I used to work closely with children in care.
By closely I mean they used to live with me.
In a Crisis Home I ran.
This job was very important to me.
These children became my passion, this job was a joy.
My job was to stabilize the behaviour of the youth in crisis coming to me. To decrease aggression, to effectively counsel, to use charts and tables, to stabilize the environment.
I had a different approach.
Weekly I would meet these children, all who had lost hope, trust, and love for the people they were promised would take care of them. I would begin the process of wrapping them in my hope, my trust, my love and attempt to prove to them that someone will take care of them. That someone will listen.
They would test me.
Not believing that they were lovable. Pushing me away because if they’re own parents didn’t love them why would a stranger?
I would hold tighter. Asking them to believe, to be still and allow themselves to embrace feeling safe. Many times their wounds were too deep. The darkness would creep back into their eyes and cover their faces in a cloud of sadness.
Hearing their parents’ ugly words play back in their heads.
The cycle of abuse continuing.