When my kids first went into foster care, seven years before they came to me, I knew what had happened and I called OCS asking to be their foster placement. I wanted them with me, with their sister, while their mom worked on bringing them back home to her.

For a myriad of reasons, I was denied. And at the time, I even thought it was the right decision. I understood why I was told "no", and I did my part to just keep in contact with the kids from there, sending letters and gifts as they moved from home to home in the years that followed.

But when they were finally brought to me, when I was given the chance to be their mom, it was with the plan of permanency from the very beginning. That doesn’t happen often in foster care. Reunification is always supposed to be the goal. But in our case, everyone knew that reunification was no longer a goal that could be achieved. And all anyone wanted for the kids at that point was for them to know they would never have to start over again. By the time they came here, their mom, their tribe, the state and I were all on the same side. We just wanted their time in state’s custody to end.

Unfortunately, about a month after the kids came to live with me, our case was handed over to a new caseworker I later learned had a long history of corrupt and power-hungry behavior. I don’t know what it was about our case that set her off, but I think it was being handed something that didn’t require her stamp of approval to move forward. Whatever the issue was, she decided right out the gate that she was going to make permanency as difficult as possible for my kids.

I’m not exaggerating when I say she decided this right out the gate. When everything came to light some 9 or 10 months after she’d taken over, we found emails she’d actually doctored just a week into being on our case in an attempt to prevent Our Boy from having a bed when he arrived at our home (he came home two months after his sisters had).

The whole thing was so stupid and petty and small–literally just a woman trying to hold onto power wherever she could, for no other reason than because she *needed* to be the person who was calling the shots. But it kicked off a series of behavior that caused irreparable damage to my kids and our family. Everything from canceling their mom’s trip to see us at Christmas (what would have been the first Christmas in their memories that they’d actually gotten to spend with her) days before she was supposed to be getting on a plane without bothering to tell anyone she'd done so, to preventing Our Boy from being able to attend his own grandfather’s funeral.

It took far too long to get from the point where I had a hunch that this woman was intentionally trying to hurt our family, to when I knew it was true and had the proof necessary to convince her superiors of the same. But once those dominos began to fall, I had people from the very top at OCS reaching out, and even coming to my house and sitting on my couch, apologizing for hours about everything we’d been put through.

But despite all that… this woman is still employed with by OCS today. And, from everything I’ve heard, she’s still actively working to harm Indigenous families.

Meanwhile, during our time with her on our case, one of my kids was struggling tremendously with the impacts of a life filled with trauma. And because of delays intentionally created by this case worker, it took over a year for that kid to get the help they so needed and deserved.

Which is why, just months after that caseworker was removed from our case, we were proceeding with adoption while that kiddo was in a holding pattern, all of us still unsure of what the next steps for them would be. In the year leading up to that day, they’d been hospitalized countless times for mental health struggles. The police had gotten involved frequently enough that they knew our family by name. And I’d gone head-to-head with a psych ER team who eventually, begrudgingly, admitted they hadn’t helped as much as they could have–as much as they should have–from the beginning.

They told me they’d written me, and this kid, off initially because, “There are a lot of foster parents who just dump kids here when they need a break.” They were tired. And I got it. I saw how overwhelmed the emergency mental health care system was firsthand. I recognized the lack of resources, and the rooms overflowing with beds. I understood their inclination to side-eye me when we became frequent fliers, and to question my motives whenever I left one kid there to go be with the others I still had at home.

But I also understood why some foster parents may have been dropping kids there and walking away, as I’d been told the hospital team had initially feared I was doing. That wasn’t me. It wasn’t at all what I was doing. I showed up each and every day my child was hospitalized. Talking. Fighting. Begging. Advocating in whatever ways I could for help for a kid I KNEW was so much more than the behaviors borne of trauma that had caused others to throw them away.

I wasn’t getting help from any of the sources that were supposed to be helping us then. OCS basically had their hands in the air. Hospital workers had told me this kid wasn’t savable. I was blowing through my savings, in attempt to create resources out of thin air. And I felt like I could see our entire family circling the drain, as all my cries for help went unanswered.

