by Rosie Lewis
He fell silent for a moment and I thought about Bobbi lying abandoned in her cot, and possibly Archie too. I thought about their struggles at school and all the special moments of infancy that were lost to them. I almost wanted to cry.
‘If a child spends their early years in a secure and stable environment with a loving caregiver sensitive to their needs, they develop strong foundations on which future relationships and learning can be built. When a child who has experienced trauma in their early years comes into foster care, their foundations remain wobbly.
‘Children who have been neglected or abused have a powerful cocktail of toxic bio-chemicals coursing through their veins,’ Stuart continued, ‘the most prominent two being cortisol and adrenaline. Both leave their mark on the brain. The media coverage of soldiers returning from war zones has increased public knowledge of post-traumatic stress disorder, but very little attention is paid to the legacy of child abuse. Depression, flashbacks, nightmares, irritability, sleep problems, shame, guilt; these are all difficulties our children face daily. Then there are the physical symptoms; the stomach aches, the headaches, the dizziness and sweating. And then we wonder why our children are struggling to study in school.’
Stuart went on to describe the wire-monkey experiment carried out by an American research psychologist, Harry Harlow, in the mid-twentieth century. Investigating the impact of maternal deprivation, Harlow removed some infant rhesus monkeys from their mothers and introduced each of them to two surrogate mothers, one made of cloth and the other wire. Even though the wire monkey was the one offering food, the monkeys overwhelmingly preferred the cloth surrogates, leaving it only when needing to feed. ‘The infant monkeys all experienced developmental trauma,’ he told us, ‘the ones removed from their mothers highly fearful and often aggressive.
‘Interestingly, Harlow’s own mother was a distant figure, so perhaps he invented the experiment to try and understand his own past. Crucially though, what his experiment tells us is that humans are social beings who crave – no, not only crave, they need a sense of belonging; a connection to a significant other. It also tells us that one of the most traumatic experiences we as humans will ever face is the loss of a loved one. Recovery can only come by reconnecting to another person, but that’s difficult to do when the person you love is also the one that hurts you.
‘Children are able to grow physically when they are denied love and security, as I’m sure many of the children we care for have done. But their survival comes at a cost. They might refuse to interact and withdraw into themselves, they might try to control everything and everyone around them, or they might develop a phoney persona, closing their true selves off from the world to keep themselves safe.’
I thought about Archie and my chest tightened with sympathy again. As Stuart continued to talk about the false sense of self projected by some trauma victims, I became utterly convinced that Archie was hiding something, something so traumatising that the only way he could possibly function was to pretend it didn’t exist.
‘The good news,’ Stuart continued, ‘is that brain matter has a plasticity to it. What we have to do is encourage new neural pathways to form in the pre-frontal cortex, the part of the brain necessary for empathy, logic and reasoning, so that the reptilian brain stem – the part of the brain responsible for our fight/flight/freeze reflex – only kicks in when absolutely necessary to our survival.
‘And whatever strategy a child’s mind has put in place to protect them, the remedy is always the same.’ Stuart wheeled the whiteboard closer to the group and turned to the next blank page. ‘Parenting with PLACE,’ he said, writing the letters in capitals in a column down the page, ‘is one of the most effective ways to reach the troubled child. Buried deep down in every child’s brain is a yearning to be loved. Our task is to help them to build enough trust and confidence in us so that they’re able to take the risk, reach out and grasp it.’
Stuart asked us to guess what each letter of PLACE stood for and after a few minutes of discussion he had completed the list:
PLAYFULNESS
LOVE
ACCEPTANCE
CURIOSITY
EMPATHY
During the last part of the morning we discussed practical ways of expressing love to the children we care for as well as using playfulness to help them to appreciate that, however difficult their particular circumstances, there is a positive, lighter side to life. ‘Studies show that children in the UK and the US are the least happy children in the developed world,’ Stuart told us. ‘It’s no coincidence that we also spend less parental time with our children than most other nations. Time spent with family is essential to children’s well-being.’
After lunch we discussed the ways in which each of us were parented. Most of us in the room had been smacked as children, although a few of the younger attendees had lost privileges as punishment instead. Stuart then asked us to explain our own techniques for managing difficult behaviour. The Supernanny technique of placing children in time out was universal amongst us, the admission drawing a loud intake of breath from Stuart. ‘So in order to teach our children to behave well we withdraw from them until they agree to do what we say, is that right?’
There were a few mutterings amongst our group, but nobody openly disagreed. ‘Withdrawal of attention brings me nicely onto the A in PLACE,’ Stuart said. ‘Acceptance. Now, is there anyone here who will admit to not loving their children unconditionally?’
We all shook our heads. ‘No, of course not. Most of us were loved unconditionally by our parents, and we love our children, whether birth or adopted, unconditionally as well. So why is it we pretend we don’t?’
