Today I was asked to take in a 16-year-old boy.
I couldn’t say yes.
I received the email this afternoon while sitting in my office. As I read through his history, I immediately started crying.
He is sixteen years old but functions intellectually at approximately the level of an eight-year-old. Much of that is believed to stem from a traumatic brain injury he suffered as an abused child, compounded by years of additional abuse. First by his biological parents. Then again by his adoptive parents – the people who were supposed to save him from that life, not repeat it. The people who were supposed to offer love, safety, and healing instead of more pain.
I cannot stop thinking about that.
Imagine being removed from the people who hurt you. Imagine believing that someone is finally coming to rescue you. Imagine being adopted and thinking the worst is behind you, only to endure the same abuse all over again.
No child deserves that.
No child comes into this world expecting the people who are supposed to love and protect them to be the very people who cause the deepest wounds. Children should be worrying about school, friends, sports, and what they want to be when they grow up. Instead, so many are spending their childhoods surviving trauma they never asked for and healing from damage they never caused.
I am angry at the senselessness of it all.
I am heartbroken by what I read every day and every week.
Just recently, I cared for two siblings – two of six children removed from their home. Both were developmentally delayed because of severe neglect. When they entered custody, they were not walking or talking at age-appropriate levels because they had spent long periods of time strapped into car seats. The little girl arrived into custody with hickies on her neck and body raising serious concerns. Thankfully, her SANE exam came back normal.
None of them ever leave your mind. Or your heart.
People will tell you that you have to create boundaries. They will tell you that you cannot internalize every story. They will remind you that compassion fatigue is real.
They’re right.
But how do you not internalize it?
How do you read these stories and not carry them with you?
How do you meet children who have endured more pain in a few short years than many adults experience in a lifetime and not wish desperately you could somehow rewrite their story?
I understand that not every child can be saved. I know that in my head. My heart has yet to accept it.
I understand that loving them is not enough to undo what has happened to them. But I still wish it was. Every single time.
But I also know that every file I read represents a real child. A child who once believed adults could be trusted. A child who deserved safety. A child who deserved to be wanted.
The hardest part of foster care isn’t saying yes.
It’s knowing when you have to say no and carrying the weight of knowing there is still a child on the other side of that email who needs someone to say yes.
And tonight, that’s the part that’s breaking my heart.
