Today I stepped inside the court I’ve experienced some of the worst, hardest and saddest days of my life for the last time. I needed to thank the person that has had one of the biggest impacts on me dealing with this situation.
I can only hope that the letter I wrote and the small gesture of flowers will show how grateful I am.
I don’t want to forget how I thought and felt this week.
I’m no longer holding out for a chance to be a mum again. For now, I’m not a mother anymore. I wish I was. I miss them so much. It hurts. I’m terrified I’ll forget what they look like when I close my eyes. That I’ll forget the sound of their voices. Their laughs. The sound of them calling me mum. That they’ll forget about me. That they won’t know how much they meant to me. That they made me so happy. That they made me proud. That they made me feel proud of myself for bringing three of the most wonderful, beautiful little people in to this world. That they just won’t know how much I loved them. How much my heart aches for them.
It’s the end.
For now.
This is the last letter I will write to a Judge.
Dear Judge S,
I keep going over Wednesday’s hearing over and over again. I almost didn’t come. As I was turning away, I was greeted by the adoption social worker who persuaded me stay. I know it sounds juvenile but I just did not want to go. My letter and decision was so last minute that my expectations of you seeing it and being able to do anything about it were pretty low. The thought of sitting in front of three strangers who were to pass judgement on the papers of my child’s life before them filled me with dred.
I’ve looked away every time I’ve passed the court building for years now. I even used to drive the long way around to avoid passing it when I would come back here. It took away so much from me. The scared feeling I’d get in my tummy would overwhelm me. The last time I was there before I stood before you was the last day of my final hearing. It broke me. As I left the court room and stepped into the lift, the social worker involved followed me in. She laughed. She suggested that I went home and to take all my ‘happy pills’ because she was right. She told me my children were better of without me. That being ‘six feet under’ was the best place for me. I was so incredibly sad. I was numb. I believed her.
I walked home. I remember looking at how fast the cars were all going and being incredibly envious that they had somewhere to go. Once at home I found every last pill, crushed them, and took them. I genuinely thought my life was over. That is was not worth living without them. I believed her so very much when she said they were better off without me.
It almost worked. I was found. I was poorly for a while. Even when I got home from hospital, I still believed her. It took a few months of hiding away and not leaving the house before I saw that one letter a year was better than E, E and J getting one saying I was gone. I needed to be someone they would want to come and find. Someone they’re proud of.
It took a lot to go to the court the first time we met. I was scared that if remember how fearful, sad and broken I was the last time I was there. You took that fear away.
When I drive past the court now, I don’t look away. I don’t avoid it anymore. I get home a lot quicker! I no longer have the fear that almost took my life. I can only hope you realise how much of an impact the way you have dealt with our case has had. Your understanding made the hardest moments of my life bearable. You knew I wanted to fight with every fibre of my being, that the strongest fight I could give was allowing them this new life. I will be eternally grateful I met you and it was you who closed one of the happiest and saddest chapters of my life.
Thank you. Thank you for your empathy. Thank you for your understanding. Thank you for your kind and honest words. Thank you for not judging me the way many have. Thank you for seeing that all I ever wanted is what is best for E. For J. For E.
Kind Regards
So it’s been a few months since I’ve blogged or tweeted or had any online interaction. Truth is, I tried doing the hand over the eyes thing, tried to push everything away so I could take it all in, tried moving on and distracting myself with ‘normal’ life. I failed.
You see J has been constantly on my mind. He was the last to be placed. He struggled the most. Watching his big brother go and meeting his new family, then again with his little sister and meeting her two new mums, to being in limbo as to what to expect for his own future. He was always, always so adamant that he wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t much hope not a massive hold out for a placement to be found. The placement order had already been extended so I was pretty expectant that I was to fight again for him. Long term foster care is a cruel option for any child let alone mine.
I blogged about meeting his adoptive mother. She reassured me that she understood that one of his biggest struggles was not having sibling contact. Eighteen months down the line and no contact has been made even though E & E and their adoptive families seem to be quite close.
When I received notice of the application for the adoption order I had full intention of opposing. Last I heard, alongside the lack of sibling contact was that he was struggling and needed immediate therapy because he wasn’t settling or coming to terms with the adoption. The adoption social worker who I have become close to had been off for months so I was living in the Unknown. There’s not been a day where I haven’t thought about him and worried.
I notified the adoption social worker of my intentions and she did her best to reassure me. But how was I to believe her? She’s been away and wouldn’t know. I met with her and talked. She understood why I wanted to oppose. At the meeting she arranged to meet with his social worker the next day. We all met. We talked. She told me about him and how he was doing . That therapy has helped and he’s in a really good place and that if we had met 6 months ago, she would have told me different. He’s doing well. They’re both doing well. I believe her.
My reasons for opposing, apart from the blatently obvious, were drifting away with the reassurance. I told him he was going to be so happy, and that this was a new adventure, I promised him that. I told him that she was going to love him as much as I love him. I promised everything would be okay. I didn’t, for one second, what him to hate me for lying later down the line. For him to think that I knew he wasn’t happy yet didn’t do anything about it. I just want what’s best for him. A realistic best.
