How to survive when your child is removed?

How do you survive when your child is removed?

Start by taking small breaths.

It will not feel like you can or will survive this. But you will. I know you will, because that precious person, your child, or children, are worth everything. For all that you have, currently, lost them - Remember, they have also lost you.

They need you.

Hold on to that, even when it feels like it might kill you. Your child needs you.

To start: Surround yourself with support.

I wish I could say you need support through those initial days. But the truth is, you need your support team for the long haul. This is where you really find out who your friends are, because for most this is not brief.

I will tell you how it went for me.

It started with our social worker visiting and telling our other children, in a smug and rather upbeat way, that their sister would not be coming home. She hoped they were okay about that.

At this point, we still hadn't gone to court. I still hoped that this could be resolved.

This is where you have to learn a new way to work with people, who disagree with you on a level which you have never previously experienced. Just breath. Say less.

In court, at the intial hearing. I sat accross from the social worker and the local authority solicitor, while they made their application. We live rurally, and my solicitor appeared via video link. It was so calm. It felt surreal.

I was shaking so hard through out the entire proceedings, it was all I could do to stop my teeth chattering. I felt like I was physically in shock. I am certain the local authority solicitor genuinely felt bad for me. She repeatedly, and inconsistant with the whole of situation, offered sypathetic reassurance.

After the Sheriff made the decision to grant an EPO, everyone stood to leave.

Our social worker looked ready to cry. Apparently, court hearings make everyone feel like awful. I would persist in saying that alone suggests this is not something that should be occurring on such a frequent and international scale.

It was an odd experience. A battle that was finished without a real fight. A battle that was spent numb with shock.

I left the court. I made it to my car, and I broke down. I cried for most of the next four days. That is inaccurate. I cried for most of the next few weeks, before I could take breaks from crying. All I recall of that weekend is the persistant headache and congestion. I think it is better that I don't remember too much more of those early days.

What I do remember is my husband watching me constantly in those early days. He said that he was rather fearful, that I would comit suicide. My friends messaged frequently, they too feared that this would push me over the edge. For the record, I have never been a depressed person. I have never threatened or attempted to self harm. This was the scale of my loss, the scale of my pain, and those who knew and loved me, knew how deeply this had crushed me.

I made an appointment to see my GP. Her words were not judgemental, they were supportive and empathetic. I would whole heartedly encourage you to see your GP. Not for antidepressants, or tablets of any kind, but just to talk. It helped.

My daughter was in hospital at this time. Social work and the foster carer (who was excited to collect my daughter - so I was told) took her from the hospital, and flew her to the foster carer's house.

The social worker asked me about my daughter's routine and what items she would need.  I wrote a list of items that they must not forget to bring with her. I thought if I kept it short - only 3 or 4 things of great importance, that they would be more likely to ensure those things were successfully brought with her.

First most, 'Mummy's t-shirt' which she had used as a comfort blanket since birth, her most important comfort. This top of mine had seen her through a handful of operations, dozens of blood draws, and more. That t-shirt was her everything.

Needless to say, I was gutted to find out that it was left at the hospital. I was even more upset when the foster carer took it upon herself to substitute her own clothing for 'Mummy's t-shirt' after I gave my daughter another of my t-shirts. These kinds of perhaps minor to many, are some of the most difficult parts of having your child in foster care.

When I went to collect the surplus items from the hospital on another occassion, I would find out that our social worker did not even read the list she asked me for - All of the 4 items on the list that I asked they bring with her were left behind.

I would encourage anyone going through a removal from a distance to write everything down. Email and copy your solicitor in. If you have the advantage of packing for your child, then do so, and attach notes. I do not give great faith they will be read and respected, but humanity suggests that it should be.

On the subject of packing for your child. Prior to my first contact with my daughter, I went through her room and boxed up vast quantities of her clothes, toys, books, puzzles, games, bath toys, ect.

I was mourning her pretty badly and I didn't want to keep her things from her. It didn't sit well with me at the time, that I had her belongings and she couldn't access them. I gave everything to the council to give to the foster carer.

In keeping with my friend's horror ("You will never get any of that back!" She told me.) at what I had done, I think it is worth noting that she was correct, we did not get much back on my daughter's return.

I would recommend, giving yourself a cooling off period. In the end, deal with it however is easiest for you. It is just stuff. Though, it is best not to anticipate it will be returned.

As such, save the sentimental stuff. That baby blanket you knitted while pregnant. Save that, it is irreplaceable. The special little bunny sent to your child from Granny abroad, keep it, for now. The hand knit teletubby that your older child made after your baby was in surgery. Keep it. For now.

It is early days. However, it feels right now, this may be shorter or longer than you expect.

The first few weeks, adjusting to contact, supervised in a contact center, everything scrutinized... is rough. Be gentle with yourself.

Try to keep in mind that this is rock bottom. There is no way, but up!

At some point you need to set aside being deeply sad, deeply ashamed, deeply mourning, and get ready to fight. This is were you need to start pouring all your fight into winning your child back.

So many of my friends told me that they just wanted to see me get mad. They would have felt more comfortable seeing me angry. Seeing me defeated and traumatised was really hard on everyone.

Anger is volitile, but it is also useful. I was afraid to get angry. I was scared I wouldn't be able to stop. Letting myself have the right to feel mad was helpful. It helped motivate me to stand up and fight.

And fight we did... and fight we continue.

I really, really mean it when I say WE. Because I could not have survived without support. That has to be your priority. Get support. Talk to your firends, your partner, your parents, your church, your child's school even. TALK to people. There is this huge shame, this huge barricade to opening up. And when you do, you realise two very important things.

First, people are much more sympathetic and supportive than you assumed.

And second, you are not the first person to go through this. My world view was rocked, by all the people that said, we are going through the same thing. Or my sister went through that, I remember what it was like. Or I was in care, I know how it feels.

The trouble is that nobody wants to talk about it. The stigma of 'bad mum' is too great. Children enter care for lots of reasons, and only a few of them are due to 'bad mum' syndrome. My child had never been shouted at, never been hit. She had not suffered poverty, or divorce. She had never been neglected or emotionally abused. She had never been sexual abused. There was no drug abuse or mental health problems in our home. She came from an affluent middle class home, with two professional parents. She had never wanted for anything.  Social work's parenting assessment reflected that I had 'exceptional parenting skills'. It was frequently mentioned that I was always clam, patient and positive. And, my child became 'looked after'.

For every parent, for what ever reason who is apart from their child - there will be blue days. Days when the feelings of loss are so great, you could drown in them.

For those days, let me say:

I am sorry for every day, every park visit, every movie night, every birthday party and Christmas that she is missing. For every time you buy shoes, and you aren't buying her a pair. When you order ice cream, and there is one less cone. When you serve dinner and her plate isn't there. When you read bedtime stories and her head isn't there to be kissed.

For every time the sun shines, and you would just pick up a blanket go to the beach for a 'Nic Nic' (picnic). For every time it rains, and she is not there to teach your favourite board game, to make that blanket fort, to bake those cakes.

For how the grocery store is suddenly filled with children just her age. When did everyone else suddenly have a child just like the one you are missing.

From singing silly songs, to the down time barely paying attention as she played in the back ground while you worked in the garden. To when strangers ask with a nod to your children, 'All yours?' And you don't know how to answer when one is missing. I am so sorry for all that she/ he is not there.