Listening Matters

When I signed up to be a foster parent I promised to prioritize the safety and security of children in my care. I knew that meant respecting a child’s needs and understanding as much as I can about a child’s unique history. I want to share a story that taught me how very important it is to take that promise seriously. To listen carefully and not to underestimate the deep and powerful experiences of children.  

One Fall a young girl came to our family. She was tiny, barely out of toddler-hood. She had already seen more homes than she had years of life. She reminded me of a dew drop – so fragile as to appear incandescent. She came clutching a sippy cup which clearly gave her a sense of comfort – even hugging it to her as she slept.

She was so concerned about additional life-changes that every single time she was buckled into her car seat she’d scream. She’d wail for the duration of any car trip – even a 15-minute drive to the grocery store. To spare her the trauma of confusing car rides we decided to keep her at home as much as possible.

Several months passed and the holidays arrived. Our family’s annual tradition includes a drive visit Gramma and Papa a few hours away. Although she’d gained more confidence by that time, little Dew Drop still hated the car ride and was unsure of staying in a new place for the first night. We reassured her by giving her extra hugs and working to calm her fears.

Following her initial trepidation, she adapted wonderfully to visiting relatives and carried on like a happy little girl. She loved celebrating the holidays and was excited about her presents. We were proud of her for overcoming her fears.

A few days later we returned home. After unpacking ourselves, our suitcases, and new gifts from the car Little Miss Dew Drop and I went upstairs to get her pajamas on. We stepped into her room and she paused. After a brief moment she squealed, running over to her bed.

“MY BED MOMMY!” She exclaimed.

She grinned broadly and yelled “Mommy! Mommy! MY BED! MY ROOM!”

At first, I thought the excitement was due to her new Minnie Mouse bedsheets. Barely listening, I told her to come back over to me, so we could get on pajamas. Yet she carried on: “My bed! Mommy!”

And then, somehow, I realized what she was trying to say. This sweet girl had not ever expected to come back to this home. She’d assumed her life was being upended again because that pattern was all she knew. But instead she’d come back to her room with her Minnie Mouse bed and clothes and toys, and this was a miracle to her.

I’d assumed that because she’d been with us for months, because we’d worked so hard to show her in multiple that she was safe, because we’d reassured her so many times – I’d assumed that she was able to understand what we’d been saying. But all she knew from her own history was leaving somewhere and then the world never being the same again. How could she have possibly understood or trusted this time would be different?

And even now, even as she repeated “My room, mommy! My bed! My room!” I’d almost missed the greater meaning driving her words. I’d been chalking it up to toddler-like babble, or her excitement at seeing a favorite cartoon character again. I’d almost let the noise of own privilege of never having experienced her world drown out what she needed me to hear. She was asking me, as best she could, if she was really, truly safe here. If she could call this room “hers.”

“Yes!” I replied. “Your room, sweetheart! Yours! It’s your room. We came back home. I love you.”

She continued beaming, and I believe the tiniest bit of fear left her in that moment. Over the years as her trust grows since I’ve seen the fear slip away further, a bit at a time. She still will not allow herself to fall asleep on a car ride, instead needing to stand guard against a potential life change. But she no longer screams. She now knows we will come back home.

I don’t mean for this story to sound overly simple or easy. If caring for a child was simple and easy, then there would be no need for foster care. What I learned from this is that no matter how much training I’ve taken, or how many years I’ve been a parent – nothing will ever be as valuable as listening to and honoring an individual child. Children in foster care – like all children – are being built on the foundation of their experiences. My job is to meet a child on their level. It is a vital part of contributing to their safety.

As foster parents, we are a part of a complex system working to try to provide children with the security and love which they innately deserve. We earn their trust by listening when they share their needs – even if the message might be initially tough to decipher. This is how we can best advocate for and reassure our children. We promised to help, and this is a key step in doing so. We need to look beyond things we might take for granted based on our own experiences. We must honor what heroes these children are, each time they dare to trust.