The hearing was today (18th of November) and only yesterday I decided what to do. I had concerns that on the application I received it stated that the hearing was to be heard by the magistrates at county court. I wasn’t sure about this. I did not want to sit in front of 3 strangers who saw nothing but a case and a name and date of birth with an imminent outcome. I wanted some sort of consistency for all three and having had the same Judge twice before, I wanted the same caring, understanding and most empathetic man I’ve ever met to do the same for him as he did for his brother and sister.
On the train home yesterday I hand wrote a letter to him and took it to the court. I posted it because it was shut and expected nothing. Taking last minute to the next level. I expected to go to the hearing today, to sit infront of these three strangers and for the case to be adjourned for another day.
I did it again, I got within a few metres of the court and turned around, I know it sounds juvenile but I just really, really didn’t want to go. I saw the SW and we went in together. She had the same expectations as me . (Magistrates, adjourn, see you in a few weeks). We were told as soon as we walked in that there was a change in courts. That the Judge would be hearing the application. He had received my letter and had stopped his hearing. He even came down to the court that we were meant to be in.
I paced outside while the two social workers sat and talked to another one. I was thinking about surfing and cheese and pugs and everything and anything to stop me feeling sick and my head from spinning. My anxiety levels were ridiculous. We were called in. I walked in to the court to be instantly overwhelmed with the amount of people. The Judge was sat between the magistrates there. He told us to sit and started talking. He thanked me for my letter and instantly put me at ease. I briefly glanced at the other people in the room but not enough to ever recognise them again. I stared at him while he talked. He spoke about the letter and told me how he wanted to be there to do this. He commended my words of honesty and understood. He asked me if there was anything I wanted to say and I spoke. I can’t remember much of what I said because I was so heartbroken and the hurt of being there was so painful.
He spoke the words of the order. He granted the adoption order there and then. He spoke through a broken voice, I glanced up to see tears running down his face, I felt bad that I’d made them all cry. I hate crying. I thanked him. I left and broke. Not only was that one of the hardest things I’ve had to do it’s also the end. That was the last time I have to stand in that court that stripped me of my life, bit by bit by bit. He isn’t only mine anymore. He will no longer have my name. In a few weeks he will have someone else’s and be hers too and that fills me with so much sadness.
My life has been in limbo waiting for this. Because of his struggles I thought he would need me to fight. The anticipation of this happening has subtly taken over me. I don’t let people get close. I don’t make new close friends. Just acquaintances. I thought that if I was to go back to court to fight for him back, how would I begin to explain it all to new people?
I’m so relieved he’s happy and settled. It’s all I want. For all three to have nothing but happiness. For them to have nothing but stability and love.
Here is the letter I wrote:
You may remember that I wrote to you in April 2014 and again a few months later. In the first regarding E, I ended the letter by saying I was to receive two more letters of notices seeking adoption orders and that you would receive two more letters opposing the applications. I have stood before you twice and each time you have granted the order there and then. A first for a Judge here. You told me I set a president and many have been granted at an initial hearing since.
There has been quite a lengthy gap between the last two orders you made. J was the last to be placed. There was constant doubt whether or not an adoptive family would be found. He struggled. He struggled so so much. He struggled watching his big brother go, then his little sister.
You see, he was given a choice. He was asked if he would prefer contact with his siblings or with me. All the way through he was adamant he wasn’t leaving and not once succumb to the promise of a forever family. I saw J after this choice was given to him. It broke me and hurt me so much to reassure him that a new mum would love him just as much as I did and that he would be able to see them. My final contact was the hardest day of my life. He told me he wouldn’t go if I didn’t want him to. That he was scared. I told him he was going to be so loved, that this was a new adventure in his life. I promised him he’d be happy. I promised he would be okay.
I met J’s adoptive mother. I told her everything about him. Our life together, the good and the bad. She understood that one of his biggest struggles was not having contact with his siblings and had a massive understanding of how important it is for him. Especially as both E & E adoptive families have become friends.
We’re eighteen months down the road. Hes struggled a lot. My instinct has told me for the last year that he hasn’t been happy and it killed me to hear I was right. When I received the application for the adoption order I had full intention of contesting. I did not want him to think that I lied when I reassured him or for him to find out later down the line that I knew he wasn’t settling and not have done anything new about it. I notified the adoption social worker of my intentions and she has done everything in her power to reassure me. At first I was hesitant to believe. She’s been off work for months, how would she know? I was warned that that my life would be invaded and scrutinised again if I was to ask the court for leave, that everything in their power would be done to prevent it. It’s a shame it’s still a battle. We should all want what is best for him.
I met the social worker last week. She has had consistent contact with J. I heard about his struggles but also how well he was doing now with the help of therapy. I appreciated her honesty. All I want is for him to be happy and if that means moving on from me. So be it. He has a bond with her. He calls her mum.
To summarise, I would like the adoption application to be heard and granted by you. J is excited to have his ceremony and is finally in the right place. I really couldn’t begin to articulate how much I want him to be happy.
Adoptive parents have one thing in common.
Birth Mothers.
