#foster children

P: possess a high level of patience and understanding.

A: account for their needs, regardless of disability, trauma, or background.

R: reach out to therapists, teachers, and other professionals who can support them in the ways they need.

T: try to maintain a safe, clean, organized home, provide them with their own bedroom (if age appropriate and/or possible), and be willing to learn and adapt to their needs.

Where the Light Stays On

Summary: Aged-Up! Scott Barringer (Mid-40s) becomes a foster parent after the passing of his wife Shelby. At midnight, an emergency foster placement is organised for a young eleven-year old girl who has just been removed from her home due to ongoing abuse and neglect. While the young girl’s nervous system is overwhelmed, grief-ridden Scott does everything that he can to ensure child feels safe and comfortable within his home, almost as if the light always stays on for them both.

Word Count: —

Directory: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Warnings: Please note that this fanfiction contains brief mentions of adverse childhood experiences including abuse and neglect, discussions of grief, and the brief mentions of the passing of a loved one (non-detailed loss of an adult and a child — newborn). Please read at your own risk, with necessary caution to its topics.

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing a fanfiction of heavier topics including childhood abuse and neglect, grief, and the passing of a loved one. Please bear with me as I navigate writing on a new platform. I would appreciate any feedback, comments, or suggestions. Let me know what you think — 🌼

Music Inspiration: This work of fiction (fanfiction) was inspired by one of my favourite songs “Someone to Stay” by Vancouver Sleep Clinic, more specifically by the lyrics: “You were alone, left out in the cold / clinging to the ruin of your broken home / Too lost and hurting to carry your load / we all need someone to hold”

You can listen to this song here:

Chapter 1

Scott Barringer learned that grief had a sound.

It wasn’t always crying. Sometimes, it was the silence that followed the closing of a door. Sometimes, it was the second mug he still reached for in the morning before remembering there was no reason to. Sometimes, it was the quiet creak of the floorboards outside the bedroom and the instinctive thought that Shelby was awake.

Then the realisation.

No footsteps would follow. No sleepy voice to call his name.

No one would appear in the doorway wearing one of his old sweatshirts and complain that he’d left the kitchen light on again.

Six months had passed.

Scott had learned how to live around the absence. He had learned how to make coffee for one. He had learned how to sleep on one side of the bed. He had learned that there were certain songs he couldn’t listen to while driving. He had learned to answer questions about Shelby without his voice breaking.

What he hadn’t learned was how to stop loving someone who was gone.

When his phone rang at 11:45pm on a cold Tuesday night, he was still awake.

The house was dark. Only the small lamp beside his chair illuminated the living room, throwing a warm circle of light across the hardwood floor.

Scott was sitting with a book open in his lap. He hadn’t read the same page for nearly twenty minutes. The phone vibrated against the arm of the chair. He looked at the screen. Unknown number. He nearly ignored it. Then it rang again. He answered.

“Hello?” He mumbled, while the book fell off his lap and onto the floor.

“Mr Barringer?”

Scott straightened.

“This is Melissa from Child Protective Services. I’m so sorry to call so late”

Scott glanced at the clock. 11:47.

“We require an emergency foster placement for an eleven year old child tonight”

Something in her voice changed the room around him. Scott picked up the voice.

“She was removed from an unsafe home environment tonight. There has been a history of abuse and neglect” Melissa continued.

Scott’s jaw tightened.

“Is she hurt?” Scott asked, as he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Maeve has some minor injuries. The police have assessed her and she doesn’t require any hospital treatment. Would it be possible for you to take her in tonight?”

Scott paused. It had always been Scott’s and Shelby’s dream to foster a child together. Not just Scott alone. What would Shelby do? Scott thought to himself.

Scott looked towards the staircase. The spare bedroom was upstairs with fresh sheets, clean towels, a night light, and a stuffed toy sitting in the middle of the bed. A room they had prepared for years without knowing whether anyone would ever need it.

“Yes, I can take her in tonight” Scott heard himself whisper.

