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  • The Girl Said I Was Thrown Away By My Mummy

    SCHOOL. I hate it. It’s a horrible place and nobody listens. I used to like it. I used to be happy there. I used to have fun. But not any more. There are some stupid teachers and even more stupider kids who are really really horrible. And I’m horrible as well.

    This girl said I was thrown away by my mummy. Said my mummy didn’t want me so I have to live with foster carers. She said nobody wants me and nobody lives me and I’m ugly and smell. Then she got her friends to say the same thing.

    When she first said it I didn’t think she was nice and I tried not to listen. But she kept on saying it – in the playground, in the dinner hall, in assembly, in the class room. She said I was smelly and wouldn’t sit near me. She made me feel really yuk about myself inside. I tried to tell a dinner lady and she said stay away from them. My teacher said stop telling tales. I got told off for moving away from her. So what this girl says must be true because nobody is listening to me and the grown ups are on her side too.

    I hate school loads now and I don’t care about it anymore. They don’t like me. I don’t like them. They are going to pay. I don’t care what they say or do because if I’m not wanted or liked then I’m going to show them I don’t care.

    So they better watch out. Kim better watch out. The whole wide world better watch out. Because I will make them hear me even if they all can’t be bothered to listen. I’ll show them.

    Credit https://www.facebook.com/Robbie-a-bear-in-foster-care-his-story-1417961614965115/

  • A Story From A Child In Foster Care

    Life has been a bit not nice for me. I’ve not been the best bear I could be and things have been scary. My tummy bubbles have been very very big, my legs have done lots of running, my hands lots of hurting and my mouth saying not nice stuff.

    It’s been the summer holidays. I like the holidays usually as I get to do lots and lots of fun stuff with Kim and the others. We have been doing nice stuff and I have had some fun but there’s been something else happening for me as well. Something not fun. Not nice. Something I didn’t know what to do with.

    I still see mummy and my brothers. We have contact. Sometimes mummy doesn’t come and then I feel sad because I think she doesn’t like me anymore or she’s poorly – she used to get poorly a lot when she had her friends round and they did drinking and some other bad stuff and fighting. Mummy has been coming to contact in the summer and in the holidays we get to spend longer with her. We go to the family centre with the big garden. Sometimes me and mummy can talk by ourselves when the supervisor is on the other side of the garden.

    We was playing football with my brothers. Then they wanted to go on the climbing frame. I was too hot so sat on the grass. Mummy sat with me. I thought it was going to be lovely to be with her but then she said it. Mummy said I was going to live back at home with her. She was going to court to get me back. She was going to tell them that the social

    workers was telling lies. That I had been telling lies about the man in my room. And because I was a liar Kim didn’t want me living in her house so that’s the plan. I am going to live back with mummy as soon as the court says so BUT I mustn’t tell anyone because social will make up more lies.

    All my happy went in that minute. Every thing changed for me. I’ve been living with Kim for a fair time now and really loved it there. I always felt safe there. I always had food and toys and clothes and my comfy bed. And I was a big enough bear now to know I didn’t get that at mummy’s. My world was like a big balloon that had just gone pop.

    I went back to Kim’s from contact. It was Kims now, not home. Mummy’s was going to be home, a home I feared, a home full of noise and mess. A home without lights, cold, dirty. A home with no clean clothes, no nice comfy bed, no toys. The place I had come from. Somewhere I didn’t want to go back to. They’d told me I wouldn’t have to go back there. Kim. The court people. The social worker. Mummy was right. They had been telling lies. They said I wasn’t going home and mummy said I am when she’s been to court. I had to show them this little bear knew they were lying.

    And show them I did. I was cross. I did everything I could think of to show them what happens when this little bear wasn’t happy. I ran away. I broke things. I kicked Kim. I tore my books up. I started to swear again. If they’d lied to me I’d lie back. I told them it wasn’t me that put the remote in the toilet. I told them it wasn’t me that wrote swear words on the wall. I told them I hated them. That was my biggest lie. Inside I didn’t hate them. I loved them but couldn’t understand why they’d lied to me and why I was having to go back to mummy’s house.