You all have one in your lives. You have all read about one. You have read a lot about that one that brought your child into the world. You may have compared yours with others. You have undoubtedly felt sadness for her. You have wondered what went so wrong. You have felt so much anger towards her. You will always want to know why.
I see, hear and feel an extreme amount of familiarity of the stories and experiences of the birth mothers in the lives of the people I engage with on my blog and social media. I read your blogs and tweets and more often than not, I fill with sadness. My heart breaks more and more when I hear stories of the woman in your life that burdens you on a daily basis.
I am one on those women. Unfortunately I come with a stigma. I am tarred with the same brush as others. I have experience with birth parents and I wouldn’t consider one remotely positive, each of them have clocked up some major tw*t points. You see, I hear about a lot about your struggles with your children, a lot of those struggles are down to what they’ve been exposed and It doesn’t surprise me to see why there is that anger, hatred and frustration and a sweeping generalisation.
I know that my eldest struggled initially when he was adopted, from what I gather from the information I have received from his adoptive parents and the adoption social worker he has settled and is doing really well. Being 7 at the time, and having to say goodbye to his siblings and mother, it was imminent. Little girl has done amazing from day one and I am putting it down to her adoptive mothers and their support. Their open mindedness and their drive to seek a accurate portrayal of her life from the day she was born to fill with them with confidence and security and parent her the best they can. I know that when I meet them, I will love them. In a previous blog I spoke about how I made a video for them, a video of myself talking about every aspect of their lives with me, photos and videos from the minute they were born until final contact. I didn’t make one for middle son. I found them too difficult and I was broken by the time it came to saying goodbye to him. I had contact with him for 5 months after he had to say goodbye to his brother and sister. I cannot put into words how much he was traumatised by this. I told the adoption social worker when we met for her to tell me about a placement being found, that I could not do another one when the time came but I would love to be able to tell her every bit of information about little man when the time came. She arranged for us to meet. We met. We talked. She reassured me that she understood that one of the biggest things he needed in his life was contact with his brother and sister. She promised me she would do everything in her power.
We’re nearly 9 months down the line. He is still struggling. Mainly because he has not seen them. They have had support put in place because of those struggles. I can’t imagine what they are both going through. He was found a placement the week before the order was due to end. Everyone around us were planning for long term foster care. He continually, continually said that he was never going to move. It came down to him being asked whether he would like to see mummy or his brother and sister. I told him to choose them. I reassured him. I lied to him and told him I was happy for him. I wanted to meet with her to make sure she knew all the right things to say to him to make sure he would settle and be okay. We had a picture taken together so they could show him that I had met her and I know that he will be safe. I strongly believed that she would be the right person for him. With every fibre of my being, I wished and hoped she was. I prayed she would be. When I spoke to the social worker this week she told me that she had been talking about me. This happens every single time we speak to each other. Something happens that day and then my instinct tells me to call. She told me that there still hasn’t been contact between little man and his siblings. My legs turned to jelly and I instantly felt sick. She told me a therapist/support worker has advised against it. She made this judgement by meeting him once. Not reading any of his files. Not speaking to the adoption social worker.
She used her judgement. She used her experience. She just assumed.
You see this is why I feel as much anger, hatred, and frustration towards birth mothers too. It is so massively hard to fight this portrayal and just assume. I can’t even get as angry as I would like to with this therapist because why wouldn’t she? From seeing what you all have been through, hearing what your children have been exposed to, and meeting men and women who have harmed their children, how can we all not judge and presume such things?
The reality of the situation is that he has always been like a wise old man. He was the clingy one. He was the observer of the three. He was the one who liked taking toys apart then trying to put them back together. He was the one who wanted to live in wellies and play outside come rain or shine, always want to play in dress up clothes and expected me to carry him everywhere. He knew when I was poorly(had the breakdown). He knew when I got better. He never quite understood why he could not come home. He is stubborn. He strong minded and determined. He likes to know exactly what is going on and he expects people to explain to him what is going on. He was promised that he would see his big brother and his little sister. They say he has problems showing his emotions. He has watched his big brother go with a new family. He has watched his little sister go with a new family. He had to say goodbye to the foster carers he adored. He had to say goodbye to me. He has had his heart broken and has had his life filled with this trauma.
I told the adoption social worker to tell his adoptive mother that regardless of whether I like it or not and regardless of how hard it was for me to say, that she is the mother in his life at this moment in time. To be confident and secure and use her instinct. What he needs is what he was promised. He needs them. Eldest and little girl meet up often and their adoptive parents have become close friends and that fills my heart with joy. They both wrote in their letters that they are trying to initiate contact and I thank them for that.
Adoption social worker told me to trust her. I do. She has gone straight for the therapist herself. She has asked me to make a video for those involved. To talk to them. To try and get rid of the automatic assumptions so she can help him the best way she can.
Birth mums suck. There is no other way to articulate that.
It’s been two whole months since I last blogged, definetly not two months since I’ve needed to, but finding the time has been quite tedious.
