Trigger warning. I do include stories of abuse and mistreatment. Writing and reading this has impacted my mental health in ways I didn’t expect. Check out our resource page to get connected to free mental health support before reading. Especially if you have experienced abuse/trauma. Hello hello, my name is Joseph. I am a 22-year-old male living in Alberta. Please feel free to check out other folks' bios and thank you so much for checking out this project that we all have worked so hard on. I have had a checkered experience with Child and Family Services (CFS). Some positives and also negatives. In this biography, I present my experiences in care, as fair as I can. Too often are kids in care quick to demonize CFS in my opinion. There are always two sides to a story, and so I thank you for taking the time to hear/read mine. Growing up was very challenging for me. My mom was repressing her traumas and neglecting her mental well-being. She was a single mom who was just trying her best. Eventually, Child and Family Services were called and were in and out of our lives over many years. This was because of anonymous calls from neighbours and schools, which really changed how transparent we were with people (out of fear of being reported to CFS and losing our family). My mom is Indigenous and grew up in the system. She had an extremely abusive time in foster homes and isolated experiences from CFS. There was little escape so she developed PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder from being in care. This made getting to know my mom more challenging and would build on the fear of CFS more. My perspective of CFS growing up was that the government doesn’t understand. They want to rip families apart and they seem to have little to no accountability. One of the first times I remember fully being taken away was very scary, almost movie-like. My mom was out overnight with some friends so we had a babysitter. I believe I was around the age of 10, my sister 8. We woke up to some strange man claiming to work for the government and that it wasn’t safe here for my sister and I, so we needed to pack up our clothes. We were given trash bags (one each) and told to pack clothes. This caused my little sister to freak out and cry. Even worse, she forgot some of her favourite things (clothes, blanket, plushies) because of the pressure. We weren’t given a time frame, just told to hurry and only grab the essentials. As a kid, I had no idea what the essentials even were, which caused the worker to get frustrated with me, resulting in us being rushed even more. After a few hours of being driven to CFS’ building, I started asking questions like, “where’s my mom?,” “does she know where we are?,” and “where are you taking us?” These are the only answers I was getting. “We are waiting to hear back from your mom,” “you are now in the custody of CFS,” and “we will be living in temporary homes.” The man kept repeating in between that “we are safe,” but it is hard to believe when we already felt safe at home and we are completely dependent on these strangers.
I remember for a week or so all I wanted to know was what happened to my mom. After being moved over and over, sometimes daily, sometimes weekly, we finally heard what happened to my mom. She had a stroke and we couldn’t visit her until she was stable, but they didn’t tell us the magnitude of it, just that mom is in the hospital being taken care of. Eventually, we got to visit my mom in the hospital briefly (limited time was emphasized by the workers and hospital staff many times). The scariest part for me is that my mom didn’t even know what was going on, and had no clue when we would be going back to her. The dynamic of viewing a parent so helpless and having to stay calm and strong for them while you’re emotionally suffering is really intense. None of us were offered any mental health support at all. As my mom’s condition improved over time my sister and I are being moved less often. This was nice because trying to go to school during all of this was a nightmare. Then the worst part for me was coming home after school to my foster home. My foster people had a very large dog that ended up attacking me (my guess is out of jealousy for attention or I was just very scared at the time of most things). Thankfully I didn’t need stitches and it wasn’t severe (the foster people were quick to handle the situation too). This meant me and my sister had to move again, but this time the worker was giving us a rough timeline for when we can go home. Years later CFS was brought into our lives again, this time it was worse. I believe I was around 13, my sister 11. The dynamics at home were pretty bad. Everyone stayed in their rooms for most of the day. My sister and I rarely cleaned so my mom was forced to do it but she wouldn’t want to clean messes that were mainly ours. So rather than fighting, we would just let it build.