    I carried on like this for a good while. I was going to take charge here and make them hate me like I hated them. My comfy bed was next. I cut my duvet. Cut my pillow. I wasn’t having a comfy bed at mummy’s house so I needed to remember what it was like not having one. I’d better get used to it. Kim caught me. Scissors in hand and cut pillow by my side. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

    Did the shouting come? No. Did the beating come? No. Did the throwing things around the room come? No. Did the threat of no dinners come? No. Did the hitting of walls or door come? No. Did the being called all the horrid names on the planet start? No. Did the pushing and shoving start? No. No they didn’t. That’s what happens at mummy’s house not Kim’s.

    Did I start to feel really scared? No. Did I wet myself in fear? No. Did I throw the scissors? No. Did I shout and swear? No. Did I try to run? No. Did I cower in the corner? No. They were things that happened in mummy’s house too. So now I’m really really confused. They want to take me away from my safe place to put me back in mummy’s house. How can that be an okay thing to do?

    And do you know? I think Kim could see what I was feeling inside. I think she could see I was angry about things – she didn’t know what. But more so I think she could see that underneath this cross angry bear face who said he hated everyone, there was a little bear who felt so frightened, confused and lonely and in desperate need of a tight squeezy hug. A little bear who had so much to say but not the words to say it. A little bear whose world had drastically changed by those few words from his mummy’s mouth – you’re coming back home.

    Kim sat next to me and took the scissors from my hand. I leant into her like I do when I need a hug and she cuddled me. She cuddled me so tight I knew I was safe. And then I cried. I cried and cried and cried. And then I told her what mummy said. And do you know as I was telling Kim I knew it was mummy that wasn’t telling me the right things. I’ve grown enough to know what happened at home wasn’t how little bears are meant to live. But after all I’d done these last few weeks maybe that was how I deserved to live?

    Kim just held me and let me cry away. I talked and talked in my crying. I don’t know how Kim could understand me but she did. When I was all cried out Kim talked back to me. She told me that she felt mummy had got things a bit muddled. How Kim and the social workers hadn’t lied to me. That I wasn’t going to go back to live at mummy’s. Kim and the police and everyone knew I wasn’t lying about the man in my room. They’d all seen what mummy’s house was like. My brothers had all said the same thing and they did believe us. Kim does want me to live with her till I’m a grown up bear. She was sorry that mummy had made me so very scared and mummy was wrong to say such things. My social worker came out to see me and told me just the same as Kim. That helped calm my tummy bubbles big time! They are going to talk to mummy about it and how it made me feel. They said sometimes mummies will say these things to stop themselves feeling so bad but they don’t think how it makes the children feel. Mummy isn’t going to be in trouble which is good because I don’t want that, but they want mummy to think about what she says. Kim used to say that to me lots – I used to say unkind things but didn’t think how they made people feel, so I know what the social worker means.

    I’m feeling safe again now. Happy and so so glad I’ve still got my comfy bed. Kim got me a new duvet and pillow but I did have to use some of my money to help buy it. I don’t mind. Because I know when I say home it’s where I live now and that’s just how I like it!

    #bearincare

    #fosteringchangeslives

    www.essexadoptionandfostering.co.uk/fostering

    Full credit: https://www.facebook.com/Robbie-a-bear-in-foster-care-his-story

  • Autism And Abuse

    My name is Thomas. It is not my real name. I am using this name as I don’t want my abusers to find me.

    I am 59 years old. My mother abandoned me as a young child and I was put in a foster home and an institution. Both places abused me.

    I was diagnosed autistic aged 4. Autism then was seen as a rare form of schizophrenia and was a mental illness and they tried all they could to normalise me.

    My foster parents abused me telling me my mother should have aborted me. I stimmed (self-stimulatory behaviour),  tippy toed and screamed. They hated that. I couldn’t tolerate being touched, or noise. I was sexually abused from aged 4.

    I was then insitutionalised where physical abuse continued.

    I was forced to go onto strong meds and it did terrible things to my sensitive digestion. Psychiatrists treated me as mentally ill.

    They told me I would never be independant and treated me like a small child. Like many autistics in some ways I can be quite childlike, but I am cognitively intelligent.

    Like many autistics I often related better to objects than people. Again I was ridiculed, especially by psychiatrists. All my life I have had a close attachment to one particular object , and they tried all they could to remove that from me. That object is my Thomas The Tank Engine Ornament.


    They inflicted Lovaas ABA therapy on me.

    They forced me to stop stimming and hit me when I did.


    I love drawing, but if I drew the same picture twice in a week they yelled at me and forced me into more therapy.


    They hated my special interests. They tried to destroy all of them. Many were forced out of me and I still struggle to focus on them again.


    I was punished for lining things up.


