The family who lived in placement number 6, were foster parents whom had four biological sons. This family fostered up to four girls at a time, mainly from biracial backgrounds. The foster children slept on bunk beds in one room with a double wardrobe, chest of drawers and a mirror. I am glad I was not with this woman long, but her treatment of me had lasting impact.

I remember vividly on her sons birthday, she gave him a whole room renovation. I was excited that she was that type of mom, I thought she was a cool mom. Maybe I should not have expected something nice on my birthday, which was soon after her bio sons birthday. But at aged 12 I was excited and naive. I thought I would get a nice gift, as a child who barely kept anything but a few clothes. I didn’t even imagine what it was, but that it would be a nice birthday surprise.

On my birthday, she ignored me all day. I hovered around hoping to be noticed, hoping she forgot about it. After feeling sad, defeated and confused. She eventually way in the afternoon, said she had something for me, there was a small glimmer of hope. She gave me a pair of unwrapped socks and underwear. I said thank you but I was really disappointed. She had this big grin that spread widely across her face, while staring at me. It was creepy, and I struggled to read her behavior. After more time passed, she gave me £40 from social services, for my birthday. Making it clear that it was not a gift from her, and that I should go out to spend it.

I went out, got on the bus to find my sister at her foster parents house. She was babysitting, and I stayed with her and the four younger children, who were the foster parents children. My sister was often left babysitting and caring for the bio children. Her foster mother used to spent all the foster money on rentals and going out partying. I eventually left my sisters house, and on the way home an alcoholic on the bus collapsed. When they took him off, they left his alcohol bag right near me. So being depressed, being isolated, feeling let down and sad on my birthday. I thought I am gonna drink this bottle of drink. It was red wine, and I drank about three quarters of the bottle. I had never drank alcohol before!

When it was my stop, I fell out the bus door on the floor, struggling to walk. My foster parents lived about 10 minutes away from the bus stop. I was so drunk, I kept waking up on the floor after blacking out unconscious. Many people saw me, no one asked if I was okay, and I eventually made it home. The foster mother was verbally angry, and sent me to bed. In the morning she complained I broke off the door handle, while struggling to open the door. She played the angry foster parent part, making her little notes for social services. She did not tell social services it was on my birthday, to hide what she did. Instead she made out like it was on a different day, and that I had gone out without encouragement. Social services took her word for the incident, and did not ask me what my experience was.

In the most part foster parents can say what they like, without question, or the voice of the child. In the most part children in care are groomed to reciprocate what the adults wants their institution to represent. Which meant when I complained, my complaints not only fell on deaf ears, but were filed as untrue. This meant that I was systemically neglected and treated with bias by paid professionals, who felt I was the problem. And neglected to acknowledge the bigger picture and contributing factors, when it suited them. It undoubtedly leads to some of the failures faced by abused foster children within the care system. More importantly is a contributing factor in a lack of accountability which impacts future opportunities.

Furthermore, foster parents get paid extra money to do birthday party’s and get presents for foster kids. There was no reason for her not to make an effort, other than she wanted to do nothing intentionally. Her buying a pair of socks and underwear was an act of humiliation and spite, after ignoring me all day. She did not even wish me happy birthday, it was to much effort for her. She wanted us as foster children to know we were less important than her children. She used it as a way to boost their ego, and make them feel superior and important. Her grin was her enjoying her emotional abuse of me, which she got off on. Her husband was a NPC in her daily fostering endeavors, aside from the financial advantage he received.

I on the other hand barely had any clothes, in foster care. For the monthly clothing allowance I was supposed to get, I remember picking out trainers one time. It was not while I was placed in this placement either, it was while at a children’s home. She was paid enough to buy me a cake and a gift. She was greedy and was using kids as cash cows, with immunity. I was wrong for taking the alcohol on the bus, and getting drunk. But she was manipulative, and spiteful. She told partial truths to sound sincere. Her telling social services I went out and got drunk, sounds very problematic, and poor old me. She didn’t tell the whole truth. Which was that she pocketed at more than half of the birthday funds, and did nothing for my birthday. She then sent me out, after ignoring me all day.

I would say she should feel ashamed, but something tells me she was a narcissistic psychopath, who wouldn’t care. The grin that would spread across her face, with her eyes bulging out of her sockets, staring at you. It felt almost like she was feeding off of your energy and soul. People have this weird stare, that they do when they are being manipulative intentionally, and watching it play out. Its like they get some type of chemical release of dopamine from doing spiteful things to other people. They enjoy watching it play out, and enjoy watching the confusion, and negative reactions. I believe she became a foster parent to solely use foster children for money, and to finance her own family. All inclusive holidays, spending money, four sets of birthday moneys you don’t give to the child. Plus basic pay, and financial perks. She never fostered boys, only girls that her biological sons had no competition with.

Another memory that stand out, is when I asked why the adult biological son was so mean to me. She said it was because he had slept with the prior biracial foster child/teen. After I asked where the girl was now, at the time. The foster mother told me the girl went missing. She had the big grin and stare, and I felt fearful of her disclosure. I was mixed race or biracial as people call it, and I already had a traumatic experience in foster care. Her intentions were sinister in the disclosure, she wanted me intimidated, but i was socially slow. Her demeanor would change around social service professionals. She acted more kind and also pretended to be attentive, when she was really not attentive or kind at all.

Its been over 20 years since I lived in placement number 6, and I still think about the ‘missing girl’. I wonder who she was, where she is, if she was found or if she was trafficked and never found. The worst part is no one cared, there was no one to approach about it, no one to investigate. I wonder who else knew the foster parents were trafficking teen girls, and who was profiting from it. I wonder how many girls “went missing or “ran away” before I was placed there. It really is unacceptable that foster children are targeted and used by inside organized criminal groups, without consequence. It is even worse that the very people paid to protect you, are not adhering to guidelines. Often directly due to their own personal biases and opinions, which is then projected onto victims of abuse.

For example, when social care found out I was abused at the young age of 9-10 years old. Instead of support adult themes of sexuality was projected onto me. It was abuse by an adult male, in a foster placement. I was not the only child who complained of sexual abuse, two other foster children complained too. In records, staff made comments of lies; imaginations; sexually inappropriate feelings towards men, a risk to innocent men…! Staff spoke about you, not to you directly about abuse suffered. It was like an unspoken knowledge, in which you the child felt crazy because no one acknowledged your pain.

I am healing, but writing about my lived experience makes my blood boil, in instances where staff in my opinion. Actively made decisions that caused multiple children harm, and ignored plea’s for help. To me when reading records, words and opinions of staff. There was a direct correlation to the outcome of children in care, as they made abused children the problem.

Part two, to be continued on another post.