Making a difference in a child’s life

BY EMMA SMITH

Several years ago, a friend and I were out shopping when we ran into a mutual acquaintance. I had just moved back home to Traverse City after accepting a job with Child & Family Services.

“Oh, it’s so nice that you’re back,” she gushed, embracing me. “What will you be doing there?” I explained that I had been hired as a foster care specialist, which meant I would be responsible for the case management of children who have been removed from their parents’ care due to neglect or abuse.

Although I considered this my first “big-girl job” since college, I had worked in the child welfare field for the last couple of years, and I was proud of it. I knew I wanted to build a career in foster care; it just felt right.

“Oh, my goodness,” the acquaintance replied, a look of concern clouding her features. “I could never do that. It must be so sad, all the things you see. No, no… I couldn’t handle it; I just love kids too much.”

Although it took me a moment to rearrange my exasperated expression into one of neutrality, I managed come up with a reply that I’ve continued to use some version of to this day: “That’s true,” I conceded. “I do see a lot of sad situations.

“But for me, the sad part is thinking about all the kids I haven’t met yet, the ones who are still stuck in those situations, you know? At least with this job, I can breathe easy knowing that the kids I work with are in a safe place, getting the love and care they need.”

“Well, God bless you,” she said, still appearing unconvinced. “I know I couldn’t do it. We need more people like you out there.”

I’ve had countless interactions like this one over the years. While I know that people mean well, I’m running out of things to say in response.

The work is hard, don’t get me wrong, but none of us do it to feel like heroes. I, like the rest of my colleagues, have had my fair share of sleepless nights worrying about a child on my caseload. I’ve cried in a courthouse bathroom (and given myself a pep talk in the mirror of said bathroom afterward). I’ve held a baby in the hospital while he underwent testing for a traumatic brain injury as a result of shaken-baby syndrome. I’ve been called every name in the book by clients who are convinced I’m there to hurt, not help, their family.

Then again, I’ve also seen miracles. I’ve seen a 4-year-old, who came into care with two black eyes and a split lip, learn how to ride a bike with her foster family. I’ve watched a young mother, who struggled with her own trauma history, heal from the wounds of her childhood so that she could be reunited with her daughter and live happily together. I’ve seen teenagers who never planned to graduate from high school go on to finish college. I’ve seen many, many adoptions, and I don’t think there’s a single one that hasn’t caused me to shed at least a few happy tears.

So, when people say things like, “I could never do that,” what I really want to say is, “Yes, you could.”

Now I’m going to share some facts about my profession that may surprise you: To label those of us who work in child welfare as saints, heroes or “other” does not serve anyone but you. It puts distance between you and those of us who devote our lives to closing that distance.

It does the exact opposite of what we want. it goes against the very thing we spend so much of our time trying to convince the general public of — that you can be a part of this big, scary and emotional world of foster care. You can foster. You can volunteer. You can elect representatives who will fight to secure the funding we desperately need.

You can make a difference in a child’s life even — no, especially — if you’re one of those people who just loves kids “too much.”

This year, Child & Family Services is celebrating its 85th anniversary. Our organization prides itself on our robust child welfare program, as well as many other programs we provide, such as Safe Haven, Wraparound, Pete’s Place and behavioral health services.

Last Sunday, a little brown bag was inserted in the folds of your Record-Eagle as part of CFS’s annual Brown Bag Campaign. I hope you found it. I hope you use it. It’s simple to fill out and mail in, or you can donate online at cfsnwmi.org/ brownbag.

About the author: Emma Smith is a donor relations and volunteer specialist with Child and Family Services of Northwestern Michigan in Traverse City.