This and a couple of other reasons got us taken away again; however, CFS promised me and my sister wouldn’t be separated. They lied. I remember vividly waiting in the CFS office watching cartoons with my sister in the waiting room. Only I get called into the big conference room. I am met with a room of men and women filling most, but not all of the chairs. The main caseworker that was involved with taking us away this time got on one knee and began slowly talking to me. Starting with asking me surface-level questions. I remember being super confused and still just in awe of the office and cool chairs. Then he starts asking more serious questions. I am still unengaged and processing. He shifts the way he speaks to me and starts telling me that they tried to keep me and my sister together but it wouldn’t be possible. I started tearing up and it seemed like they took that as a signal. Before I could even get words out, or even move. A few people started leaving the room to the waiting room. This shocks me because I am starting to realize I have been misled.
I was still processing what he just told me and he kept speaking but I was tuning in and out. I interrupt him and ask if I can see my sister; fighting back tears. He sighs and looks down away from me and says not right now, when you both are settled we can try and arrange a meeting for you both here in the future.
This is where our individual lives in care starts. Because we lived in a small town at the time, there were many unfortunate coincidences. My placement was less than a block from my mom. My sister’s placement was maybe three or four blocks from my mom. It was absolutely brutal getting off the bus from school. I would have to walk towards my mom’s place and turn the corner to get to my foster home. I was threatened that if I ever went to my mom’s place instead of the foster place me and my sister would be moved out of the town and it would REALLY complicate things. So I just numbly got by every day. Occasionally being able to see my sister. Which was nice but there were so many people, little time, and we were both on edge so we couldn’t really connect much. Neither my sister and I were happy with the dynamics. Her place had two sisters and a younger brother that she didn’t like. It was very weird for me because the sister my sister didn’t like went to my school and I had a crush on her. I lived with a very cranky older couple. I hated them because they didn’t listen to me. I never got a choice to do what I wanted during the day. Because I couldn’t be left home alone she would take me to all of her family gatherings. Her grandkids also went to my school. One was in my class and was very rude to me multiple times, but I wouldn’t consider them a bully. One time my hair was getting very long and poking my eyes. All I wanted was a haircut so I would be as polite as I could, mindful of timing as well to hopefully have a higher chance of being able to see clearly. After 4 or 5 times of asking I noticed less and less of a reaction and no indication that I was actually going to get a haircut. So I confided to my worker that I am frustrated that I can’t even get a haircut. This made the cranky older lady angry she snapped at me, mocking me “why did you go and complain to your worker. I need a haircut. I need a haircut. Wah, wah, wah.” I was filled with rage. Another really negative experience I had living with this older couple. I went to shower but forgot my pajamas in my room. When I was seen coming out of the bathroom wearing the same clothes; before I could even leave the bathroom I was scolded and belittled. “I can’t believe you just wasted all that time in the shower! Clearly, you aren’t that smart if you can’t even remember to bring clean clothes.” I really didn’t think it was a big deal but I understood why she was upset because I was late to get to bed. So I kept my head down and apologized. As my back faced her she smacked the back of my head. This made me really angry but sadder than anything. I can’t defend myself or hit her back because I will be labelled as violent. Also being reminded that if I make any big mistakes me and my sister will be moved out of town and it will be so much harder to be with my family again. I started acting out where I could and made some bad mistakes that I don’t want to get into. Nothing violent, just extremely embarrassing childish things.
Reflecting back now, I believe CFS took notice of my acting out and we got to visit my mom at home (supervised by a worker so again all of us were on edge). But that was really nice and brought a lot of hope to me and my sister that it’s almost over. My mom worked very hard with CFS and I am very proud of her for putting in the work to get us back. She took parenting courses, tried being more involved with us, and I could see a massive difference in her mental health. This was the last time I was taken into the custody of CFS. Before addressing my recent experience with Child and Family Services; I would like to share some relevant background information. My mom and dad shared custody up till I was around 5. Apparently, my dad was getting more and more abusive, one day hurting my mom. He even threatened that anyone who stands in his way to get me he would kill. Of course, my mom took this threat seriously with his history of violence so we moved A LOT (the amount of time varied where we stayed. Sometimes a few months, sometimes a year.) Curiosity was starting to build about my dad. Over time my mom was less scared of him and said how much I am starting to look like him. Shifting her fear of my dad onto me. It was easy to see my mom was getting afraid of me. Which forced me into anger management throughout school. I never felt like an angry kid and was getting attention when I was pulled out of class for anger management. School counsellors were never really able to build much of a relationship because I didn’t want to be there. I was very happy-go-lucky and just wanted to be treated like a normal kid. Growing up it was very touchy to mention my dad and, once I learned he hurt my mom, I hated him. I didn’t even know his full name until my mom shared it with me when we reunited from CFS. Finally, I was able to connect so many dots to have a picture of what my dad might be like.
