Over the last few months, I’ve shared simple posts about fostering.
Just small glimpses into my life.
Recently, I received a message from someone I never would have expected to hear from – a former foster child.
He wrote: “Hey, I saw your post about fostering. As a former foster kid, I’m always thankful there are good people willing to step up.”
His message threw me for a loop a little bit because I knew this man – we worked together for a little while – and I never would have guessed.
When you’re in foster care, you don’t always know who notices.
You don’t know who’s watching.
And sometimes, a few simple words quietly confirm that what you’re doing matters
that it’s touching lives you never expected to reach.
I responded thanking him for trusting me with something so personal.
And he replied with something just as meaningful:
“The system is still flawed, especially when it comes to siblings. But every time someone like you joins it, it gets a little less flawed.”
A little less flawed.
That phrase captures foster care better than any policy manual ever could.
One of the biggest myths about foster care is that it requires perfection.
I am the farthest from perfect there ever was.
I don’t boast about taking in kids.
I can’t even do it full-time right now.
Sometimes, all I can offer is a temporary solution for a temporary moment.
And saying no, when I can’t help, breaks my heart. I wish I had the capacity to say yes to them all.
I don’t share my experiences for praise.
I share them for advocacy.
Because if my story encourages the next person to step up,
then a child has one more chance at a safe place
in a system that is still flawed.
People say:
“I don’t have enough space.”
“My house is too small.”
“My car isn’t big enough.”
“My life isn’t put together enough.”
We convince ourselves we’re not enough before a child ever gets the chance to decide.
Recently, two foster children walked into my home.
And they didn’t see the “onlys.”
They didn’t see a modest house.
They didn’t see store-brand food.
They didn’t see simple décor.
They told me how big the house felt.
How good the food tasted.
How beautiful everything was.
They saw enough.
What we consider ordinary can feel like abundance to someone who’s lived without stability.
And too often, we underestimate the power of simply providing “enough.”
Another myth about foster care is that it’s about fixing children.
It’s NOT.
It’s about walking alongside them while they heal.
Recently, I welcomed a foster child who had experienced something no child ever should.
An eleven-year-old girl whose innocence was taken by someone who was supposed to protect her.
I won’t share her name or her story.
But I will tell you about butterflies.
One afternoon, we sat at the table coloring.
She didn’t choose dark colors.
She didn’t draw chaos.
She chose butterflies.
Bright colors.
Careful strokes.
Hope.
We talked about why butterflies matter.
And I told her:
“A butterfly doesn’t resent its time as a caterpillar.
It is not defined by the darkness it grew through.
It transforms anyway.”
She looked at me and nodded, not like a child being polite, but like someone who already understood even though she shouldn’t.
The heart of foster care is helping a child understand their past is part of their story, not the blueprint for their future.
Healing unfortunately does not happen all at once; but it does happen in small, consistent moments of safety, trust, and presence.
Another myth is that foster care only matters if the ending is perfect.
Reunification doesn’t always happen.
Adoption isn’t always the outcome.
And sometimes, the goodbye comes sooner than we’d like.
But impact isn’t measured by permanence.
It’s measured by whether, for a moment in time, a child felt safe. Seen. Valued.
As that former foster child reminded me, a good foster home can make a difference beyond measure.
Foster care is flawed.
It always has been.
But it doesn’t need superheroes.
It doesn’t need perfection.
It needs people willing to show up with what they have, where they are.
Every safe home. Every consistent adult. Every small act of care… makes the system a little less flawed.
And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can offer
is a place where a child feels safe enough
to choose butterflies.
To focus on who they’re becoming,
NOT what happened to them.