I was not the foster parent who was just dropping a kid at the hospital and walking away, but I could understand why there were those who did.

As soon as that corrupt OCS worker was removed from our case, permanency happened quickly. And I felt as though I was basically in a race to make it happen even sooner. By that point, I had realized OCS was more of a deterrent to getting my child help than anything. And I had seen for myself the damage being in that system had caused all of my kids. I just wanted them out. I wanted our family to have the stability we needed to begin actually healing outside a system that had claimed to care, but had instead caused so much unnecessary hurt and pain.

Which is why adoption day happened while that kiddo was still hospitalized. Because we just wanted it to be over by then. We wanted OCS out of our lives, and we didn’t care what making that happen looked like in the end.

When we were informed that if we continued on our initial path to guardianship instead of adoption, all the kids would lose access to Medicare (a poorly written statute that actually provides more resources and support to families pursuing adoption than to those pursuing guardianship in our state), we pivoted as a family and made a difficult choice in favor of ensuring everyone would continue to have access to the care they needed. When multiple lawyers insisted the kids would have to give up their original birth certificates (which listed their deceased dad and a mom they still very much so love) in favor of one that would lie in listing me as the mother who had birthed them, we found a lawyer willing to do her own research and ensure their original birth certificates would always be the only ones they’d ever need. And when OCS broke their promise to fly Mama Becca to be with us on that day, I dug deep and found the money to bring her into town myself.

So, yeah… it wasn’t a picture perfect place to host the celebration that was my kids being given the permanency they’d so craved during their 8+ years in foster care. But it was our day, and damnit: we were going to capture it.

I arranged for the same friend who has taken all our family photos, Leslie from Leslie Meadow Photography to be there on that day. And we all gathered–all five kids, mama Becca, and I–there at that Crisis Recovery Center to be with our Fe when everything was finally final.

Except, the time for our Zoom court appointment came and went. We were logged on, and so were all the lawyers and OCS, but the clock just kept ticking. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes and more…

At about twenty minutes after the fact, the judge came into view. But before anything else happened, he said, “Sorry, folks. More important case came up. This is going to have to wait for another day.” And then… poof. He was gone.

Everyone sat there in shock. My lawyer (who had spent decades handling nothing by cases like ours) later told me she’d never seen anything like it before. “Judges don’t push adoptions,” she said. “Especially not like this. EVERYTHING else can be postponed in court. But when kids are there, and families are dressed up, and everyone is just excited for permanency to finally happen? Judges don’t push that. They’ll push everything else before they push that.”

It was little comfort to me then. It’s little comfort to me now, if I’m being honest. All I knew, all I still know, is that I had a kid who was already in the hospital because they had so convinced themselves permanency would never happen for them that they harmed themselves and others to increasing degrees in the weeks leading up to that day. I had other kids who had endured far more harm while in state custody than they’d ever experienced out of it, just so ready for the day that they could be free. And I had a mama who had done this incredibly difficult thing by trusting another woman to raise her kids, who had come to be a part of making that permanency happen as a show of unity for those kids, despite how much pain doing so caused her.

Hell, I had a room full of hearts that had been entrusted to me, and all those eyes were looking at me then and I felt like I could literally see those hearts breaking all over again.

I didn’t want them to see mine breaking, too. So, I stepped out into the hall, explaining I was going to call the lawyer to find out what would happen next. And then, I slid down the wall in that hall and just sat on the floor and stared into oblivion.

That was it. I didn’t sob. I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t have the energy left for any of that. I just… collapsed.

I’m pretty sure I’d still be sitting there to this day, were it not for one of the amazing therapists working in that center who came and helped pull me out of the darkness I was so ready to just let myself sink into. She eventually got me back up, and I walked back into that room with my kids and I smiled and promised them everything would be okay. And then, to prove it, I insisted we still let Leslie take those family photos we’d had planned.