He looked around the room again, but didn’t wait for an answer. ‘We love our children unconditionally, but we attach conditions to our love and appear to withdraw it when they displease us, probably because that’s the way we were parented ourselves. What therapeutic parenting is all about is accepting your child’s inner life, whether you agree with it or not. That means it’s as important to acknowledge the feelings of a two-year-old who is sobbing because you won’t buy her the soft toy she’s fallen in love with as it is to accept the loud complaints of a sixteen-year-old who’s infuriated by your refusal to allow her to stay out until after eleven on a Saturday night.
‘Accepting a child’s feelings doesn’t mean we’re removing boundaries or losing our influence over them. We can empathise with their anger at the same time as imposing discipline. The latest research into the way the brain functions shows us that humans are designed for cooperation, but at the same time, each and every one of us is unique. We all have different hopes and dreams. Accepting that your child doesn’t agree with everything you say is crucial to building a lasting, genuine relationship with them. There will be people here who weren’t ever allowed to openly disagree with their parents as they grew up, am I right?’
There was a furious nodding of heads amongst our group. ‘Right, and what do most of us do when our thoughts and feelings aren’t accepted? We bury them away, don’t we? We become secretive to distance ourselves from disapproval. It’s our ancient desire to cooperate at work. It’s wired into our DNA.’
As Stuart continued to talk about accepting a person for who they are – their thoughts and feelings, intentions, interests and values – rather than trying to impose our own ideas of who we think they should be – I thought about Jamie and his decision not to go to university. I felt a stab of guilt. I had thought that I was helping him by steering him towards a future where he wouldn’t be disadvantaged by a lack of opportunity. In reality I was refusing to accept the person he himself wanted to be. After twenty years of parenting and over twelve years of fostering, I was still making rookie mistakes. I couldn’t wait to get home and put it right.
Other carers shared stories from their pasts and soon it felt as though we were taking part in a group therapy session. Fostering and adoption courses often bring out powerful emotions amongst the attendees, and I could tell by
the slight tremor in her voice that the young woman next to me was struggling to talk about her past. Her voice cracked as she spoke about the verbal abuse she had suffered from her disapproving mother. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said tearfully, burying her face in a hanky.
‘It’s okay. Take a few minutes,’ Stuart said softly. She hurriedly left the room. ‘It’s not my intention to upset anyone,’ Stuart said, discreetly keeping his gaze averted when she came back in and quietly took her seat. ‘But as Freud once said, so much more eloquently than I ever could, it’s necessary to understand our past before we can effectively move forward. By gaining an insight into what drives us as people, we can build stronger, healthier relationships with everyone around us.’
Chapter Nineteen
I managed to make it back to Millfield Primary just as the littlies were leaving the playground with their parents and the older children were beginning to steam out. My chest tightened when I caught sight of Archie. The unpleasant task of letting children down often fell to foster carers and it was up to me to break the news that yet another contact with his mother was to be cancelled.
I wasn’t too worried about telling Bobbi; as I was on a course my mum had picked her up after collecting Megan from nursery. Bobbi had been delighted at the prospect of being collected by ‘Nanny’ and I doubted that she would even remember that she was supposed to be seeing her mum. I knew the rejection would hit Archie hard though, however much he tried to shrug it off.
His face clouded with confusion when he saw me. ‘How come you’re here, Rosie?’ he asked, surprised not to see the contact worker who would take him to see his mother.
‘Contact’s been cancelled, honey.’
‘Oh, why? Have they mucked it up again?’
‘Erm, no. Your mum couldn’t make it today. Perhaps Danny can tell you more. He’s coming over a bit later.’
He looked at me for a second then turned away, his eyes clouded with hurt. ‘I expect they’ve double-booked the rooms or something,’ he said as we walked back to the car. ‘Jason says social workers don’t know their arses from their elbows.’
What a charmer, I thought. ‘Mmm,’ I said in a non-committal tone. The children I looked after were often defensive of their parents. While I believed in being as open and truthful as possible, I also knew that trusting in his mother’s love was crucial for Archie’s self-esteem. I wasn’t about to undermine that conviction by saying negative things about her. Foster carers up and down the country are usually well practised in the art of biting their tongues.
Bobbi was waiting by the window at my mum’s house, looking out for me. She greeted me with a hug and a part-pleased, part-relieved expression. ‘She was a bit worried you wouldn’t come back,’ Mum whispered to me on our way out. I felt a little tug at my heart at the thought of her growing attachment to me and the inevitable separation that would, at some point in the near future, follow.
As we drove towards home, Archie told Bobbi all about social services and how useless they were, presumably using his mother’s or Jason’s words. There was a lack of energy in his voice as he spoke though. I could tell he was unconvinced and my heart ached for him.
‘Mummy misses us so much, Rosie,’ Bobbi said, after being indoctrinated by her brother. ‘She misses us so much that she’s working all day and all night to save up enough money for a big huge house where we can all be together and never be without her ever again.’
Children often try to replace their tragic thoughts, feelings and memories with fantasy. ‘It’s wonderful to imagine lots of lovely things in our minds,’ I said, gently offering the suggestion that what she was saying might not be what was happening in real life. ‘It can cheer us up when we’re feeling sad.’
