- Most kids fare better with their own parents than they do in great foster homes. For some kids this isn’t possible, and then we do the very best we can to find fabulous adoptive homes where many kids live wonderful lives. But the statistics don’t lie–overall kids have better outcomes if they can safely remain with the parents who raised them.
- So anything we can do to strengthen families is time and money well spent.
- Many addicts never quit. Most repeatedly cycle through relapse and recovery, with some mired in relapse, some firmer in their recovery.
- So anything we can do to prevent addiction is also time and money well spent.
- A few people are truly terrible. Unfixable, to the core terrible. But in the thousands of people I have seen, I have witnessed the reprehensible only a handful of times.
- Parents love their kids and are usually doing the best they can. Child protection workers who can’t find empathy for parents shouldn’t be child protection workers. We can hold them accountable, and we can expect and support them to do better, but we can do so with compassion and humanity.
- It’s not about me. When I get yelled at, they aren’t really yelling at me. When they don’t change, or stay sober, or ever get their kids back, it’s not my fault. If I make it about me, then I get in the way of the work the families have to do.
- So I better take care of me. I have a lot of feelings about the things I witness every day, and I need to know how to decompress and let go.
- Bad Things happen. The only way to survive in child protection is to understand and accept this fact, and then to find motivation and strength in being the person to help put things back together, because..
- People can recover when those Bad Things happen. I have worked with so many parents who admit that they were resentful at first, but now are grateful that their family is together and healthy and whole. I have seen kids suffer horrific trauma, and over and over again they find a way to recover and move on. Witnessing resilience is a great privilege, and the reason I go back, day after day.
I wrote my novels Unprotected and Unattached because I wanted to share those lessons. My novels are available in select local book stores and at amazon.com and Barnes and Noble.
Words fail me sometimes, usually when there’s something important to say. Tonight, on the eve of my book launch, I will try.
I am deeply grateful that a story that I wrote has been published. Again. Thanks to North Star press for investing in me a second time.
I am thrilled that my husband’s photo is the cover, and that the young woman on the cover is my daughter, Gracie. I love to write about family–both biological and chosen–so it is only right that the cover comes from my family.
And speaking of family, I couldn’t have done this without everyone who read, critiqued and proofed multiple drafts of this book. “Unattached” is so much better because of all the editors and cheerleaders I had along the way.
I also want to thank all the social workers out there who inspired this story. County social work can be thankless, exhausting, and often invisible. I write about our work because I want people to understand it. So today, I also want to thank all my fellow county social workers for the heart and soul they put into their jobs every day.
And finally, thank you to everyone who has read “Unprotected” and will soon read “Unattached.” Tomorrow, I will begin putting my new novel in your hands, and I will never forget what a privilege that is.
Source: Unattached: A preview
He loved to bounce that baby boy on his knee. Never much interested in girls, he ignored their first child, a daughter with a cap of blonde fuzz and a dimple in her left cheek. His friends, annoyingly married for the past year, had finally had their boy. His boy. He caressed the baby’s head and wondered how old the little man would be before he would start spending the night with his favorite uncle.
Leah Danco didn’t sleep anymore. Not the full, doctor-recommended eight hours, anyway. Leah’s nights involved hours of fitful rolling on her aged queen-sized bed with a deep divot in the middle from years of sleeping alone. This spring morning her insomnia had been interrupted with an ominous phone call from sheriff’s dispatch at 3:00 a.m.
When the sun finally emerged that first Friday morning in May, Leah had already showered and was wrestling with her home-highlighted blonde frizz. If left alone, her hair would add at least two inches of fuzzy height to her barely five foot frame, so her mornings always began with the aggravation of coaxing her hair into compliance. Annoyed with the stringy, crunchy results, she switched around a few of the studs in the upper cartilage of her left ear. The studs always cooperated, so at least she could control that much of her appearance. Leah had just turned thirty-five and worried that years of hard living had taken their toll, so she took the bright spots in her appearance where she could find them.
The best part of the day was that it was Friday. She could wear jeans. As a social worker who investigated allegations of child abuse, sometimes perks of the job were hard to find. The 3:00 a.m. phone call was from a dispatcher asking if a social worker wanted to ride along with a uniformed officer to Children’s Hospital, where a toddler was being airlifted with life-threatening abuse injuries. The interviews could wait until morning, Leah told her. It was going to be an ugly day.
Twenty minutes later, breakfast bar and Diet Coke tucked in her giant purse, Leah stood on the steps outside of Terrance County Human Services like the soles of her hiking sandals were glued to the sidewalk.
Going inside meant facing the day—kids who were angry, anxious or traumatized. Defensive, sobbing, or absent parents. Today, it meant finding answers and justice for a broken baby who just a few hours ago was safe and healthy and whole.
Unattached will be available for purchase from local bookstores and kindle download September 12, 2015.