I Just Flat Out Don't Like Her

Lord forgive me, I couldn’t stand this last teen. She’s 18, a victim of rape and incest (by her biological father), and cast out by both sides of her family (her mother is deceased).

Her background is what made me sympathetic to her. But her personality, lack of logic, extreme laziness and hard-headedness made me dislike her.

She only got as far as the 9th grade in high school. From my home, she could metro to the beauty school where she was enrolled. She was placed with me for just over a week – until DSS could find another placement – one that was near her school with lower transportation costs.

When her worker brought her the first night, we all talked rules and expectations. She was given $145 to use for transportation. The next day she returned home with $12. She bought a new cell phone and new headphones. Over and over again, I tried telling her how irresponsible that was. She insisted it wasn’t. She actually has a government-issued cell phone that was out of minutes (although she can make calls with wi-fi). Rather than buy a $25 visa gift card and reload her phone, she spent it all on a new phone with a monthly bill.

When she refused to even hear/understand what an irresponsible choice she’d made, that moment made me realize she was incapable of reasoning. She couldn’t see past the moment. I tried to break down to her the cost of commuting to her school and the return trip. She refused to understand.

I tried to teach her to organize her things at night: Lay out your clothes; pack your lunch; take your shower; put your school bags by the door. Yeah, no. She’d get distracted by the damn phone. Or the tv. Or she’d start playing with Max. Anything but what I told her to do.

If I told her to go left, she went right. If I told her to put something down, she’d pick it up. I had to constantly repeat myself. I get it – most teens have to be told repeatedly to do something. But this simpleton had to be told 10 times to take a shower.

I tried reasoning. Giving her a schedule. We need to be out of the house in an hour. Get up, get dressed, have breakfast, make up your bed, clean your breakfast dishes. She might have attention deficit disorder because when I gave her more than 3 things to do, she’d stand lost in thought. Or she’d just sit there. Or she’d start singing to herself or her phone.

On Friday, she talked to the administrators of her beauty school about assistance with transportation costs. When they told her no, she asked for a leave of absence. And they withdrew her from the school (she’d had too many previous LOAs).

And of course, she had no game plan. And no money. All weekend long I encouraged her to think of some activity she could do outside of my house while I’m at work. (I damn sure wasn’t leaving her unsupervised in my home.) She couldn’t come up with a single plan. But Sunday night she damn sure schemed how she could go hang out with some dude (which I still don’t understand because she’s gay); and of course she wanted me to be her driver.

This morning, I reached my boiling point this morning. I woke her up at 7 a.m. and told her we needed to leave at 8 a.m. It took until 7:30 a.m. with me constantly telling her to get up before she actually got her ass moving. By that time I’d called her worker and my worker on their personal cell phones. And I texted her worker and said I wanted to expedite her leaving my house (although her deadline to leave was tomorrow).

When I finally talked to her caseworker about what was happening, she had no surprise. That’s when I learned she’d been in several homes since the summer – and she’d bounced from house to house for the same reasons. (When I get ‘hold of my caseworker, I’m gonna let her have it for not telling me this.) She’d been obstinate and lazy in the other homes. Hmph. The caseworker said I could bring her to DSS this morning.

So then I told her to pack her clothes and take her bags to door. While I finished my morning work, she took another shower, dallied in the bathroom, played on her phone, chilled on the bed. So of course it’s 8 a.m. and she hasn’t packed a damn thing. Ironically, I woke her at 7, knowing we wouldn’t leave ‘til 9. But when I realized she still hadn’t moved, I took her cell phone. Told her she wouldn’t get it back until I was finished showering and could see movement.

And of course, when I was half-dressed, she still hadn’t taken her bags to the door. I think subconsciously she didn’t want to leave. But she was no longer welcome in my life and home. I helped her gather her stuff and toted her back to DSS.

It’s crazy because I took her “back” like she was a defective product. But I’m learning to put myself first when I foster in my home. And it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep accepting these teens.

