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VOC- Jenny's Story

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Trigger warning.  Some of the things discussed my trigger others.  If you have been affected negatively by fostering you may want to go on the the home page and select another article. The names of people have been changed in this piece and reflect the opinions of the writer. Jenny's Story My day started out like any other. The hustle and bustle of getting the older children to school whilst making sure the little one was happy. The running to and fro, trying to find the rebel sock that once sat on the bedside cabinet who was now a wanted fugitive. Then the phone call came.  It was the social services.   “We need to come and talk.   Can we come now?” said the calm, yet serious, voice on the other end of the phone.   I, of course, agreed.   As I hung up the phone to this ominous conversation I thought to myself, what has Olivia done now?   It wasn’t abnormal to get these calls about her.   She was eager to return home to her family and would sometimes lose her cool, due to her f

Alternative Adulthood

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"You are just really... weird."   This was the sentence that confirmed what I already knew. I was different. I was only seven at the time. Growing up as a, 'misfit,' has its draw backs. You don't get invited to everyone's parties. You don't get picked for a game. People may roll their eyes when they're paired with you during class. And I could go on. Each disadvantage makes a cut. Each moment of rejection, or misunderstanding from another, leaves a mark. But... there is an advantage to being an out-of-the box individual in an in-the-box world. From an early age we are inclined to fit in. "Don't be too loud." "Don't be too quiet." "Don't be in to frogs, be in to dolls." "Don't be in to dolls, be in to frogs." It can cause a lot of confusion and even steer us to being drawn to people pleasing. Or, we are classed by our skin or where we live, to how we labelled in the world. As I see, it society like

To Those Dealing With Life's Mess- You Are Not Alone

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Disclaimer Please be advised that the following article has details and description surrounding surgery and childbirth which some people may find upsetting.   I lay on the operating table as nurses and doctors buzzed around me.   One male nurse stayed with me.   I had had an epidural, a top up and then when it failed to numb the necessary, a got a spinal tap. Although I couldn’t feel my feet, or much else for that matter, I began to feel a burn.   They had retrieved my son from my stomach.   The hard part was over.   They had wrapped him and gave him to my husband.   I had even fed him whilst lying there open to the room full of people.   But I knew something wasn’t right.   I was there far too long.   The female doctor who had performed the caesarean looked panicked.   They nodded to each other from across the carnage that was my belly and one went and picked up the phone.   I was surprisingly calm.   Maybe it was the drugs?   Maybe it was shock.   But I remember feeling very clear

To The Grieving- You Are Not Alone

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  I sat on the stairs in disbelief.  I was shocked at what I had just heard from the person on the other side of the phone.  I was so disgusted that I had to pull the phone away from my ear, look at it for a reason I will never understand and then return it to answer the woman on the line with, ‘Yes it is important that I know that I can attend my mother’s funeral the day after tomorrow.’ In the beginning I thought fostering was the answer to prayers.  An instant family that involved me supporting children and their families in times where they just needed helping hands.  The reality however was shockingly different and the brutality I was facing from those that were designated to support was growing. We had a young person who was severely triggered around death.  My mother had been sick for some time and unfortunately, we lost her.  I set aside my grief.  Swallowed my emotions so that I could protect the child in our care.  All I needed was the day of the funeral.  That’s all I wa