Melissa hesitated. “Scott, there’s something else. She hasn’t spoken a word since she was removed. She may not speak to you at all”

Scott recalled the day he was removed from his own home during his adolescence. His own lived experience made him recognise that every child processes trauma differently: some may run away, while others may cry or shut down completely. And that’s okay. As long as this child felt safe and comfortable within his own home and with himself present, that’s all that matters. Safety before connection.

Scott looked around his quiet house with his framed photographs of Shelby and their child not yet born, the familiar furniture, and the small traces of a life that had once belonged to two people. A life vibrant enough to make anyone feel wrapped in warmth.

“I understand. I can take her in tonight”

—

Scott moved through the house preparing things. He didn’t know what an eleven year old may want at midnight. He didn’t even know anything about this child: what she ate, whether she liked music, or books, or cartoons, or silence. He didn’t know whether she would be afraid of closed doors or if she would want the light kept on. So he prepared everything he could think of without making any demands.

He turned the television off. Left a lamp on in the living room. Put a bottle of water on the kitchen counter. Found crackers, fruit, yogurt, and cereal.

He went upstairs. The bedroom smelled faintly of clean linen. Scott pulled the duvet back. Then he stopped. Shelby’s instinct would have been to make the room warmer.

“The home is where the heart is,” she would always say, “safety before connection”

She had always noticed things like that. A cold room. A bare wall. A child looking uncomfortable. A career in social work and child protective services didn’t just teach her these instincts, her lived experience did too.

She would have added another blanket. Scott stood still for a moment. Then he reached for one and folded it at the end of the bed.

“Touch down, Scott” she would say while holding back laughter, “kicking goals!”

What seemed to be Shelby’s voice disappeared into the empty room. His throat tightened. He turned away. Not now. There would be time for grief later.

Tonight, someone needed him.

—

When the police car pulled into the street directly opposite the house, Scott’s first instinct was to look into the rear passenger window. When he was younger, his first removal experience involved him taking a ride in the rear passenger seat, zip-tied and numb from his own adverse childhood experiences. He hoped it wouldn’t be the same.

“I’m Melissa,” an older woman with a kind smile said as she approached Scott at his front door, “I was a colleague of Shelby’s before she passed. I’m so sorry for your loss”

Scott’s throat tightened. Despite all efforts, no words could come out so he simply nodded and shook hands. Amidst the pleasantries, they both knew that the safety and wellbeing of the child in their care was more important than their brief introductions. Scott’s attention immediately moved back towards the car.

“Is she okay?” He heard himself ask, although it almost sounded like a whisper.

“Maeve is doing okay at the moment but is understandably frightened. We have checked in with her multiple times throughout the trip but she hasn’t responded to us”

Scott looked at the rear passenger window.

“Has she said anything?”

Melissa shook her head. “Nothing yet, but there’s always room for hope”

They walked together towards the car in silence. Neither one of them knew what to say next. The back door opened and Scott saw her. Maeve was curled into the corner of the seat, with her knees against her chest and her arms wrapped around herself. Long thin sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt covered her hands while her hair hid most of her face, almost as if she wanted to become so small that no one could see her.

She looked painfully small.

Scott didn’t approach. He knew what fear looked like. He had seen it before. He had felt it himself as a child: being removed from the only home he has ever known, tackled by a man twice his size while being forcibly zip-tied and taken in a car. Fear wasn’t rational and it was not something that another person could talk you out of.

When Shelby had passed, there had been a period when Scott had hated anyone who told him things would get better. They didn’t know, they couldn’t know.

The future was an enormous, frightening thing when the only home you had ever known, whether that may be a physical place or within a person, was removed. So Scott didn’t tell this child that she would be okay. Not yet.

Scott crouched down several metres away.

“Hi sweetheart,” he whispered, matching the tone of the social worker, “My name is Scott. I will be looking after you. Can you come with me?” He reached his hand out.

Her eyes appeared beneath her hair and flicked toward him. Then away. Nothing.

“You don’t have to talk”

Her fingers disappeared farther inside her sleeves.

