She’s gone


This is my daughter, who for her own sake, I am not going to name here.

My daughter, who was removed from my care by Social Services.  The evidence was 3 reported incidences of being drunk in charge of a child.  I got her home 6 months later, but then it happened again.  She never spent another night in my care, or even another hour unsupervised in my company.  I continued with drinking binges after she was removed, until I conceded defeat and that I couldn’t get well for her, that Social Services should do as they were planning, which was that for her own best interests she should be placed with adoptive parents.  Each of the initial incidences was reported to Social Services by my family members.

I have two things to say – firstly that this is what alcoholism does.  It affects the way that you think.  You think it won’t be that bad.  This time I’ll be able to stop.  It’ll never really happen to me.  I’m in control, I’m not that bad, I can still take care of my child, no-one will find out.  Lies, all lies, to justify that the drink is ok, and pretend that it hasn’t taken that primary place in my life above my girl, my career, my health, my finances, my God, and my self respect.  I couldn’t even stop for my beautiful, creative, loving, and very special daughter.  It is a madness of the mind, the emotions, the body and most importantly the soul.  This is what proves incontrovertibly to me that I had become powerless to stop in my own strength.  I will discuss what alcoholism is in another post.

And secondly, that this is the worst grief I have ever experienced.  I was 9 months sober by the time she was placed.  I never stopped loving her, and I have never stopped missing her, and longing that things could have been different, that my recovery could have started sooner, that I could have been the best person for her to be with.  I have had to admit that, for her own best interests, it was better for her to be adopted and settled with loving and secure parents, than remain in the care system in the hope that I got well.  Except that then, I did get well, and have faced losing her, in sobriety.

I must learn to live with the inconsistencies of Social Services.  I know many women who are alcoholics who have done what I did who still have their children, either because Social Services never found out, or because they decided that despite the problems the children were still better off with their parents than removed from them.  When I am crying “it’s not fair” I am trying to wriggle out from what I have done – and what I have done is extremely wrong and damaging to a young child who was powerless to escape from it.  Children cannot and should not have to wait until their parents get well.  This is the spirit of the law in this area of child protection and it is true and it was true for my daughter.  However I do want to also highlight that she never missed school, was always fed and clean and bathed and we read stories, we spent endless hours making things, and there had been no other concerns at any times, Social Services could find no emotional or psychological problems, apart from the normal distress caused by separation from her mother.  There is an assumption that children who are removed are unclean, unfed, absent from school, and there are concerns from all who encounter them.  Not always.

I must also grieve in silence and in private. The world does not want to hear of my grief, the primal wound that results from a mother forcibly separated from her child, because it is an unpleasant story, and I am the villain in it.  And yet I must grieve.  In the midst of all this, I am hurting and I have relinquished the way I had learned to cope with pain, in substances.  I miss her and I love her and this hurts every part of me and some days I feel like it will consume me.  I cry out to God that I am hurting and that I am grieving in the midst of terrible guilt and shame and I can’t sort all this mess out.  This isn’t clean grief – having lost my mum just over 2 years ago, I know that grief too – but that is right, in the natural order of things, because children at some stage should lose their parents.  My mum was young, but still, it is a clean and acceptable grief.  For my daughter these feelings are complicated.

I started this blog prepared to talk about the messy and controversial stuff.  I love my little girl, and I miss her with a pain that is physical, in the way it eats me up, she is lost and she is gone.  I am usually comforted with being told that there will be letters, and I might see her when she is 18 or older, and if she is ready.  That is little comfort.  I had this precious child in my life, and she has gone in the most awful of ways, and the pain seems unending and unbearable.  I am joining one of society’s most unwanted and disliked groups, but I am going to give this process a voice, to bring my shame and grief and hurt out of the dark where it cannot resolve, into the light.  I trust that nothing can separate me from the love of my heavenly Father whilst I do it.  And I hope that this might help someone else, perhaps who is facing this threat.  And as I continue to cry out in pain, in prayer, for my daughter, that she will grow up loved, and if at all possible secure, and healed.  God is able to bring joy and peace from sadness and brokenness.

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16 Responses to She’s gone

  1. Nick Radcliffe says:

    Very moving, and very brave of you to write this Sarah. Lots of love & prayers. I hope you don’t mind if I share this. I agree with you that’s it’s an important story to share. Addicition is so powerful and awful. Nick

  2. Alex says:

    So heartbreaking to read, but such an admirable thing to do-putting your daughter before you is what we want to do as parents, but few would be able to do this-one of the hardest sacrifices we as humans can do.
    With love, to you both, always! Ax

  3. Joanna Hill says:

    Such courage and strength you have shown here Sarah. And you are right, for we know that God is indeed able to bring joy and peace from sadness and brokenness…… His time. And underneath all things are His everlasting arms, comforting and sustaining. I am sure your honesty in sharing this will touch many hearts and be a great blessing to them. Much love and prayers from us all ” The eternal God is your refuge and underneath are the everlasting arms” Deut 33 vs 27 x

  4. Kate Jones says:

    You are a very brave and humble woman, Sarah. May God honour you for it xxx

  5. Jo says:

    It’s very brave of you to share those feelings. I can only hope that for your sake, the pain lessens over time. You were & are a great mother to her & the decision to let social services do what they thought was best rather than fight them was the right one, however hard it is/was. xxx

  6. Trish Jones says:

    Thank you for sharing your heartbreaking but inspiring story. I have a greater understanding of your experiences and continue to pray for your recovery. Much love x

  7. Louise says:

    I had no idea, I am so sorry.

  8. Liz says:

    Such a painfully honest and moving blog Sarah. I hope your courage inspires many others. We have all made mistakes, and I know some of yours have had a high price – but you are a testament to grace and love and forgiveness. Your quiet courage and humility inspire me. Please feel at liberty to talk about and remember your beautiful daughter- she is not forgotten by us either. Lots of love.

  9. Sarah says:

    Thank you, to all of my very treasured friends, for your love and encouragement, and prayer, and the parts all of you have played in my healing. I’m sorry not to comment individually, but really all there is to say, is thank you, for such love and compassion.

  10. Sarah says:

    I am not pretty with words. What others have said above covers anything I could hope to write. I’m good with equations and it is with utter frustration I discovered with my own precious firstborn, kids don’t fit into any formulae I could come up with. Life is complicated, messy, frequently as a mother we are in the wrong. With you I see the equation, I see how what had to be had to be, I cant explain why but I KNEW you were applying logic correctly. One day I know and pray you will see the perfect outcome from the torture you have been in, and are still in. Much love from us all here.

  11. Jenny says:

    Sarah that was beautifully written and very moving, I wish I could reach out over the internet and give you a big hug.

  12. margaret says:

    I think you are very brave but keep trusting your heavenly father who knows all about how you feel and will give you strength day by day and dark night through dark night. Don’t forget that he alone keeps your tears. May He whom we love bless you always and give you strength to help others who you may hear about going through the same experience.

  13. Sarah I am at a loss to comprehend what pain this must cause you. What a brave and moving post.

  14. I have just come across your blog from a Twitter share. As a foster carer and adoptive mum, please let me just say thank you so much for letting your voice be heard and sharing what you have shared here. We hear so little from birth mums, for all the reasons you say, and yet theirs is a story that must be heard too. I will keep you in my prayers and trust that He will bind up your broken heart as He promises to do.

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