After close to 10 years I get a Facebook message. It’s from someone I don’t recognize but has the same last name as me. This was really exciting because I could finally put a face to a name. Before I got too excited I went to show my mom the photos on his profile. She confirmed it was him but I could tell it was hard to see him again from all the abuse. We agreed that connecting and talking with my dad will be good for me. So I arranged a phone call with him. Every amount of interaction with my dad was bliss. Contrasted with my current living situation I wasn’t happy living with my mom and sister, we all just had very different interests and poor communication skills to be happy together. After a few weeks of talking to my dad, I asked if I could go live with him. An argument with my sister led to me being done with feeling like an outsider in the family. I learned that in Alberta, a 15-year-old gets to decide which parent they want to live with. So being tired of fighting with my sister about how we can hang out and having my mom do her own thing. Subsequently, I told my mom I can’t live like this anymore, and that I want to go live with my dad. She didn’t fight me much on it, she just wanted me to be safe. Ultimately she knew I needed to see for myself what my dad is like and that I have always been very independent. My biggest regret is that I left on the day of my sister’s twelfth birthday. It was an intentional, very petty decision that I wish I could take back. Especially because it was a special day for her (she was born on October 12, and the year was 2012).
My dad had kicked me out because our relationship quickly fell apart after a year and a half. He was extremely toxic and was the complete opposite of my mom. He chose to meet my depression with anger. Going so far to encourage me to kill myself if I am so unhappy. Screaming in my face, “Is this what you want. Yeah see this is what you want to so do it.” When I would yell back to stop this is too far, he grabbed ,a knife and put it in my hand. At this point I can barely see because I am crying and breaking down. This is where he doubles down and forces my hand with the knife against my wrist. Then starts screaming in my face to do it, belittling me because he thinks I just want attention and I’m not actually depressed. That forever ruined my relationship with my dad and I lost all respect for him. Maybe a month or so passes and I realize I am not safe so start planning how to leave. Finally, a verbal fight before I go to school. He tells me not to come home, and I tell him good I don’t want to come home. I packed my computer and clothes and stayed with a friend.
My dad told me exactly what I needed for my school counselor to take my situation seriously. This is where CFS gets contacted. They keep calling my dad to get his side of the story. Luckily for me, they were never able to get through to him. Moving back to my mom and sister wasn’t an option either because it was also a bad environment for me. So my file was opened; however, CFS’ involvement was short-lived, at the time I needed a place to stay so they helped me get into a group home. The support I wanted help accessing was mental health and education. A lot of hope started to build. The group home was very impressed with me wanting to stay in school and even had an onsite therapist. My worker starts asking how long I had been in care previously. She was confident I qualified for an Enhancement Agreement (essentially the government pays for tuition for youth that have experienced long-term involvement with CFS).
Complications begin now. Child and Family services are experiencing staffing issues. Unfortunately for me I am more independent and more stable so my file needs direction or termination. My choices are to wait for an unknown amount of time for CFS to get me therapy or wait for the therapist at my group home to come back from maternity leave. Therapy seemed to be solved with the group home. Keep in mind I am having to make this extremely important decision for my future at the age of sixteen. During the meetings with staff at the group home and my social worker, the pressure starts hitting me and I talk less.
