Going Into Foster Care

I’m already crying and I’ve written the title, so this is going to be an emotional one!
After being arrested, (if you haven’t already read about this fun experience, you’ll find it here: Me, Myself and I: Living With My Dad) I had to have a meeting with my parents at the police station about a week later. I strolled into the police station not realising my whole world, everything I had ever known was about to crumble. Not crumble in fact crash. I was past the point of caring and didn’t think things could get much worse. Both parents still weren’t talking to me, so this was going to be fun. We waited in the waiting area in the silence and then went into meeting room 3. I hope that room had soundproof walls that is all I can say. It was like an explosion had happened, the poor police officer. She just sat there and didn’t quite know what to say. We got nowhere, we shouted at each other which then ended in a pretty nasty argument. We all got up to go home. I stormed over to the car and waited for my mum to unlock it. But she never did unlock the car; well at least I wasn’t there when she did. We had yet another argument outside by the car, she then refused to take me home. Point blank refused to take me home. She told the police officer she wasn’t taking me home and drove off. Looking back I laugh because I can’t imagine doing that to anyone, let alone my child, but behind the scenes she had it all figured out. I went back into the police station with the police officer and she took me up to her office. I remember going to the toilet and just staring into space in the cubicle, not really getting to grips with what had just happened. I walked into her office; in there was a load of police officers. They looked after me better in 7 hours than my parents had in years. They fed me dinner, even when I couldn’t think of anything worse than eating. They spoke to me like a human and tried to understand me and my situation. We played card games for hours on end. They made me forget what was happening. I didn’t have a phone, I felt so alone. What the hell was I going to do? Surely my mum would come and pick me up soon? (May I just add my dad wasn’t allowed to pick me up because of a situation, but I’m sure he would of.) Turns out when my mum says she’s leaving me and tells police they need to put me into care she really means it. She wasn’t coming to get me. Not that night. Not the next day. Not five years later. I still remember that night so vividly, the office, the window- I looked out of the window a lot that evening and every time I go to Stevenage the train goes past it, I know the exact window, we drive past the police station and I have flash backs to the argument outside in the car park. It’s something that’ll never escape me. I got on so well with all the police officers. I must have met about 15 different police officers that evening. Police officers that both knew and didn’t know my mum. About 5 police officers spent the evening with me. I got them out of doing boring paperwork, we had spinning competitions on their office chairs, we laughed, and we played board games. I gelled to one particular officer. She was lovely and just seemed to get me. She actually came with me to my foster placement and we both had a little cry together. She held me close when I was shaking on the way to my foster placement; she looked after me when I needed it the most. Without her im sure I would have been a bigger mess than I already was. In total I was in the police station for seven hours, purely because they couldn’t find me a foster placement. I barely saw the police officer that was dealing with my case because she was so wrapped up trying to find me somewhere to stay for the night. She kept going to see her Sargent (her boss) which was coincidently my mums Sargent. They even asked me to call around my friends to see if I could stay at their house for the evening; it was late at night so only one friend picked up and said that I could stay which I was super thankful for. Her mum had to call the policer officer, so she knew it was definitely ok. After she had called the officers seemed relieved, and so was I- I was going somewhere I was familiar with. The police officer went downstairs to tell her Sargent the plan and he wasn’t satisfied… my mums instructions were that I needed to be put into care and that’s what was going to happen. A few hours later they finally found somewhere. It didn’t quite hit me what was happening until I got in the van and put my seatbelt on. Two police officers joined me and we had a driver. What seemed like the longest drive ever, was about 40 minutes away. It was 1am, pitch black outside. I was in an unfamiliar place. I was freaking out and beyond scared. I sat in the van and refused to get out when we eventually arrived. The police officers knocked at the door, a lady in her dressing gown answered that was reliant on a walking stick and had definitely seen better days. The police officers actually thought we had got the wrong house. But no. this was my house for the night. And thankfully only the night. I was going home tomorrow, that is all I kept saying over and over again. I was wearing my school uniform and had nothing with me. the lady gave me a virgin media sleep suit, you know the ones you get when you fly first class? And I went to bed; I cried practically the whole night and didn’t sleep. It was strange. I was in a weird bed, in a weird bedroom but I just powered through it, because I thought one night wouldn’t be too bad. I got out of bed early and had a shower and sat on the bed. I put off going downstairs for a long time but I eventually did it. The lady had her friend over and they started telling me all the horror stories about social services… ha-ha this was not what I needed, they then tried to force feed me. Again not what I needed when I felt like I’d be sick any minute. She kept saying you can stay here for the weekend ill make sure I’ll look after you, and as much as she was lovely there was no way I was staying here for the weekend. I was going home. I just had to wait for a phone call. A phone call from my social worker to say I could be dropped home. The lady had an appointment at the hair dressers so I went with her, it was so awkward. I just sat there not knowing what to do with myself. We were round her friend’s house and i sat in the kitchen watching her get her hair cut. This only prepared me for the awkward encounters I was going to receive over the next few months. Finally we got the phone call I had been waiting for all day. I was going home woohoo. Haha wishful thinking Lauren. After the hairdressers we went back to my home town and met my social worker in a building. I was so relived. The first thing I asked was where was my mum? They sat me down in a room and said I wasn’t going home. I needed to ‘reflect on my behaviour’. My parents needed a break. I had to go to rest bite for the WEEKEND. I refused. No way was I going anywhere. I hysterically cried, shaked and refused to move. About an hour later I was slowly coming around to the idea, no that’s a lie. I was told I had to go and either walk into the house myself or the police would walk me in. at this point I didn’t really care, but I had to live there for the weekend and first impressions and all.So I finally agreed to going after asking the most important questions. ‘Were they old?’ ‘Did they promise me it was just the weekend?’ my social workers responses were, we promise we will pick you up on Monday and what do you call old? I got in the car and expected to be driven somewhere in my hometown, ha no. this time I was 30 minutes away from my hometown. Again another car journey that seemed like forever in the dark. We finally arrived and my social worker’s got my ‘fashionable’ bags out of the car. I wasn’t bothered and certainly wasn’t carrying them in. we couldn’t work out how to get in but finally did. I walked into the house and walked through to the living room, I walked into the hall in awe, I really was going to live here for the weekend? It was amazing. The house seemed to go on forever. It was big and I got lost multiple times. We sat in the living room and I was a brat. Ha what’s changed? They asked what I liked for dinner, I replied: ‘my dad’s cooking’ they asked me loads of different questions and every answer was something to do with my dad. What did I like doing? ‘Spending time with my dad’ even though I hated it haha. We then walked my social workers to the door and my foster mum said ‘I know it just feels like there dumping you here.’ One of my social quickly interrupted her and said ‘no were not.’ But yes they were. They were going home for the weekend and they didn’t care. It was a Friday evening, they just wanted to drop me off and leave. They did actually tell me that they were missing out on a work curry because they had to drop me off. Haha, who even says that? Effectively I had now been dumped in this strange place, I had met countless of new people over the last two days, gained two social workers, hadn’t slept and been in unfamiliar houses. But I had  to do this. This was temporary. It was only for the weekend.
This one and my upcoming ones have been really hard to write, I hope you enjoy reading just a little piece of my puzzle.
Lauren xoxo
Instagram: Instagram.com/lifeintheeyesoflauren
Twitter: twitter.com/life_inmy_eyes

2 thoughts on “Going Into Foster Care

  1. That’s a lot for a kid to go through, I can’t imagine flat out refusing to take your child home. Good for you in being able to write and share the experience. At least the Police Officers were really good to you I suppose. Hope you are keeping well.


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