I’ve learned not to expect them to “realize how good they’ve got it.” I don’t need that from them. Most times the teens come from such awful places, they’re incapable of understanding or appreciating when life is better. They’re sometimes like battered women who keep returning to abusers – they seek pain to validate their lives or to feel something, anything. Or they sabotage a good home because subconsciously they’d rather push away first than be pushed away.

But what I’m learning is that I can’t keep brushing up against/sharing space with these abused teens. I’m burning out.

Police in My Kitchen

Last night was whoa. I'm still processing it all. But I'm clear it began earlier in the day.

My teen went with me to work, and I gave her some assignments on the computer - one of which was to find GED programs in Maryland. She resisted this idea because she insists she's still a DC resident. We debated the issue 2 or 3 times before I gave an edict: Find the programs or get off of the computer.

The end result? I shut the computer down and she sat sullen for the last 2 hours of my work day.

She remained angry and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. She holed herself up in her room, until about 9 p.m. Then she calmly marched right out of her room, to the front door and out. I asked her what she was doing, if she was leaving, but she ignored me and walked out.

I immediately called the police, her case worker, and lastly her mother. Luckily, the officer was in the area because he was at my house in less than 5 minutes.

Thus began the 1st of my frustrating conversations of the night. I described her outfit, the circumstances and that she'd just left less than 5 minutes ago.

His 1st question to me: "Why didn't you stop her?" I looked at him as if he had 2 heads. Told him I can't stop a foster teen, can't physically block them or touch them. His 2nd dumbass question: "How long ago did she leave?" That's when I gave him the fullness of Tiffanie - Chevy Chase, rich woman haughtiness. "Officer, are you even listening to me? One of the 1st things I told you was that she left, on foot, not more than 5 minutes ago."

That motivated his ass. He went back out in his cruiser, and to my absolute surprise, he found her at the nearby park.

But of course she returned even more determined to leave. I called the crisis hotline and told them what happened and that we needed help. They gave me another number to call, which was the on-call social worker. I told that social worker what had happened and that I was concerned my teen would run away again. We talked more before she realized that the crisis hotline had given me her number. It turns out that when you call the crisis hotline, if you don't actually say the word "crisis," your call won't be treated as such.

I've never heard such ignorance. So I called the crisis hotline again. Received a busy signal. I called a 3rd time, and was automatically shunted into someone's voicemail (really - I didn't press any buttons, the automated system pushed me into a staffer's voicemail). Obviously, by my 4th time I was more than irritated. I talked to the same woman with whom I initially spoke, and demanded she get someone to my home. Once I was finally taken seriously, they transferred me to another woman, who proceeded to give me a 10 minute (no lie) interview/assessment, which included questions on my date of birth (no lie), occupation, and various other unrelated questions. Of course I noted the irony of the potracted interview when I'm calling about a crisis.

Finally, at 10:30 pm, the crisis team showed up and talked to my teen and I. They helped defuse the situation, talked to her about her choices and mental state, and generally calmed her down.

Somehow I managed to keep my cool with this teen. I never yelled at her, I never spoke unkindly, I never got angry directly with her. I'll be honest, I had some very choice words about her in my head - but that's where the words remained. In my mind.

My Purpose

I'm growing closer and closer to my purpose. My latest (foster) teen that ran away nearly 3 weeks ago was captured last night by the police.

I spent all day Friday negotiating her return with the 7 social workers who weren't able to talk to one another, etc. etc. In fact, I was the person that notified her parents.

I could go in depth about this - about how her biological mother had near-daily onversations with her, while teen was a runaway. But I'm too tired.

Long story short: The police found her and her twin yesterday. My twin was returned to DSS care. I retrieved her last night.

But today, while I attended an 8 hour training, my teen left. Again. I'm giving her 1 hour (until midnight) to meet her 11:30 curfew.

But trust. I am not holding my breath.