“You don’t have to come inside just yet”

Her eyes moved toward him again. Scott stayed still.

“We can take our time”

The officer hastily bent down, positioning his hand on the roof of the car while locking eyes on the young child inside. “We need to get you inside,” the officer grunted.

The child’s body tightened. Scott stood. “I’ll help”

The officer shook his head and stood in front of Scott, obscuring his view from the child whimpering and shaking inside. With no warning, the officer reached for the child inside the car and dragged her out of the car by the arm. The child’s whole body recoiled. Then she screamed and kicked. Her heel struck the car door.

Scott instinctively stepped in between the officer and the child. Scott wrapped the child in his arms, shielding her from the officer. “Are you okay?” He whispered.

The moment he felt her struggling against him, he let go.

“Okay,” he whispered, “I’m letting go”

She screamed again. Scott crouched down to her eye level and held out the palm of his hands. “We’re not going to hurt you sweetheart” he whispered.

She stared at him. Scott could see her eyes darting between the officers, himself, and the social worker, and then back at Scott. She stared at him.

Then ran.

—

The officers started to give chase, but Scott shook his head and glared at them. Their impatience and lack of physical or emotional safety is what got them into this mess.

Scott followed her into the park. He didn’t shout and he most certainly didn’t chase or try to chase her by tackling her down to the ground. He knew that feeling all too well.

He had remembered something that Shelby had once told him: “You don’t make frightened people feel safe by taking away their choices”

So he stayed back. “I’m not going to hurt you sweetheart,” he murmured.

She kept running.

“I’ll stay here”

Then she fell. Her hands hit the pavement while her knees scraped against the concrete. A cry escaped her. Scott stopped several metres away, he didn’t want to overwhelm an already overwhelmed nervous system. The child rolled onto the grass and folded in on herself. He could see blood on her palms.

“Hi,” Scott whispered then paused, giving her time to process and respond.

She curled tighter. Scott lowered himself onto the grass.

“You hurt your hands”

Nothing.

“And your knees”

Her shoulders shook. Scott glanced at her.

“You’re not in any trouble sweetheart,” he murmured, giving her enough space to feel safe and comfortable, “you had every right to feel scared in that moment”

Her head lifted slightly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong”

A tear moved down her cheek. She wiped it away. Scott swallowed.

“You’re not going back tonight”

Her eyes found his.

“We can go somewhere safe”

He didn’t say home. Not yet. Home was a complicated word. Home had once meant Shelby, but now it meant a house full of her absence. Maybe, eventually, it could mean something else. But not yet. Now, it was about feeling safe and comfortable.

Scott placed one hand on the grass between them, palm upward. He waited. The child’s eyes moved to his hand and then, to his face. Slowly, she started to crawl closer. Scott didn’t move. Her finger tips brushed his palm. Scott kept his hand open. She placed her entire hand into his. Her skin was freezing.

Then she moved closer. Her forehead pressed against his chest while she shivered into the warmth of Scott’s own hoodie. Scott’s breath caught. He wrapped one arm around her very loosely. She trembled against him. Scott closed his eyes and for one strange second, the weight of her against him reminded him of another life.

Another person he’d held when the world had become unbearable.

Shelby.

The thought hurt but this wasn’t about his grief. It was about the child who felt safe enough to crawl into his arms after expressing multiple traumatic experiences. He opened his eyes. His hand settled gently between her shoulder blades. He didn’t rub her back. He simply stayed still, limiting unexpected movement as much as he could.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, “you’re safe”

Her fingers twisted into his shirt. Scott looked toward the dark playground. He remembered what it had felt like to have nothing to hold onto.

He tightened his arm only slightly.

“We don’t have to do anything right now”

Her breathing remained uneven.

“We can just stay here”

When she became too tired to sit upright, Scott shifted. He looked at her scrapped knees and her bloody palms while gently lifting her chin with the tip of his thumb.

“We will need to clean this”

Her body immediately stiffened within his embrace. Scott paused.

“Not yet”

He waited.

“You can decide”

She stared at him.

“Safe space?”