I last blogged on E’s birthday. Since then I’ve kept busy, maybe too busy. I spent a lot of time with my Aunt and her family whilst she was here during the summer. I was so sceptical looking back, (she’s my mother’s sister and found myself briefly tarring her with the same brush as her) That didn’t last long, she lives in Saudi Arabia and comes over once a year for 6 weeks, I haven’t seen her in the last 4 years.
It was amazing, spending time with family for the first time in years helped me in ways I didn’t think was possible. I’ve isolated myself a lot, partly to do with my lack of patience (explaining the situation I’m in, how LA’s, SS work etc) and partly because what I’ve been through makes people sad and it hurts them too and when I really needed them, they weren’t there. I have enough sadness about everything for everyone I know and I can’t handle any more.
Over the summer I learnt a lot about my mother and where I’m from.
I’ll share a little about my mother. She had my brother and I at 17&18. She met a guy from Yemen when she was 16 while she was in college and thought she was in love. He left her when I was a baby to go back to Yemen and find a house with a plan to take us out there to live. From what I gather now it wasn’t realistic, him being from the Middle East, and my mother being a white, blond, blue eyed, westerner who had pretty much boshed out two babies out of wedlock, it wasn’t going to happen! He never came back. She moved on.
She went on to meet my dad, married my dad when I was 3 and had two more babies. My brother was 20 last week and my sister is 15. We’ve moved abroad a lot due to my dad’s job. I’ve loved it, we’ve all grown up having a really good education and it’s always been pretty normal. I think as the years went on, my mother turned into a bit of a moron, or possibly, I started to see it as I got older.
When I had E I was 19, in university and it didn’t so her pretentious image any favours. She came round when he was born and when J came 18months later she found it too much and around that time they moved to Dubai with my dad’s job. That was the last time I saw her. 6 years ago. She never came back when little girl was born. She was asked to Skype with LA when everything happened, to be there if I got poorly again (had another breakdown) but that coincided with her holiday. They issued proceedings after that. So I’m pretty sure I won’t forgive her for that amongst some other things.
She’s still out there, my dad came back here. To justify what happened to my dad, she told him I put the children up for adoption. My dad stopped talking to me (found this out recently). They’ve just got divorced. My dad came back here to the UK for a little while and is now back working in the Middle East. My beautiful little brother started university in September and Meg moved back in July.
Whilst my sister was out there, my mother exposed her to a lot, she was having an affair and was insistent she kept quiet. The relationship became volatile and my sister shut down. My dad went and got her as soon as he found out and brought her home. She was asked what she wanted to do, whether it would be move out there with him, go to boarding school and come stay with big sis. It was big sister. Me. What have I got myself into?!
So house hunting began, I’m back in South Wales, by the beach, close to her school and have a beautiful little apartment we chose together. I’ve spent the last month or so getting her stable, and showing her consistency. It’s worked. I think she’s always going to have an attitude problem and be spoilt, she’s the youngest of four! My biggest battle is figuring out her behaviour, whether it’s down to what she’s experienced or because she’s a hormonal petulant teenager. To do that I got her a doctors appointment and a referral to have some counselling. It seems to be doing her some good but she has a bad habit of knowing what to say to get a reaction out of people. She went on Thursday in a horrible mood (my dad has been back for a few days and has declared topshop as his second home and said no to her when she asked for a vintage channel handbag that was only £700) I found it hilarious and she went armed with aggression. When asked if she had suicidal thoughts she more or less said yes then went on to rant about me. She contacted SS about her being at risk and my name hit a flag. Thankfully they’ve been good, my dad was here to speak with them and I’m more than happy to engage with them. In fact, I wouldn’t mind them having a stern word with her about attention seeking! They said they didn’t have any concerns with me parenting her (oh the irony) and told me I was doing a good job.
I always thought if, and I mean a huge if, I had anymore children what would happen. I find that even now, thought things like Life Story Books etc that they still slam me down when there isn’t a need to constantly seek justification for what they did to us.
If I had another child, would that happen again?
Summer. I absolutely love summer. It’s my favourite time of year and has the anniversaries of some of my favourite moments in my life so far. Surfing, festivals, holidays, family days, having my first child.
Today is E’s birthday. His 8th birthday. After 20 hours of labour and a week past his due date, he arrived. He finally arrived. 6.01am, weighing 8lb8oz, my beautiful baby boy was born.
I’ve had a busy week and I’ve avoided looking at the date, tried pushing it to the back of mind. I want to forget because I’m selfish. And I’m jealous. And resentful. I woke up crying, it’s weird how much you can try and force yourself not to do something but your mind is almost programmed to remember. The day he was born was the best day of my life, if I close my eyes I can remember how happy I was, his smell and the softness of his skin. Being so unbelievably proud of myself for making him. Pure elation. He was honestly so perfect.
I can only hope and pray he knows that I’m thinking of him today. That he knows how much I miss him without it hurting him. How much I’m proud of him. How much I adore him. How special he is. How brave and brilliant he is.
How much I wish I was still his mummy.
I miss being a mummy so much.
It hurts.
I’m sorry baby boy, I’m so sorry.