I’m glad I stood up then, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was one of too many times over the past three years that I’ve (at least momentarily) convinced myself I was too beaten down to go on. Everything was, eventually, okay. The kids’ adoption went through the next day (two years ago this past Friday, in fact), with Fe and I zooming in from the crisis center together, and Mama Becca back at the house with the other kids, two of whom had tested positive for Covid that morning. Fe came home from the crisis center, though they did end up back there again just a few weeks later. But that was the time, the hospitalization, that led to them getting approval to go to Jasper Mountain–an amazing residential facility for kids with similar backgrounds, and the place I still credit with how well Fe is doing today.

OCS has been out of our lives for two years now, and everyone in our family is better today than they were when the kids were first brought to me three years ago.

Still, I can’t look at those pictures without remembering everything that led up to them being taken. I can’t help but see the brokenness in my own eyes, and the absolute fear I had that despite all the promises I’d made, I’d never be enough to get us all past that point together.

A week or so ago, some coworkers were asking about how Fe was doing at school (amazing!), and when I finished giving them the update they said something along the lines of, “Those kids are so lucky to have you. You really took on a lot when you brought them home.”

It’s a sentiment that gets repeated to me frequently enough, and it always makes me squirm. Because the truth is, nothing about anything my kids experienced was lucky. And they all deserve so much more than just I could ever give.

On this day, in response to this sentiment, I laughed a little and said, “No, I’M the one whose lucky that we’re all still standing. I had no business thinking I could do it. There was a lot of hubris that went into me bringing my kids home, believing I could get everyone to a healthy place on my own. I really thought I was doing something. I really thought I WAS something.”

It’s hard to explain those feelings to people. They want the hero’s journey with the happy ending. But the truth is so much more complicated than that.

For a really long time now, I’ve been telling myself that when I get us all to a healthy place, I’ll fight for change. I’ll take everything I saw and learned in our time navigating both the foster care and pediatric mental healthcare systems, and I will fiercely advocate for those who are still being actively harmed by those systems today.

The problem is, when I say everyone in our family is better today than they were three years ago, I’m not actually including myself.

And sometimes, if I’m being really, painfully honest… I’m not entirely sure I’m including Cheeks, either.

That kid and I… we had a pretty good thing going. And I dropped a trauma bomb right smack in the middle of that when I brought her siblings home.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t do it again. I’ve thought about this a lot, and I wouldn’t change any of the choices I’ve made. Except maybe… I wish I had fought harder, sooner, to bring my kids home years before they actually got here.

But I didn’t know then, what I know now. I didn’t realize that the state had taken my kids into custody under the guise of knowing what was best for them, only to fail at even once getting them any kind of meaningful therapy or help. I didn’t know that the state wasn’t keeping up their obligation to put eyes on kids in their care at least once a month, or that they were brushing concerning allegations lobbied at some of the homes they’d placed them in under the rug because they didn’t have the resources to investigate or pursue other options.

I wish now that I had known these things then, because that knowledge would have drastically changed a lot of things for me and my kids. But I didn’t. So my kids got to me when they got to me, and we went through what we went through. And it was hard, but we survived. And the second hand trauma Cheeks and I experienced as a result is nothing compared to the trauma my kids experienced away from us first.

Still, I obviously see the impact of that secondhand trauma in Cheeks sometimes, and I struggle with that. Because the one thing I promised myself when I first became her mom, was that her childhood would not be as marred by trauma as my own had been.

Surprise! Sometimes, even when we have the very best of intentions, life has other plans in store…

The thing is, Cheeks has endured a lot of trauma this past year that has been completely unrelated to anything at all having to do with her siblings. Medically, it has been the worst year for her since her JIA diagnosis by a mile. And I have never had any control over that.

Plus… when I think about everything she gains by having her siblings around? When I just let myself focus on how much she loves them, and how close they all really have become?

Well, let’s just say that at JIA camp this year, the campers were asked to share their happiest childhood memory. And when it was time for Cheeks to go, she simply said, “The day my mom told me my sisters were coming to live with us.”

Yes, my face filled immediately with all the sappy tears.

As for me… I love my kids. I love our family. I wouldn’t change a thing about the choices made in bringing us together.