Her fingers remained twisted in his hoodie. Scott understood. He carefully slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back.

“I’m going to carry you, okay?” He paused for a moment, attempting to meet her eyes.

She stiffened as he lifted her. Scott immediately stopped walking.

“You can tell me if you want me to put you down”

She didn’t. Instead, her face disappeared against his shoulder. Scott adjusted his grip so he wasn’t pressing against her injured knees. He carried her out of the park. Slowly, carefully, and all the way back to his house. Safety first, he thought, then connection.

—

When approaching the home, Scott subtly shook his head at the social workers and officers waiting at the scene. Paperwork and administration later, physical and emotional safety first. Melissa nodded and gestured for the police to leave the scene. They had already finished their paperwork by the time they returned.

Inside, she looked around the house. Scott felt her fingers tighten. He followed her gaze to the unfamiliar rooms, the photographs, the stairs, the doors. He had spent years thinking his house was too quiet. Now, he wondered if it was too large. Too unfamiliar. Too full of things that belonged to people who weren’t here anymore.

“I’ll return first thing tomorrow morning,” the social worker said softly, almost as if she didn’t want to wake the child drifting off to sleep in Scott’s arms. Scott nodded.

Once Scott heard the front door closed, he carried the nearly asleep child upstairs. The spare bedroom was softly lit with a night-light in the shape of a moon.

He lowered her gently onto the bed. The moment his arms loosened, she scrambled backwards towards the head of the bed. Scott immediately stepped away.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he murmured, “we’re safe now”

Her eyes moved toward the bathroom. Scott followed her gaze.

“You want to use the bathroom?” He asked, pausing to give her time to respond.

No response. But she looked again.

“Okay”

He moved aside. She walked into the bathroom. The shower turned on. Scott waited. Ten minutes. Fifteen, then twenty. The water kept running. He walked towards the bathroom, and stopped outside the door.

“Are you okay sweetheart?”

Nothing. He crouched just outside the bathroom door.

“I’m outside”

Silence. Then a tiny sound. Scott’s stomach tightened.

He peeked through the partly open door. The child was sitting in the far corner of the shower with her knees pulled tightly against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her forehead resting against her knees. Water streamed beside her. Her sweatshirt was soaked. Her hair clung to her face. She was shaking.

Scott sat down outside the shower. He didn’t enter.

He remembered being fifteen years old and angry at the entire world. He remembered people trying to force him to talk when talking was the last thing he wanted. He remembered what it felt like when adults assumed they knew what was best.

Shelby had always been different. She knew when to sit beside someone without saying anything. She knew that sometimes the best comfort was simply being there.

Scott looked at the child backing herself into the corner of the shower.

“I’m here”

She didn’t lift her head.

“I won’t turn the water off”

He paused.

“Unless you want me to”

Her head lifted. Scott pointed.

“You can show me”

Maeve slowly raised one hand and pointed. He turned the water off and slowly backed away to give her as much space as she needed to feel safe and comfortable.

He placed a clean towel and a spare pair of clean pyjamas on the floor nearby.

Maeve looked at the pair of pyjamas. She trembled as she pulled the pyjamas and the towel closer to her. Her fingers brushed over the material of the pyjamas.

Scott stepped outside the bathroom and gently closed the door.

When she stepped outside of the bathroom, Maeve was swallowed slightly by the oversized clothes she was wearing. Her damp hair hid her face while she picked at her scrapped knees and palm. She sat down just outside the door, not meeting Scott’s eyes as she trembled and whimpered, holding back her tears.

Scott sat on the floor several metres away with the first-aid kit.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he said warmly, “I can help with those” while he nodded towards her now red and raw scrapped knees and palms.

She watched him while he opened the kit.

“I’ll show you”

He cleaned his own palm with an antiseptic wipe. Then placed one beside her. Maeve trembled as she took the antiseptic wipe in her hands. She cleaned her own hand, while Scott watched without interfering. When she finished, he placed two bandages beside her. She wrapped them around her palms. Then she stopped at her knee.

Scott waited.