I think you can. I think I can. I’m awfully frustrated about my frustrations. I have a few. Maybe too many? I’m going to have accept that I’m always going to be frustrated when it comes to all the things I’ve experienced over the last few years, aren’t I? Expectations. I don’t even know what I expect but it’s usually the opposite of what I’m experiencing.
There always seems to be debates about adoption, forced adoption, outcome decisions and the way decisions are made. No one is ever going to win in that debate.
I’ve experienced ‘forced adoption’ and I far from like it. I loathe it. I detest it. I hate it. But am I a bit hypocritical when I agree, that in certain circumstances, it’s justified?
When you’re a birth parent faced in a situation when you’re smack bang in the middle of care proceedings, it’s going to go either way.
Help. Adoption. Long term foster care.
Who decides?
Well, the social worker decides. It’s their ultimate decision whether they decide if they want to be for you, or against you. I think it’s personal. A social worker can either offer support and work with and gain proof that you’re in a position to care for your child, or they could do the opposite, go down the route of proving why you can’t.
Everyone in a situation where they have interactions with the ‘system’ that surrounds local authorities, from Foster Carers, Adopters, to Kinship carers will know that nothing is straight forward and not many people have the same experiences. That in general, we all have different perceptions, views and expectations. You’d think that because it is referred to as a ‘system’ that everyone would be faced with the same experiences.
During the period of time where I had contact Monday to Friday in a contact centre, I met a lot of other parents. One girl had similar contact times, I’d occasionally give her a lift so we’d talk. She told me that baby was injured (broken rib) due to a traumatic delivery, she called some compensation phone line for medical accidents, next thing she knows, hospital denied any injury, baby was taken, full medical, placed in foster care etc. She was pregnant mid proceedings and after the birth of second baby went to live in a mother and baby unit, well I think it was foster carers. I believed her. Her partner was lovely. He engaged really well. Final decision was that the kids could go home. Cut a long story short. Heroin.
She took it, she still takes it. She goes out partying and hangs around the town centre and it really annoys me. She lied. She’s manipulative. Local authorities are oblivious. That’s frustrating.
I believed, and still strongly do, that being honest was the hardest and best way. How are the children going to overcome and get past anything if I’m not honest about any problems we had? I needed to be brutally honest so they got everything they needed. I was a paranoid mess for weeks and that impacted them.
People around me that have children rate their parenting on me sometimes, some are awful parents but they have the mentality that they can’t be that bad because she wasn’t that bad a mum and she had hers taken. That’s frustrating.
I had a bit of a heated discussion with an old neighbour last night over dinner. She’s 36, 5 kids, ranging from 22 to 8. Significant amount of social services involvement throughout her life and since she had kids. Never worked a day in her entire life. Her week evolves around benefit day. Always has an opinion that is followed by ‘ anyway, I’m not getting involved’. She thinks, alongside others, that because I engage with the children’s adoptive parents and adoption worker that I condone it or didn’t fight.
Her house is a mess. Always a mess. She spends her days on Facebook playing games. Her 14 year old does drugs and sleeps around and is on the child protection register. (Mum hit her, she runs away, oh god I could go on) 16 Yr old boy is always being brought home by police. 18 Yr old had a baby at 16. I’m not mean, I’m really not, but she’s a filthy, dirty, overweight, smelly and unkempt little girl. Her 2 year old will put her arms out to anyone, is always dirty, a bit slow. Just awful. I can’t even look at the kid because I know she’s so neglected. Her son, 8 has a tracheotomy, which makes him ‘disabled’. That word! Anyway, my point is, that the same local authority has written them off because where would they start? They certainly would never have been able to place any of them! And she openly vocalises that she thinks I must of had a boyfriend who was a bad yukky man or I have a secret drug problem, because she knows exactly what she does and has still got her children. That is frustrating.
People’s opinions annoy me and frustrate me and I really should be used to them. I come back to the place where I faced with having to explain a situation that I can’t explain. Do I have to? When I meet new people, do I have to tell them about the children? About being a mother now a birth parent? Do I have to keep trying to explain how I ended up here?
I just don’t know. Frustrating, right?
So I’m pretty sure that quite a lot of us watched Exposure – ‘Don’t take my baby’ and it seemed to cause an opinionated stir. The programme started with the showing of a video which was broadcast on YouTube by the parents of a newborn who was being removed from their care. I had seen the video a few months ago when I read about the High Court case that followed which massively intrigued me.
I know exactly how those parents felt at that moment, to a certain degree, I can empathise with their actions. Unfortunately, the day my children were removed from my care I wasn’t particularly nice. In fact I was obnoxious and defensive. But also in shock and scared and confused and a million other emotions. But I felt let down watching it, because I feel like those parents let themselves down. If they knew their beautiful newborn child was going to be taken away, they would of had time to prepare. Come to terms with what was about to happen and start to prepare their legal fight. Make sure they were both in a situation strong enough to deal with it the best way possible for their baby. Instead they chose the obstructive route. What I found the most uncomfortable was the screaming and the forcefulness of the mother holding on to her baby. Let’s face it, everyone in that room knew the outcome and they just didn’t do themselves any favours. The Local Authorities that were there, were rude, ignorant and rather unjust and I certainly don’t condone their actions (bloody far from it) but my instinct told me that child wouldn’t have had stability with those parents at that moment in time.