Archie was back on form by the time we got home, telling me jovially about a video someone had posted onto YouTube of a dog and cat bouncing together on a trampoline. ‘I bet you’d like to have a go at that, wouldn’t you, Mungo?’ he said as we stepped in the house. Mungo’s tail thumped excitedly on the floor and Archie leaned down, stroking his head.
‘I think he’s bouncy enough, don’t you?’ I laughed. ‘He doesn’t need a trampoline.’
As soon as they got their coats off the girls sat together in front of the dolls’ house I’d bought Megan for Christmas. Bobbi still employed the toddler tactics of bash, smash and grab in her play, but lately I’d noticed a pause between her declaring an interest in whatever Megan was holding in her hand and snatching it, one where she barked ‘PLEASE!’ before taking possession. Megan regularly reminded Bobbi of the necessary etiquette when they were playing and it seemed to be slowly sinking in.
It was as I went through to the kitchen and poured everyone a glass of milk that a thought occurred to me. I gave the girls their drinks and walked over to Archie, who was sitting at the dining table and pulling books out of his school bag. ‘Where did you see that video, Arch?’ I asked lightly, lowering his drink to a coaster.
There was a pause. He glanced up slowly. ‘What?’
‘The video of the bouncing dog. Where did you watch it?’ I was happy for the children to spend time on the family computer but, knowing how easy it was to unwittingly unearth disturbing material on video-sharing sites, YouTube was one of those I had blocked using parental controls.
‘Erm.’ He made a show of rifling through his bag, frowning as if he couldn’t locate something. I folded my arms and waited. He dropped his rucksack and looked at me. ‘What?’
‘I asked you a question.’
Another pause. ‘I saw it on YouTube.’
‘Yes, I know, you said. But you can’t get YouTube on our computer.’
‘No, not here,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘Someone at school showed me.’ He patted the books already spread out on the table. ‘I can’t find my maths set. Have you seen it?’
‘Showed you on what?’ I wasn’t going to let this go.
‘Their phone.’
‘You’re not allowed phones in school.’
‘Yeah, but some kids have them. They get them out at break.’
I stared at him, not entirely convinced. ‘And the teachers allow that?’
He shrugged. ‘They’re not that bothered as long as they don’t get them out in class.’
I waited but he didn’t say any more. ‘Your maths set was in your room last time I looked. On the desk.’
He ran upstairs. I waited in the hall for him. ‘Archie? You don’t have a mobile phone, do you?’ I asked as he came down. He stopped on the third stair, eyes wide with innocence. ‘No, course not. I’d like one though.’
I laughed. ‘Yes, I expect you would.’
‘Tempted to get me one?’
I gave him a mock stern look. ‘As my mum would say, you’ve got the cheek of the devil, Archie Brady.’
He grinned mischievously and gave a small shrug. ‘Ah, well, worth a try.’
He managed to finish all his homework by the time the doorbell rang at five o’clock (on the dot) and was watching television with the girls when I showed Danny into the living area. ‘Jason says social workers are never on time,’ Archie said, after shaking Danny’s hand. ‘But you’re never late.’
‘Mate, it’s true,’ Danny said as he chucked Bobbi under the chin. ‘Nice glasses, sweetheart.’ She gave him a half-smile without glancing away from the telly. ‘I’m up for the prize for the most reliable social worker in my office. None of the others come close.’
Danny and I shared some of the tamer social worker jokes we knew as the three of us sat at the table, but in all honesty it really was encouraging to know that an efficient social worker had been assigned to the children’s case. Care proceedings could be resolved within a few months when the circumstances were straightforward and an efficient social worker was propelling the case along. Sadly, there were social workers that allowed cases to drift, and two of my placements – Tess and Harry, who came to me as babies – didn’t move into permanence until they were almost ready for school.
‘So, Archie,’ Danny said softly, ‘I spoke to your mum this morning, and I wanted to explain to you about contact and what’s going to happen in the coming weeks.’ Archie nodded quietly. ‘As you know, your mum couldn’t make it to contact again today, and we have a rule that says that if a parent misses several contacts in a row, they have to come in for a meeting before we can book any more dates at the family centre. So I’m afraid that means it might be a little while before you see your mum again.’
Archie looked at him. ‘How long?’
Danny took a breath. ‘That’s difficult to say, son. I’ve given your mum some times and dates to come into the office to talk to me about it, but she’ – Danny’s eyes flicked over to me and then back again – ‘wasn’t sure whether she was free on any of them.’ As far as I knew, Tanya didn’t work, which made her inability to commit to an appointment with Danny all the more galling. ‘If she manages to come in soon we can get a session set up very quickly afterwards,’ Danny went on, ‘but I need some assurances from her that she’ll make every effort to turn up.’
‘But that’s not fair,’ Archie complained earnestly. ‘It wasn’t Mum’s fault she missed the contacts. The receptionist double-booked and cancelled her.’
‘I don’t think so, mate.’
Archie sat up straight in his chair. ‘She did, honestly. Mum said she’s a useless bitch.’
Danny frowned and looked at me. ‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it. Rosie, has Tanya said anything about this to you?’