07/20/2025
You don’t get to judge foster parents
when you’ve never held a child who won’t make eye contact
because every adult before you broke their trust.
You don’t get to criticize the way we parent
when you’ve never sat in an emergency room at 2 a.m.
begging a doctor to take you seriously
because the child in your care has no medical history
and no words to explain the pain.
You don’t get to say we’re in it for the money
when the stipend doesn’t even cover the basics.
When we’re draining our own accounts for shoes that fit,
for beds that feel safe,
for therapy tools, calming lights,
and all the things insurance doesn’t touch.
You don’t get to throw out
“They chose this life”
like it’s some cute little hobby,
when you’ve never watched a kid pack their belongings in silence
because they’ve done it too many times to cry anymore.
When you’ve never stood in a courtroom
pleading with your eyes
for someone to fight for the child who calls you Mom.
You don’t get to roll your eyes at a wish list
when we’re scrambling to gather the bare essentials
for a child who came with nothing but trauma
and left with everything we gave them
including pieces of our hearts.
You don’t get to make comments about race
when you weren’t in the NICU doing skin-to-skin
with a baby who didn’t look like you.
When you’ve never been stopped in a store
and asked if you’re the babysitter
while that child clings to your body like you’re the only safe place on earth.
When you’ve never been stared down in waiting rooms
for loving a child with every beat of your soul
even when the world tells you it makes no sense.
If you haven’t stepped into it,
stood in that tension,
fought for that bond,
you don’t get to say a word.
Foster care isn’t charity.
It isn’t a trend.
It isn’t some box you check to feel good about yourself.
It’s a war zone wrapped in bedtime stories.
A battlefield lined with broken systems
and kids who deserve better than what the world has offered them.
It’s sleepless nights and stacked appointments.
It’s birth parent meetings that leave you shaking.
It’s learning how to love children who push you away
because love has always meant pain in their world.
It’s showing up
every single day
even when your heart is in pieces,
even when your family is exhausted,
even when no one sees what you’re carrying.
If you haven’t lived this,
if you haven’t loved a child who wasn’t yours
and let them go anyway,
if you haven’t said yes again
after being shattered the first time,
then don’t pretend you understand.
What we need is not your opinion.
It’s your support.
It’s your prayers.
It’s your text that says, “I’m thinking of you.”
Your dinner left on the porch.
Your quiet cheerleading from the background.
We didn’t say yes to be heroes.
We said yes because no one else did.
And we’re still here.
Still loving.
Still breaking.
Still fighting.
Still saying yes.
Not for praise.
Not for a pat on the back.
But because these kids are worth every single hard thing.