When did it become that the road you go down when you’re a struggling parent who needs some guidance and support that the main option is to place the child for adoption? To drag the parents to an imminent outcome battle of care proceedings?
Watching programmes like Exposure are hit and miss for me. I see a lot of parents who just don’t help themselves. Help themselves in the sense that they constantly pull the ‘pity pity poor me’ card and still don’t understand an inkling of the reasons their child/children were removed in the first place then on the other hand see bollocks decision making and pretty awful social workers who have no ability whatsoever to be nothing but ignorant. Parents who constantly try and justify their actions and stage a battle with social services and won’t for love nor money get to the point of understanding why they’re in the situation they’re in. It’s frustrating.
I know why my children were removed from my care, I understand completely. I was a few weeks into a nervous breakdown. Regardless of whether it was intentional or not, I put them at risk and I always understood that, my anxiety and post natal depression not so much (but I do now). What I will never understand is why I was never helped. No one ever had concerns for my parenting or capability of looking after my children when SO many people involved with social services have no capability to parent.
A lot of the parents in the position of loosing their child/children on the programme seemed to suffer with mental health issues which didn’t surprise me. I strongly believe that people who work within social services should have a much bigger awareness of mental health issues instead of seeing it as a taboo subject and treating mental health issues like an airborne virus that’s going to make them sprout extra arms and legs.
I know that I was completely ripped apart by certain social workers. My barrister told me I was getting such a hard time because I was challenge to the opposing legal teams because I wasn’t a ‘conventional care mum’ and social services had to cover their arses and justify the mistakes they made throughout the case. The children’s guardian was brilliant but I understand why she went along with LA care planning. There was no evidence of me being able to engage with social services due to the SW being a little bit corrupt and bullyish with a huge lack of ability to be honest. Some things I laugh at – the fact that in the care orders when describing me that ‘….. claims to be white’. When I was getting hassle of the awful chavy neighbours and I begged for help moving, she asked if it was because I was depressed that I ‘didn’t have a corner house’. How she is so racist is beyond me (I’m not even asian!). How she got away with it is beyond me. Why didn’t I complain you may think. Because I just wanted to engage. I just wanted them home. One of my biggest regrets is letting her hurt and bully me, maybe I was naive, I’d never experienced bullyish behaviour before or someone being that mean and I struggled, I let her get to me. On the last day of the final hearing I was broken, completely broken. When we walked out to leave, she laughed at me, she told me ‘I told you so’. She told me to do my kids a favour and take all my ‘happy pills’ and that they’ll be better off with me six feet under. Stupidly I listened to her and went home and did just that. I was found in time, (when I previously said Jane had saved my life in my previous post I was being literal). Coming so close to dying was such a hard time and I’ll never forgive myself for putting her and the people around at that moment through that.
After a few weeks the realisation of my situation kicked in. The best thing for my children was to be there for them. A letter a year is a whole lot better than one telling them I took my own life. To get of my arse and be someone they’d be proud of to find.
You see all I ever want is for my children to be safe and happy.
The programme showed social services in quite a negative light and that didn’t phase me because I just don’t have faith in them. I don’t have faith in their judgements, the way they assess and their taught mentalities. A lot of people will have a totally different perception of them, usually those who have never experienced disagreeing with them or have small minds that can’t/won’t accept that mistakes are made. People who take things at face value. People who judge.
All that the programme ‘Exposure’ exposed was our personal opinions on a subject we will never be able to understand.
I asked a question via twitter a few days ago. A throw away question I had randomly in my head which completely surpassed. I had a busy evening and following morning and was surprised I’d missed so many comments when I checked the next day.
I asked, Why don’t we have open adoption here in the UK?
The replies I received varied. A few made me laugh. Ignorance makes me laugh.
I asked that question not thinking of myself, or in a post care proceedings situation, I was wondering out loud about open adoptions.
You see, if someone offered me an open adoption I think I’d say no. Unless I could just have photos and a running commentary of what they’re doing. See them too, maybe like once a year. Actually, become best friends with the new mummy and daddy, where would it end? It would totally devour the entire process of supporting children in difficult situations. Situations of grief and anger and frustration at the situation their faced with. It just wouldn’t work. Children wouldn’t move on and it would be impossible for the child to start calling someone else mum or dad.
I would like photos mine. I’d love it actually. Especially of the times their going to have together. The thing that makes me the most sad is knowing they miss each other and I cherish the last photos of them together. But I’m not allowed and I’m accepting it.
You see, I’m supportive of the people looking after my children. Do I agree with it? No.
Do I agree with the fact that they split up three siblings purely because they had so many prospective adoptive parents to just take on one? No.
Do I agree with adoption being a significant outcome when children maybe at risk when nothing has happened? No.
Do I understand why so many people loose their children to adoption? Yes.
I see people all the time that have. I see so many people that disregard their kids, and shout and swear and are just god awful to their children yet still have them.