But I am categorically not better today than I was three years ago. Not financially. Not physically. And definitely not mentally.

Three years ago, I was a money-making writer who had built a career she loved and managed to squirrel away a pretty decent nest egg in the process.

Now, I love the work I am doing at the kids’ school. But I don’t write anymore because I couldn’t keep up with the deadlines and hustle that career required. Not while also fighting for my kids to get the chances they so desperately needed and deserved. And not now, with my brain still ravaged by all the trauma we experienced in the process.

As for that nest egg I was so proud of... it disappeared in what felt like the blink of an eye, replaced just as quickly by a mountain of debt I am now arduously working my way out from under.

Physically, I have a slew of specialists these days, and all kinds of interconnected symptoms that seem a whole lot like MS. But I haven’t received a definitive diagnosis yet, so who knows ‍♀️. Sometimes my words just stop coming out of my mouth correctly, my stomach just randomly stops digesting, and the left side of my body will just decide to stop working. My fingers and toes are constantly numb. My memory is a scattered mess. And hot showers–one of those simple pleasures I used to love taking advantage of–are now known to release me from consciousness if I stay in too long.

We may find a neurological cause at some point down the line–these things can take time to diagnose, specifically because signs that show up on tests can often take years to appear. Some studies have found that people with MS may begin experiencing symptoms 5-10 years before imaging can confirm the diagnosis.

But there is also always the possibility that everything I’ve experienced physically, can be explained by the impact of trauma on my brain. Because a traumatized brain sometimes fails to send messages to the body correctly.

What we do know, from neuropsychological testing, is that I have PTSD. And not just in the way people sometimes say, “I have PTSD,” when what they really mean is, “I did not enjoy that experience and I’d rather not repeat it again.” No, my heart rate beats faster, my body clenches up, I am constantly pushing down anger I never felt before, and I have to convince myself I’m not actually in danger almost daily. I actually started EMDR earlier this week, in the hopes of getting some of myself back… I don’t want to continue being a person who is as easily trigged as I am these days.

The toll of these past three years on my mind, heart, and body cannot be understated. I would do it all again in a heartbeat just to get to where we are today. But just because that’s true, doesn’t mean it should have to be.

No one should have to fight so hard, or sacrifice so much, just to get kids out of a broken system and to the help they need in order to live the healthy lives we all deserve to have.

A few months ago, I received a call from the office of one of our state senators. I was told that Senator Murkowski was nominating me as an Angel in Adoption, a commendation bestowed by the Congressional Coalition on Adoption. I laughed a little then, assuming I was being nominated for this honor because during Fe’s first stay at the Crisis Recovery Center, I happened to be traveling with Jazzy and her class to DC. And when the time came for the kids to meet our senators, I pushed myself to the front of the pack and explained I was a foster and adoptive mama who had a 12 year old in a mental health unit following years of neglect by the foster care system. I said I wanted to set up meetings to discuss what our state needed to do to change how these systems were being run. And then I followed up regularly with calls and emails until the next crisis hit our family and I, just… couldn’t.

When Fe and their class took the same trip this past May, I reminded members of the Congresswoman’s staff who I was. And I pointed to Fe and said, “That’s the kid people at the psych ER told me I shouldn’t adopt. They’re doing great now. But the systems are still broken.”

During that call a few months ago, I was told that coming to DC to accept this honor would allow me the opportunity to finally have those meetings with our legislators. To tell them, face-to-face, what our family has been through. And what needs to happen to ensure no other kids or families have to experience the same.

So even though the name of the commendation made me uncomfortable (I am no angel, and being my kids’ mom is not something that should be deserving of any praise–they are deserving of everything I have done for them, and so much more), I thanked the caller and accepted the nomination.

And then I forgot all about it. Because… summer. And work. And kids. And life.

About a month ago, I received another call informing me that the Congressional Coalition on Adoption had selected my nomination and wanted to honor me in DC this month (September 10th and 11th). Again, I cringed a little at the name, but thought to myself, “It would be really nice to finally have those meetings.”