“Can I clean it?” He asked, careful not to make any sudden movements. Scott watched her for a response. A tiny nod gave him confirmation of her needing his help.

Scott moved closer. He sat on the floor rather than standing above her.

“I’m going to look first,” Scott whispered, keeping his voice low while examining the red and raw scrapes on her knees. Superficial, he thought to himself.

“Okay, I am going to clean it now,” he whispered while he tried to meet her eyes, “is that okay with you sweetheart?”

Another tiny nod. Scott cleaned the wounds as carefully as he could while giving the child enough space to feel comfortable and safe within his presence.

She flinched. Scott stopped.

“Too much?” He asked.

She shook her head. He continued, slowly. When he finished, he applied a clean dressing to both of her knees. He sat back. “All done,” he whispered.

The girl’s shoulders dropped while Scott closed the kit. He remembered Shelby again. Her hands, her patience. The way that she believed that caring for someone wasn’t about fixing them, but more so about accepting them for who they are and recognising what they have experienced. It was about staying beside them while they found their own way through their experiences.

Scott looked at the whimpering child desperately trying to push herself back into the wall, away from his presence. Her eyes darted between himself and the first aid kit.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he murmured, “you don’t have to trust me tonight”

Her eyes lifted and briefly met his gaze before looking back down at her knees.

“You don’t even have to trust me next week”

Her expression remained guarded.

“But I’ll keep showing up”

—

The bedroom was warm now with its night lamp filling the room with a bright, luminous glow almost as if they were watching the stars from the back yard. Scott noticed how tightly she was holding the towel around herself, her fingers white from gripping it. Although whimpering and shivering, the child pulled her knees to her chest as if she didn’t want him to see that she wasn’t okay. Invisibility had become the norm.

“Would you like something warmer sweetheart?” He asked, careful not to overwhelm her. She looked at him. Scott stood and took a couple of steps back.

“I’ll get you something warmer,” Scott whispered, as he went downstairs. From the corner of his eye, he could see her slowly release her legs while she gripped the duvet.

A few minutes later, he returned with a heat bag. He had warmed it carefully so that it was comfortably warm rather than boiling at the touch. He held it out to her.

“Would you like this heat bag sweetheart?” He murmured, “let’s touch it together”

Scott lowered the heat bag down to her eye level and brushed it towards the tips of her fingers. She touched it with her fingertips and her expression changed almost imperceptibly. Scott nodded. “Warm,” he confirmed, putting her thoughts into words.

She took it. She pressed it carefully against her stomach beneath the blanket. Her shoulders lowered while the tension in her hands began to ease. Scott watched the change. A tiny change, but was unmistakable. “Good?” He asked.

She nodded. He smiled. “Okay,” he whispered.

Her eyes moved around the room again to himself, the bed, and the chair tucked in the corner of the room facing the bed. The chair had another blanket draped over it.

“Let’s make a choice together,” Scott continued while studying the girl carefully, “would you like me to stay” Scott held one palm up, “or go” Scott held his other palm.

The girl’s gaze lowered to both of Scott’s open palms where she hesitated for a moment, almost as if she was considering the potential consequences of her choice. She held out her hand and paused, hovering above one of his hands. Eventually, the girl’s fingers intertwined with Scott’s fingers in the first hand he held out to her.

“Stay,” he repeated while looking to the child for confirmation. She gave him a tiny nod, while pointing to the nearby chair with her other hand. Her fingers tightened around his hand, briefly outlining shapes and lines on his own palm. With her free hand, she pulled herself underneath the sheets and gently placed on the pillow.

Scott understood immediately.

“Would you like to be tucked in, sweetheart?” He asked, careful not to overwhelm her. A tiny nod and a brief, yet minute gaze into his eyes gave him confirmation.

“I’ll need to have a look for some story books,” He chucked to himself, he was sure that Shelby had collected many over the years, “but I can sing instead if you would like”

Scott wasn’t by any means a singer. Sure, he had experience playing the piano but nothing compared to singing to a child who has most likely never felt safe before.