I think it would be fair to say that LA’s have thresholds of tolerance to children. They have a tendency to leave children that are past help with their parents and throw support at them because they know how difficult it’s going to be for them to place them in foster care. Especially large sibling groups, or parents with big families in run down areas. They categorically write them off and throw their ‘LA helps, social workers are here to help’ cards at them.
There are people, a lot of people I’d say that need scaffolding to get down off their glorified high horses that have poor attitudes to others in this situation. That think they know everything. Of course everyone judges, we’re programmed to. But to automatically glance at a picture and think you understand and look down your nose at them isn’t going to help. Anyone. Not even yourself.
Nothing is conventional. Nothing is straight forward. Many adoptive parents get that and the adoptive parents that understand that have my upmost respect. Because it’s hard to understand. Knowing there is something to understand is enough. Enough to show their secure in the decision they’ve made to take on amazing children that need new families, knowing they have a past.
Writing this blog and engaging with adoptive parents has given me nothing but faith in my children’s adoptive parents. There maybe a few who summed up my initial perception of an adoptive parent but I’m so unbelievably glad that isn’t the same anymore and more often that not, there are some pretty fantastic people out there.
I’ll blog about proceedings and the decision making progress in our case in the next couple of days.
I wish people treated each other the way we’d like to be treated ourselves. I wish that no one ever suffered harm. I wish that every child in this world grew up loved, cared for and idolised.
After my first final contact I got back in touch with the adoption worker. I had to find her, her number and make initial contact. We spoke and we arranged to meet. We had a LAC review coming up and decided it was best to meet there.
When I got there she walked past and looked aroud. I’m not too sure why, but I always get confused for legal or SWs and always have to introduce myself. I heard her talk, she’s German so I recognised her voice and went over. I have no idea what she was expecting but she did the head tilt and looked surprised. We talked briefly and after the review. I told her that I never wanted to go through being told about another one of my children going the way I was again. She reassured me I wouldn’t.
We spoke a lot over the upcoming months. Not about E, or where he had gone, because I couldn’t handle it but the ‘what if’s’ if J or little E went.
It was December and I went to drop some cards for E for Christmas. I was expecting a flying visit but she asked if I wanted to sit. She did the oh so familiar head down look. Little girl was going. She sat me down and talked and told me a family had been matched. She had told me she had met with a lot who all wanted her but she chose to recommend the couple she thought I’d like to bring her up. For the first time I had an inkling of trust with someone within the Local authority and it happened to be the person who was taking away my babies. Ironic really. And just my luck. But she was putting the children’s needs first.
The adoption worker told me that goodbye contact would be in two weeks. I had time to prepare. To think about what to do. It would be a few days away from her 4th birthday and I was fearful that she wouldn’t understand. That she would say goodbye expecting me to see her soon. She was 3months away from her 2nd birthday when she became looked after and the realisation of the fact that half of her entire life had been away from me was so hard. So, so hard.
I spoke with the adoption officer again before final contact. She told me she had something to tell me. She said that usually it’s irrelevant and doesn’t necessarily have to be told to birth parents but because J has been there when little girl has been told, he may pass it on to me.
Pass on to me that she was going to go to two mummys.
I hung up the phone really abruptly. I was angry. I was confused. I’m certainly not against same sex couples. Or am I? One of my closest friends is gay, I sit next to him at every lecture. I was cross at my lack of understanding. I was jealous, resentful, that same sex couples get so much support in making them have the ability to adopt when I didn’t get any whatsoever. I didn’t get any help or support to keep my own children yet people who can’t do. I questioned my entire opinion on sexuality. Was she going to be exposed to it too young? I don’t want her to loose her innocence. After everything she’s been through does she not just need normality?
The majority of those thoughts didn’t last long. I calmed down and thought properly. I spoke to Jane. Jane has the strongest listening ability and gets me more than I get myself. She’s my best friend. She is THE total opposite of me, she’s older and wiser but incredibly juvenile at times. She’s looked after me, picked me up time after time. She’s wiped my tears, held me down. She’s sat with me and talked to me for hours when I was in the darkest depressions. She cooks the yummiest pasta and always makes me toast before I even know I’m hungry. We laugh and we cry together. We have each other’s backs. I’m part of her family and she is mine. She reassures me when I need it, she’s my kick up the bum, her children are amazing, we adore each other.
Everyone needs a friend like Jane. She saved my life.
That was it. That’s all the reassurance I needed. If little girl was going to be brought up by two best friends who loved each other, and have a strong relationship and friendship, she was going to be okay. Because let’s face it, girls need girls and girl’s rule.
Little girl isn’t going to grow up exposed to sexuality, or be bullied for being different or not understanding where she came from because I strongly believe her two new mummys are strong and secure. She’s going to be incredibly lucky. She’s going to grown up knowing it is more than okay to be different.
That sometimes things aren’t conventional, but just as fun.
A gift for her new bedroom
Something I’ve learnt over the last few years is that sometimes the thought of something, something happening is far more emotional and hurtful than the reality of a situation. We all have a tendency to cry more for other people than we do for ourselves. The truth is, when you’re in the worst possible situation, it really is fight or flight.
