Went to St. Johnsbury to see Bess O’Brien’s latest documentary Ask Us Who We Are. It’s about foster kids and foster families. Powerful. Painful. Kids crying out “How could she not love me?” Wrongful stereotypes — like it’s the kid who was the problem not the parents. Mothers talking about how painful it was to give up their kids, but wanting the kid to have a better life.
The film about foster children hit me harder than I expected. I was feeling sad & lonely yesterday too, but today there’s the added component of the heavy weight of despair. Hearing the foster kids say things like “How could she give me away unless she didn’t love me?” and “It’s the worst pain there is — to be rejected by your parents,” hit really hard. I felt slammed in the deepest wound of all, the feeling of not deserving to live.
Most of the foster kids interviewed were teens or in their twenties. There were pictures of them as small children looking like anybody’s kids, and then tales of drunken fathers who beat them up. There were two painful but wonderful stories of women who were addicted, and gave their children up because they wanted them to have better lives. In one case the woman did manage to get off drugs, but she knew she couldn’t promise never to start using again. What happened was that she was able to make friends with the foster mother so she can still see her daughter. The other mother, who gave up her very young son, was thrown out by her abusive husband when she was pregnant again, and she knew if she kept using that it would be like killing the infant. So she got off drugs, made a life for herself, and got back her son. I was very much moved by how hard some parents are willing to work to be able to keep their children, to be good parents.
My parents were alcoholics, and it never occurred to them that their drinking might be harming their children. As I think back I realize that neither of them ever gave up anything or worked hard at anything to be able to give us better lives. After I learned about alcoholic families, read books, participated in groups, I told my mother that I didn’t come to see her more often because I was hurt by her drinking. She said, as nastily as possible, “Well then you’ll just have to hurt for a long time, won’t you.” Only after she died did I find Marshall Rosenberg’s Non-Violent Communication, and I realized what a fine skill it would have been. Of course telling her she hurt me would set off resistance. Instead of trying to convince her, I needed to find a way to speak my own truth.
Some new learnings from the film: a foster mother said that foster parents shouldn’t expect the kids to feel glad or relieved when they get to their new home. Their lives have just been turned upside down. They want to go back home where everything is familiar. The other thing I didn’t know is that foster kids get harassed by their classmates. The stereotype is that the CHILDREN were bad, not that the parents were not treating the kids right.
Sitting in my car outside the grocery store I suddenly realized that what I really wanted to do was gather them all up and bring them home with me. Of course, I know better. I don’t have the skills or the energy to take on a troubled child. Although I probably understand better than most the anger and grief that they feel.