“Close your eyes,” he began hesitantly, “and I’ll kiss you. Tomorrow, I’ll miss you. Remember, I’ll always be true. And then while I’m away, I’ll write home everyday…”

His voice trailed off as he paused, briefly meeting her eyes. The child squeezed his fingers, her shivering and whimpering subsiding as her eyes begin to close.

“And I’ll send all my loving to you,” he finished while he watched her eyes begin to close. He stayed still for a moment, careful not to wake her. He watched as her breathing slowed, making way for a more regulated sound of breath. The grip on his fingers began to loosen while she clutched the sheets around her, almost as if she was creating a temporary shelter for herself to harbour herself from an incoming storm.

Scott smiled faintly. He barely had any experience caring for children, but in this moment, seeing a once petrified child sink into the sheets peacefully made his heart ache. A yearn for something more, something that, if Shelby had not passed, could have been their reality together. They didn’t have time to decorate a nursery.

But maybe the hole in his heart could be filled by giving a child who had never experienced safety or support the love and care that they deserve. This is what Shelby would have wanted for them both: giving a child the love that they don’t think they deserve. He hesitated for a moment before briefly letting go of the sleeping child’s loose grip on his fingers. She looked so peaceful when she slept.

Scott placed a small stuffed bunny rabbit, whom Shelby once named Jess after her dearly loved sister, into the small embrace of the child’s arms next to the heat pack. Careful not to make any sudden movements, Scott tucked the child under the sheets, quietly turned off the night light, and tiptoed across the room to the chair.

Scott didn’t speak as he wrapped the blanket around himself and sunk into the chair. Minutes passed while Scott watched her breathing: slow then slower. Her fingers loosened around the stuffed rabbit while the tension in her forehead eased. The small muscles around her mouth relaxed. Scott leaned back in the chair. His eyes burned from exhaustion. He didn’t move. The house was silent.

The hallway light remained on with the bathroom door slightly open. The first aid kit sat closed on the floor in the hallway, while clean bandages covered her scraped hands. Two dressings covered her knees, while a warm heat bag warmed her inside. None of it could undo what she had experienced. None of it could erase whatever memories had followed her through the police car, across the park, and into this unfamiliar house with an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar environment.

But the room was warm. The door was open. There water beside the bed. The once shivering child was wearing clean clothes. Her injuries had been tended. And someone, with her permission, was sitting nearby. Scott looked at her small, sleeping face. He knew that tomorrow would bring questions. Social workers, paperwork, appointments, more unfamiliar people. More difficult moments.

Tonight though, there was nothing else she needed to do. She didn’t need to explain, or talk, or trust him completely. She only needed to sleep. Scott looked toward the clock. 3:17am. He settled deeper into the blanket wrapped around him. The girl shifted once beneath the blanket with her hand briefly tightened around the stuffed bunny rabbit then relaxed. Scott stayed exactly where he was.

And sometime before dawn, the first night in her new home finally became the first night where she sleep somewhere no one was asking anything of her.

Just warmth. A locked front door, a quiet room, and a heat bag tucked safely beneath the blanket next to a beloved childhood toy.

And someone staying in her presence to ensure that she feels safe and comfortable.

Scott briefly looked towards the glow, streaming in from the hallway. A faint outline of the woman he once loved appeared looking towards Scott and then to the sleeping girl. Shelby, he thought while desperately trying to catch his breath.

The faint glow of Shelby nodded at him, with a warm smile creeping on her face almost as if to say: “You’ve got this, Scott. I believe in you”

Scott smiled faintly as his memories of the woman that would always remain in his heart replayed, as if he was rewinding and restarting a movie. Their growth from adolescence to adulthood, some time apart but finding each other again, growing and learning from each other, their wedding, expecting their first child together.

We were going to name her Jess, he thought to himself while a tear rolled down his cheek. He looked toward the sleeping child once more and closed his eyes, his memories still replaying in his mind while he eventually drifted off to sleep.

Sometimes, we all need someone to stay.