When the children initially became looked after, I had contact Monday – Friday. To say spending time in contact centres is pretty grim would be an understatement. Our SW at the time, wasn’t my biggest fan either, (even bigger understatement!) which had something to do with our contact agreement. It consisted of three pages of things we couldn’t do….
No food, no drinks, no toys, no gifts, no whispering, no taking them to the bathroom, no taking photos, no private jokes, dictating how often I should wash their hands, and that when the children asked when they were coming home, I had to tell them, ‘when I stopped being ill in the head’ or avoid it completely. (These are just my favourite, it goes on)
None of the contact team had seen an agreement as tedious or mean but we all got on with it. People who had abused their children had less rules but that just summed up what i was up against. I learnt pretty quickly that contact was about the children, not me.
I would get there half hour early every day and wait in the carpark come rain or shine. I’d leave 5mins before them, and wait to wave them off just one more time. I was 10minutes late once in 2 years. (I got run over on the way)
So, I planned. I planned every contact. We did arts and crafts and managed to get use of the kitchen. We planted flowers in hanging baskets and did artwork for the contact centre. I secretly bought new toys for the contact centre sometimes and left ingredients and recipes for other parents to use. We made scrap books, wrote stories. We made superhero capes from black bags. Contact was amazing and praised. Eventually, I was allowed to take pictures and take them to the toilet and once a week we’d go to a different contact centre with a park and a library. This was after contact review asked for by the manager of the contact team. She said a lot of things were unnecessary and the workers agreed. The SW was rude to her. She said during that meeting ‘I don’t know why we’re bothering, it won’t be long before they’re all adopted’ and laughed. I chose to ignore it. This was at a stage when I didn’t even know adoption happened or took place. The contact manager reassured me, it wasn’t going to happen.
Luckily, we had consistent contact workers all the way through. Both the children and I loved them.
After the final hearing, the reduction in contact was care planned to be reduced over 2months then go to once a month. That didn’t happen. We had to meet with the SW and her colleague in a place called ‘Housing Options’ in possibly the roughest place in town with no privacy whatsoever. There, she told me that it was going to once a month from then, I was so angry and upset. She dictated to me that, ‘Local Authority had parental responsibility now, I am Local Authority and I can do what I want’. I think that was the final straw for her (A Barnardos worker who’d come with me to my meetings with her complained) Next thing, she was being pushed into an admin job in another town.
You see, I don’t really like that place. A lot of frustrating things have happened there. I was also told that they decided the children were to be care planned for adoption there. Once the final hearing was over I thought at least I would never have to go there again.
In Sept 2013, I had a phone call from the new SW (old SW’s colleague from meeting). It was on a Thursday afternoon and I was mid lecture but when I see ‘private number calling’ I know it’s something important. The SW was over enthusiastic, she asked how I was, I asked what was wrong. She asked to meet the next day, I asked why. She wouldn’t tell me, I asked why again. She reiterated that adoptive placements were being looked for, for the children. I asked ‘all three?’ She said no. I asked which one, expecting it to be youngest. She said no. She said let’s meet tomorrow. Housing options. Great.
Jane and I got there. Early. We sat. It stank of wee and stale cider. I’d naively thought that if I was ever told that the children were being placed for adoption I’d be sent a letter. It would have a time and date for a meeting. I’d be sat down and talked to and everything would be explained to me. I’d be offered things to say and do, a gift to give, anything just anything. But no. The SW sat there and told me it was E. The eldest. The one that I thought because of his age and significant attachment to me, wouldn’t go. They even told me, they didn’t think he would go. She said that on Monday I’d be having my final contact. An hour in a contact centre we’d never been to. Jane asked questions, I cried. I begged her to tell them no, I screamed. I threw up and left.
I called the next day to ask what to do, it was Saturday and no one could help. I spent the whole weekend not having a clue what to do and panicking. We were going to be in a false environment, a place we’d never been, I had no idea what was appropriate to say to him or do. I finally got through to someone on the Monday and told her I was scared. She was shocked that I’d been told that way and managed to get contact in our usual place for 2hours.
I decided to do a scrap book with him and printed off lots of pictures. Took glue and stickers and his favourite lunch. (Homemade puff pastry veggie sausage rolls, pitta bread, houmous, malteasers, cheese and onion crisps and strawberry milk). The first thing he said was ‘They’re going to make me say goodbye to you but I’m not’ I tried so hard not to cry. I lied to him. I told him that mummy thinks he was going to be okay, that I was happy for him. I told him not be scared, that it was an adventure. I stared at him and he looked at me and cried in my arms and told me he was scared. I had to stop crying, I told him he had snot in my hair that I was going to keep forever and he laughed. He told me that maybe I could have more babies just like him. He told me I was beautiful. He took my necklace I was wearing and told me he’d give it back when he was 18. I felt proud, proud that I’d brought such a beautiful, strong, loving young man into the world.
After that contact I shut down completely. I couldn’t deal with it. Writing this is the first time I’ve spoke about it. It’s all I can manage for today but I will write about little girl’s and J’s later.
birthmum 