Then Jazzy’s car broke down on the side of the road, costing me $1000 I hadn’t budgeted for. And Cheeks had an orthodontist appointment where I was told it was time to get braces on her teeth, and that I’d need to come up with $2000 up front to proceed. One thing after another kept happening, just like that, and I kind of laughed and said, “Okay. Alright, universe. I see you. A trip to DC for me is clearly not meant to be right now.”

I did reach out to CCAI (the institute responsible for organizing this event) and asked questions about how much of the two days in DC would be spent actually advocating, vs celebrating an honor I didn’t feel especially worthy of. I think I wanted to hear from them that it would be mostly a boondoggle–that this would be some “Rah-rah adoption!” event that was actually completely counter to my views and feelings about adoption and how kids in our country achieve permanency. I was imagining a bunch of self-congratulatory adoptive parents patting themselves on the back for all the work they’ve done, and I knew that in a group like that, I’d be the odd naysayer pointing out everything problematic about foster care and adoption, likely getting myself booed out of DC before the events had even begun.

And why waste money on that?

But what happened instead was a phone call in which the organizers expressed sincere empathy and understanding, describing long-standing goals that align so much closer with my own: providing care and help for kids who need it, as opposed to babies for parents who want them.

Still, life kept moving. And day by day went by without me seeing a way to reasonably justify making this trip.

Because that’s the thing about being a single mom: everything I do for myself, requires a sacrifice for our entire family. Time away from my kids means first ensuring they have care and coverage in my absence. Money spent on travel could usually be better spent on things that serve all the members of our family, instead of just one. And any diverted energy is energy that gets taken away from an ever-growing list of things our family needs for me to do in order to continue thriving.

As a family, there just isn’t a lot we are able to readily sacrifice these days.

But then, Wednesday morning, I participated in a Zoom call that was meant to serve as an introduction to the policy tracks honorees had been assigned to–tracks meant to influence the advocacy sessions they’ll take part in while in DC. My policy track is Well-Being. With a special emphasis this year being placed on mental health, and current legislation regarding mental health in foster care now being considered.

The other honorees in this policy track with me were incredible. There’s a woman who started a non-profit specifically dedicated to helping first mothers receive the care and support they need in the years after placement. And an organization that dedicates their time to supporting kids who age out of foster care.

These were people who have actually *done* things. People for whom legislative advocacy is nothing new, as they already spend their days actively finding ways to help the tens, hundreds, thousands of kids and families impacted by these broken systems today.

The one thing that was undeniably evident during this session is that I have no business being honored alongside these individuals. They’re the boots on the ground actually making an impact in real time today. I’m just a mom who still hasn’t finished piecing herself back together from the trauma of navigating these systems on behalf of my kids. Systems those same kids were being harmed by for years before I even knew what was happening.

But that’s why I actually want to go now. Why I decided that day that I’d find a way.

Because if I am ever going to use what our family went through for good, these are the people I need to learn from. If I am ever going to find a way to save others from experiencing a similar hell, this is an event I need to be a part of.

I want to tell our legislators about the progress my kids have made… but then I also want to tell them about the toll it’s taken.

I want to talk about the fact that at least two of my kids would have entirely different life trajectories had they only been given evaluations and early interventions the very first time they were taken into state’s custody. But now, because that didn’t happen, they will require some level of government support and resources for the rest of their lives. Their ability to be independent, functioning adults will forever be altered because the state took kids from their homes of origin, and then failed to actually make anything better for them.

I want to advocate for legislation that would require evaluations and mental health supports any time a child is removed by the state from their homes.

I want to talk about the ways we should be supporting families in reunification, instead of breaking families apart and then making it increasingly difficult for them to find their way back together.

And I want to raise awareness about the corruption that can reside within these systems, and the need for stronger checks and balances that exists anytime the government swoops into a family claiming to know what is best.

I want to fight for more mental health resources for kids and families, and to highlight not only the individual cost of not providing those resources, but also the long-term societal costs of failing to do so.

There are a lot of things happening in our lives that I cannot control or do anything about right now. But this? This is a battle I can start to fight today.