Christopher Wiggins at The Advocate:

President Donald Trump’s administration has formally stripped away federal protections for LGBTQ+ children in foster care, a move that former officials, advocates, and foster youth themselves say will make life harder for young people already facing some of the highest levels of rejection, instability, and trauma in the child welfare system. Under Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the Department of Health and Human Services published the rescission Tuesday, eliminating a Biden-era rule that had been designed to help ensure that LGBTQ+ foster children could be placed in supportive homes, seek relief from hostile placements, and be protected from dangerous so-called “conversion therapy” and retaliation. For critics of the move, the policy change is not simply a matter of regulatory housekeeping. It is another example of the Trump administration removing safeguards from a group of vulnerable young people whose lives are already difficult enough.

LGBTQ+ foster youth already face worse outcomes

Research, including from the Williams Institute at UCLA’s Law School, consistently shows that LGBTQ+ young people are overrepresented in foster care and fare worse within the system. The consequences extend beyond where children are placed. The Trevor Project found that LGBTQ+ young people with a history of foster care had nearly three times the odds of attempting suicide in the previous year compared with those who had never been in the system. Forty percent of transgender and nonbinary respondents with foster care histories said they had been kicked out, abandoned, or forced to run away because of mistreatment tied to their LGBTQ+ identity. Julie Kruse, a former senior adviser on LGBTQI+ initiatives at HHS’ Administration for Children and Families, said LGBTQ+ foster youth are often overrepresented in the system because of rejection by their families of origin, then face fewer paths out once they enter it. They are less likely to be reunified, adopted, or placed permanently with relatives. “They have no off-ramp,” she told The Advocate in an interview.

What the Biden-era rule protected

The Biden administration’s 2024 rule sought to address some of those realities. It required state and tribal child welfare agencies that receive federal funding under Titles IV-E and IV-B of the Social Security Act to make specially trained, supportive placements available to LGBTQ+ children who request or would benefit from them. It also created a formal process for children to report mistreatment, request a different placement, and seek help for caregivers. The rule barred retaliation and treated efforts to suppress or change a child’s sexual orientation or gender identity through conversion therapy as prohibited conduct. It did not require every foster parent to accept an LGBTQ+ child, nor did it require all foster homes to become designated placements. “The rule did not cover medical care for transgender foster youth. It just didn’t go there,” Kruse said. Instead, she explained, the rule was about trying to make an already difficult system less harmful for LGBTQ+ children by ensuring that foster parents who agreed to care for them in designated placements were trained and supportive.

Shame on you, RFK Jr.!

See Also:

im a minor (usa, not saying my state nor specific age on here for safety reasons). i am being emotionally abused by my mother.

a cps case is currently open. i have a notebook documenting about a month’s worth of emotional abuse and just daily life. i mentioned it several times to people (interviewer and the person who im assuming was my caseworker or maybe just a social worker) but no one has even looked at it or asked for it. i have never (to my knowledge) been physically abused by my mother. i was recently taken to get a psych evaluation. i was strongly recommended family therapy but i denied wanting it.

most people who i have told about the emotional abuse have seen it at most as a disagreement. i am not dumb. i can tell when people don’t believe me or are not ‘safe’ (for lack of a better word).

i currently do not want to get formally diagnosed with anything i have self-diagnosed myself with (DID, autism, ADHD, etc.) because my mother may use that as leverage in arguments or to gaslight me with.

i have no relatives to live with that are able to take me and my little sister in, and my father passed away when i was much younger.

i will not go into detail on the emotional abuse here, but i may answer some questions about it if it applies to a tip or to answer a question i or someone else has.

i want to go into foster care with my little sister, but i was told i could not because it was not physical. they sent me home with my emotionally abusive mother.

i have narrowly avoided a few breakdowns because if i get angry i know i will be labeled as “explosive”, “violent”, or a “problem child”, which could absolutely hurt my side of things and make even more people think that i am just “overreacting” about the abuse.

how would i convince them (basically just any person with relation to my case) that the emotional abuse is happening? almost nobody believes me as of now. how would i go about getting into foster care with my little sister?