    I was severly punished for not giving eye contact. I was kicked, hit and slapped on the face for not doing it. Eye contact was hell for me, and still is


    I did not speak until I was 11. I was punished for not speaking. I was never given other options of communication, as verbal was the only thing they cared about.


    When it ended I was offered therapy. The therapist sexually assulted me.


    Even though the abuse eventually got less, living in assisted care was still very problematic for me. Hearing people in other rooms, fire alarms going off, noises I couldn’t control. My meltdowns were very frequent due to sensory overload and I was scared I would hurt someone, or end up in prison.

    With a lot help from friends we decided I needed to live outside the city and on my own and with nature. Humans scared me, I have difficulty processing facial expressions and so can find it hard to understand what people mean. Animals however, I have a natural liking to. I was exhausted with the therapies and tired of having to adjust life to suit everyone else.

    At last, I found a wonderful therapist who taught me life skills. She let me be me, and listened to my needs. We worked with my special interests to enhance my life skills and worked on my strengths, so I could have the life I wanted and needed.

    I have now been living on my own for 17 years. In the countryside where its quiet. I now take no medication, I stim all I need, I don’t force myself to keep eye contact with people. I am managing my sensory issues with body brushing so I can hug my friends too.


    I have 4 cats who I love dearly.


    I have sensory issues with my hearing, therefore I use industrial strength head phones, that have soft cushions. Strong lights hurts my eyes, so I have dark sunblocking shades. To keep the wind from me outside, I wear a big hat.


    Routine is my life and it stops me getting too distracted. I thrive with routine, and can cope better with needed changes when I stick to these schedules. As long as the change is gradually added to my planner, over time, I can adjust.


    I only go out when I can avoid crowds, perfumes overwhelm me so I avoid any places like this.


    I can enjoy my special interests to my hearts content. I love to do artwork. 

    Occassionally memories of repression can make me feel guilty about having special interests. I love my main object, like a person would love another. My love is so deep. No one can judge me for that now. They tried so hard to humiliate me for it, but they failed. My Thomas the Tank Engine ornament always sits on my chest of drawers.

    I believe strongly that autistic people should be allowed to be themselves. Adjustments and accommodations need to be made. I try to help many families online with this. What is normal anyway? Normal is a setting on the dryer, and my normal is Autism.

  • Adoption-My Personal View

    I was placed into care at only 9 months old, my biological mother was an alcoholic and not able to care for me properly.

    My adoptive parents had tried to conceive naturally and through IVF for over 10 years, my mum had polycystic ovaries and my dad a low sperm count.

    My adoptive parents then tried to adopt (this was back in the late 80’s), they went on strict parenting courses, had their finances looked into, their home inspected and were on a waiting list for 10 yes 10 years, just as they were about to give up their adoption agency phoned.

    My mother answered the phone and was told that they had 2 siblings available to adopt a girl aged 3 and a boy aged 4, they needed a decision by the next morning.

    My mum and dad decided that they wanted me and my brother, a week later I had a trial sleepover at their house and 3 weeks later I was living with them.

    It took a year before it was official and I was legally adopted.

    Growing up I never felt any different from any other child at school apart from that my parents were older than all my friends.

    When I hit my teen years I started to wonder about my “real” parents, I began resenting my adopted parents, thinking I would have been better off with my real mum and dad, how much more fun and less strict they would have been.

    I was horrible to my adoptive mum, on one occasion she tried to discipline me, I shouted at her that she wasn’t my mum anyway. I could see the hurt in her eyes and will always regret saying that.

    It wasn’t until I was a lot older I found out the reason why I was taken in to care and lost all interest in meeting my womb donor.

    I did however track down my biological dad who had no say in my adoption.

    On the day I gave birth to my first child, there was only one person I wanted to call, only one person I couldn’t wait to see..my mum.

    She is not my adopted mum, she is not some woman who couldn’t bear children, she’s my mum, my rock, the woman who put up with my childhood tantrums, stood by me throughout my teen years and the woman who made me who I am today.

    Yes I have my biological dad in my life and I love him to bits, but my adopted dad is the man I call father, the one who taught me how to ride a bike, the man who comforted me when my heart was broken and knew just what to say to make me laugh.

    So what I’m trying to say is adoption shouldn’t be the last resort, a bad thing etc it is amazing, it is hard but my good is it worth it. To all you adoptive parents out there I thank you for giving children a place in your heart and in your home.