We work on giving them the tools to cope or to react in a safe manner. We spend our days dealing with one thing after the other, and our sleepless nights are filled with researching, studying or learning how to help them. 

It can start out ugly, we have all been told that. But what we aren't told, or what we don't give enough credit to, is that as they work through thing, it gets worse. With age, it gets worse. With new experiences, it gets worse. With hormone changes or life changes, it gets worse. It gets worse, before it can start to get better. 

We cry, we plead, we pray, we mourn, we scream, we weep, we hurt, we live in anguish. And the next day, we get up and do it again. We stand in the gap, because their little lives and their souls are worth it. 

But what happens when we can't keep doing it? What happens if their siblings are making it so they can't get past what they have been through? What happens if your reactions (facial expression, body language, tone, etc) send them right back to their abusive past, and they are terrified of you, no matter how many times you show them through your actions that they are safe? What happens when the meds, the therapy, the Psychiatrists, the dr appointments, and everything else just isn't enough? What happens when they become a danger to themselves? What happens when they no longer care or want to keep working through things? What happens when you show all the love you can, you are doing "all the right things", and they won't accept it?

Sometimes, no matter how much we wish, hope and strive towards helping them, we can't. In the end, it's beyond our control. When it comes to this, we feel like we have failed them. We feel like we should be doing more. We give way to the guilt of feeling like we aren't a good enough parent, or we just need to try harder. But, in the end, sometimes hard decisions have to be made. 

Sometimes we have to have kids moved. 

Sometimes siblings can't stay together. 

Sometimes they aren't ready to try and heal. 

Sometimes they don't want help and won't accept it. 

Sometimes we aren't the right people for them. 

Sometimes they need to be with different people. 

Sometimes they need more help than we can offer.

Sometimes, no matter what we do, we aren't their best option, and we have to find a way to let go of our fears, thank God we were able to be a part of their healing journey, and pray that the next people they live with will be able to bring them farther than we did. Sometimes we have to put all of the kids' needs in front of our own feelings and make the decision that is best for ALL of them. And so we say goodbye. 

We cry, we hurt, we grieve, and we pray. We get angry because we feel like we have failed them, and we know the system has failed them. We wonder why we ever even tried. We wonder if it's worth it. We wonder if we are cut out for this. We doubt we will be able to help other kids, because we couldn't be everything another needed. We doubt the system. We doubt the kids. We doubt ourselves. Sometimes we even doubt God. 

As foster parents we truly battle with the darkest of dark, the ugliest of ugly, as we fight for the most fragile and vulnerable people. We can't even imagine what some of our kids have been through. We don't know how to help them, because the demons of their past are far too dark. Many days can feel like a constant losing battle, not against the kids, but against their trauma and history. We feel defeated, vulnerable, overwhelmed and under equipped. Sometimes, we just can't do it. Sometimes I can't keep doing it. 

I have been yelled at, cussed at, hit, kicked, rammed, had things thrown at me, scrated, squeezed, called names, and have been hit with things. I have been physically and emotionally abused by someone half my size. Not because they hate me, not even because they are even upset with me. But because that is how their bodies are reacting to the darkness they have lived through. I am simply their safe place to process. The emotional and physical toll it takes on me is something I often wonder if I can keep handling. 

As foster parents, I don't know how any of us could do it without support. Support from my God and Savior who refreshes me with constant hope, compassion and strength. Support from my family who are willing to love my kids, no matter where they are at in their journey of healing; the good, the bad and the ugly. Support from our friends who are there to meet our physical needs, or to love on us day in and day out. Support from our fostering communities who can relate, give advice, cry with, give hope to, empathize with, and who just "get it" like no one else does. Support from our kids' care team of caseworkers, GAL, doctors, therapists, psychiatrists, at risk workers, etc. If it were not for the support of others, I know I would not be able to help these kids and meet them where they are at. But sometimes, even with the greatest support system, our kids need more than we can give them. And that very fact, breaks my heart. And yet, other times, that support gives a child a new and hopeful life. And that's why we keep doing this.