Written by Althea, Content writer, Citizen Diplomat Blog Tales
Anabelle* (20) has been living with a foster family for 15 years. Here she explains how this came about and how strangers became family.
There are many prejudices against children and young people who grew up in a home or, like me, in foster families. Boys, in particular, like to be pushed into the criminal corner, according to the motto: They are in the home because they have beaten up others or are addicted to drugs.
That’s often wrong, it’s not the children’s fault if they were brought up wrong or not at all and the parents don’t care at all.
Even teachers think so. At school, they sometimes spoke to me in a funny way because I live in a foster family and not in a “normal” family.
Once, a teacher asked me in the corridor during a short break amid hordes of students: “I heard that you live with a foster family. Why is that?” I answered curtly, “that’s just the way it is” and cut the conversation short.
Should I begin to tell her between math and chemistry classes that my dad was an alcoholic and my mom always had borderline personality disorder (BPD) and after the divorce, she completely lost the ground under her feet?
Alone for nights
Seen through the eyes of a child, Mama was a good mother. She often went swimming with me, we went on great trips, she was never strict and would not scold me.
All the other things that parents otherwise attach great importance to didn’t count for us. I was alone all night, didn’t have to do my homework, there were no regular meals, and the fridge was always empty.
In the outside world, my teachers or neighbors naturally noticed my mother’s lack of presence. So, soon a family helper from the youth welfare office came to us who looked after us once a week. Nevertheless, essentially not much has changed.
Once my mother was very afraid of losing me to the youth welfare office when I was in third grade. On this day, the bicycle practice test with a ceremonial handing over of the “bicycle license” took place at our school. My classmates and I practiced for days and were full of anticipation.
While the others did their rounds in the schoolyard ringing the bell and demonstrating how to properly give arm signals, I was buried in the trunk under many blankets. I was secretly taken to Switzerland to live with a friend of my mother whom I have never seen so that the youth welfare office couldn’t pick me up.
My taking into care
It came after my mother had attempted suicide for the fifth time. It wasn’t about dying itself, but about attention. It was all a cry for help. She always informed the emergency services in advance, only then did she cut her wrists.
I was woken up by a nice policeman while there was chaos downstairs. My bleeding mother, rescue service, police, and youth welfare office. They decided that I would be “taken into care” immediately, and the youth welfare office was responsible for me immediately, not my mother anymore.
Only a few kilometers from where I lived at the time is a large youth welfare facility where my older brother has also been cared for for some time. So I was taken there in the middle of the night.
The next few weeks were beautiful. Thanks to an exception, I was able to live with my brother in the home. I was the little sister to all the sixteen-year-old boys. Everyone felt sorry for me because they had probably had a similar fate behind them. Someone was always playing Uno or hide-and-seek with me.
They messed with me all day and stuffed me with candy just to take my mind off my mom. But as days rolled into weeks, I started to see reality unfold.
Because the professionals are unarmed, the children become abusive. Dominating children are set up. Those humiliations, when the kids piss on you in a hostel.
When a young person rapes you, you confide in educators, but nothing happens. I lived it. All of this has consequences. You have two solutions. Either you kill yourself – I’m thinking of Cyndie who hanged herself.
The other option is becoming violent and aggressive. I chose this second option. For the administration, I have become the problematic element that must be cleared. One day, I was sent to a farm. I had harbored such anger that on that day I threatened the farmer with a knife.
At first, I didn’t miss my mom at all. She was in the hospital. When it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to live with her even after she was released, the grief came suddenly.
Alice Wagner*, a cool young teacher from the facility, had been toying with the idea of taking in a foster child for some time.
The yellow cell phone
“Temporary” became fifteen years. All the experiences, everything that happened during this time, are in my head like a tangle of memories. There are so many scraps in my head that I can’t tell in a neat order.
At first, accommodation with the Wagners was only an emergency solution. My mother wanted me back. She gave me a yellow cell phone so we can always keep in touch. I didn’t want to miss a call from her and I never put my phone down. Alice sent me to take a shower. But I couldn’t – Mama could have called during this time. This “refusal to shower” lasted for weeks, the longing for my mother was so great.
She had many chances to get me back. At first, I was able to visit her every other weekend, but even that brief period was never consistent. Once, she wanted to drive into a tree and kill herself, once her new partner locked me in a small closet. I can’t remember how long, a few hours, a night, or the whole weekend.
At some point, it was clear to everyone involved that there had to be a clear regulation. Whether I should permanently live with the Wagners or whether there should be a return to my own family [that means: child and parents are slowly introduced to a common life again with the help of experts].
With her shady boyfriend, being with her would have been doomed from the start. That’s why the competent experts from the youth welfare office and the court gave my mother a choice – boyfriend or child. She chose him, knowing that I would then stay with the Wagners.
This decision was responsible for the fact that I was able to detach myself from my mother internally. As a daughter, can you still love your mother dearly when she so obviously decides against you?
Order and rules
I am sometimes asked by friends or other people close to me: “What is it like growing up in a foster family?” Now as an adult I can say it was the best thing that could have happened to me. With the Wagners, I learned rules and boundaries for the first time: come to dinner on time, go to bed early, be considerate of others, and have to help around the house.
At first, I kind of hated Alice for her consistency and severity, I also missed my mother and subconsciously blamed Alice for not being able to be with her. But that soon changed. I felt how comforting it is to have someone who is always there for you. Who is committed to me and my advancement, who cares about me. I was not so bright at school and was supposed to repeat a class. Alice got me a tutor and drove me to various therapists. My attitude towards school soon changed.
We didn’t live in peace, joy, and pancakes. My suitcases stood in front of the front door three times. I didn’t want to stay anymore, Alice didn’t want me anymore.
Despite all the crises and struggles, somehow we always went on together. Fostership has impacted both of our lives. Alice found her calling through me. She gave up her job as a teacher in the home and lives with her husband, two of her children, and four foster children.
Editor’s Comment
Without mentioning the treatment they face in the hands of their educators and so-called caregivers, most children in foster care centers but also adults who have once been foster children have abandonment anxiety – the fear of losing someone they care about – following the rejection from, incompetence of, or loss of their parents.
This disorder is found in children but also in adults who have been confronted with significant forms of abandonment. They exhibit stereotypical behaviors. These are people who are afraid of reliving anyone else’s abandonment. So heavy and deep have they suffered. Therefore, experiencing another rejection will be downright deadly for them. To counteract this, they adopt behaviors to damage relationships with others.
*All names have been changed.
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