We needed to reach a resolution, so we agreed that the group home could get me the same support but faster than CFS because it would all be under one roof. To ease my decision my social workers said we can close my file and re-open it whenever I want. The only condition is my file would have to reopen before I turn eighteen. This is where I was lied to again by CFS. I kept going to school and got terrible news from the group home. The agency lost funding for the onsite therapist. The staff shared my anger and sadness, but we had hope. Many calls were made by the group home staff to CFS, which were ignored or dismissed by CFS. Their argument was essentially we had no proof that a promise was made. One of the staff that was at the initial meeting had notes from that meeting as evidence.
Unfortunately, the group home was making changes and that staff member had some personal things going on. Eventually, we realized we couldn’t find the files anymore. Our last chance was getting help through another organization A reminder for how I am feeling during all of this. My trust for agencies in general is very low. My hope is also very low and I am extremely stressed. Managing school, still not able to get therapy, and realizing I am getting closer to being eighteen.
My conversations with this other organization were bad. They told me exactly what CFS was saying. Since there is no proof of exactly what was said during that crucial meeting, we have a weak case to argue. Basically, it would be a matter of opinion and since I am a youth and they are an agency there’s a large gap between credibility. CFS can simply deny that any promise was made and there isn’t anything concrete to challenge them. This made me very upset, once again I realized I got screwed over again by people who claimed they are acting in my best interest. Now I am out of options, have no funding and no hope for my future. The group home also couldn’t guarantee me a bus pass anymore because funding got complicated and they prioritize youth who have a file. So now my ability to be able to go to school is in jeopardy. Despite my frustration with this other organization, the staff kept encouraging me to call them since they have more tools to get some direction for my life. So after an emotional call, I got some information. This other organization told me to go to the CFS building and explain that I need a bus pass to be able to continue going to school. Also really emphasize how important it is that I get a bus pass because I won’t be able to continue going to school. So I went to the CFS building downtown and was met with a rude toned receptionist. I explained that I live in a group home that can no longer supply me with a bus pass. I had a closed file (with CFS) and was told I can reopen it whenever I want, under the condition that my file opens before I turn eighteen, and I really want to keep going to school. Immediately she dismissed the situation with my file. She tisked and said, “yeah, you clearly just want money. How did you get here then if your group home can’t get you a bus pass?” All of what she said was in a condescending tone. Holding back my anger I tell her that they have bus tickets but it isn’t a consistent amount. The supply of bus tickets is donated so it isn’t reliable, and all the donations are split with a priority to the youth who are homeless. The receptionist doesn’t change her tone with me and forwards me to another agency. She says “They might be able to help, if they won’t take you then I guess we can look into your situation.” This spiraled me into a very dark time, and is one of the first mental breakdowns I had living on my own. I told the group home staff and they gave me more information about the agency I was referred to. I got my meeting the next day and was accepted.
For my grade twelve year I could finally focus on schoolwork again. The financial support is something I am so grateful for because if I couldn’t keep going to school I saw no point in living. Being able to focus on school, working out and doing yoga, joining a school team and being able to compete. I was able to try dating seriously as well and make close friendships where I wasn’t scared of judgment. If anything I was envied for having all this freedom over my life in high school. Life definitely was still complicated for me, but that was exactly what I needed to put my life on track. Finally, I had tangible experience to show me I can fit in the world, and that I have potential. I am not just a youth with a troubled past. I am not destined to repeat the cycle of trauma. What I do in my life matters and I am very thankful for everyone who didn’t let me give up on myself.
Ultimately these are my closing words and opinions. Hopefully to improve the view of both kids in care and give more respect to social workers. If you are aspiring to be a worker you have so much power over vulnerable families. Believe the youth. Communication should always be the number one priority. Very close behind should be mental health support for the family. Ripping apart families sometimes has to be done for safety. In my opinion, it should always be a last resort because of the impact it has on trust, and how it isolates family members. The bad experiences I had in care affected how I talk about places and people. Specifically when talking about being in care, I don’t like using the labels foster home and foster parents. This could be similar for other youth that have been in care so please be mindful of language when asking questions.
Thank you for taking the time to read my biography. My intention for sharing my experiences here is to give hope to youth and also to improve Child and Family Services. This has also been incredibly healing for me, much love to YCAN and the facilitator who relentlessly supported all the youth to start this project.