My mum fostered children – then chose them over me

My world was turned upside down when two strangers came to live with us. 

It was a calm, blissful Sunday in 1999 when two boys under the age of 10 turned up randomly on our doorstep. 

All they had with them were rucksacks and a black bag of toys each. Meanwhile, the adults accompanying them held a pile of paperwork. 

I didn’t understand what was happening at first, then, as they loitered around the dining room and the adults left, the penny dropped. 

These were the new foster children that were moving in. I was mortified.  

This had all come about shortly after my mum and dad divorced in 1998. 

Since the split, Mum had made it clear that she was unable to pay the bills alone and so had been thinking about fostering as something she ‘might have to do’ to help matters. 

All foster parents receive an allowance to help cover the cost of caring for a child. Depending on factors such as where you live, the child’s age etc, this figure is usually somewhere between £165 and £289 per week – money that my mum said we desperately needed. 

I was only in my early teens at the time but still remember thinking that this was an odd solution. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just take my dad to court for child support or demand him pay the necessary bills instead of bringing strangers into our home. But Mum’s mind was made up. 

I hated everything about my mum fostering from day one. 

No one had asked me how I felt about these strangers descending and quite quickly the boys confirmed my worst fears: my mum had been assigned the ‘hard to place’ children. 

These children had come from unstable or toxic environments and though they would only stay a few months at a time, that was more than enough time for damage to be done – I became a stranger in my own home. 

I would come in from school and find the doors to the dining room and kitchen closed, if I went in those rooms it was like I was interrupting their entertainment, their space. 

I had no say over what to watch on the TV because they were always there first and at times, say if my brother needed our shared room for some peace and quiet, I had nowhere in the house to go. It was truly awful.  

Mum also became an angry person. 

Because she never taught them to respect the contents of the house, and worked late hours so was never there to supervise, these kids took over the entire house, emptied all the food in the cupboard and ran riot unmanned.  

Unsurprisingly, the place quickly began to look like a pigsty and suddenly the only conversations I had with mum were made up of her yelling and screaming at the state of the house. 

She’d also remind me to ‘fix my attitude’ because those children were effectively keeping the roof over our heads.  

Those boys left after around a year but were soon replaced by more kids. The problem was Mum had zero criteria for whom she let into her home. That meant that the children we were given were often unpredictable and sometimes dangerous. 

At one point she fostered a pregnant teenage girl and her baby. However, whenever Mum was at work, the girl would go out and leave the crying baby behind. She even asked me to watch her baby once when I was around 14 so that she could go have sex in a car outside.   

Then there was the boy who refused to wash himself. Not only did he stink out the whole house every day, he stole all Mum’s jewellery from her bedroom. 

Mum was oblivious to all of this but there were times when my brother and I tried to confront her about how miserable we were and how unsafe we felt. 

However, instead of listening to us, she would become defensive, nasty and cold. She’d say they could leave but then we would live on the streets. She manipulated us into thinking this was the only way to survive. 

For just over a decade I put up with this, but eventually, when I was 25, I could afford to move out and start fresh. 

I had found a flat on top of a wine shop and it wasn’t very big, but was perfect for me. At first, I was worried about how I would manage all the bills independently, as I was in a very low paid job, but I was just happy to have my own space.  

For years, we never addressed and discussed this as a family. It just became something we swept under the rug. But then in 2022, my brother voiced his opinion in the sibling WhatsApp chat.  

He talked about how his childhood was ruined by the foster children and even said that my mum wasn’t a good parent. I agreed with him wholeheartedly and decided to take this as my cue to voice my opinion too – saying it felt like she placed the importance of paying her bills over the safety of her own flesh and blood.  

We both then shared some scenarios – such as foster kids stealing our clothes, or the kid who would spit in the cups we would drink from.  

To my horror, my other brother and sister jumped to mum’s defence. ‘She was doing the best she could.’ they said, despite the fact that my brother spent the whole time high, and my sister moved out soon after it started. 

And then all hell broke loose.  

Someone then shared what my brother and I had mentioned to Mum, and she reacted with vitriol. 

She barraged my brother with message after message saying he was ungrateful and berating him for never saying anything at the time (even though we had). She began slating me in the messages too, saying I deserted her in her time of need. 

Our relationship will never be what a mother/son relationship should be – that ship sailed long ago

Perhaps the worst message I saw though was the one where she said she should have left us at the hospital as babies.  

For years I’d felt like she’d failed as a parent, now, with that comment, I wasn’t even sure she ever wanted to be our mother. 

I don’t know how any child is supposed to get past a parent saying something like that, so for a long time, we simply didn’t. Both me and my brother cut all contact with our mum and other siblings and I didn’t talk to any of them for three years.  

During this period, I grappled with the guilt of severed ties while also relishing the freedom to define my identity independently. It was both agonising and liberating to be apart from them and family gatherings and holidays were now just hollow memories that echoed in my heart. 

Eventually, after countless therapy sessions and soul-searching conversations, I realised, though Mum’s logic at becoming a foster carer was flawed and led to my ultimately dismal childhood, I still missed having her in my life. 

That’s why, last Christmas, driven by a yearning for connection and reconciliation, I made the decision to reach back out to my family. 

I texted my mum, asking what she was doing for Christmas, and she asked me if I wanted to come over. 

We ended up spending Christmas Day together and while that day was fraught with feelings of both apprehension and nostalgia, seeing familiar faces, sharing laughter, and engaging in old traditions was surprisingly heartwarming. 

While I haven’t heard from my mum since then, my relationship with my siblings has shown signs of recovery and we are all slowly rebuilding the trust that had been shattered. 

It’s been tough having to accept that my relationship with my mum will never be loving one, yet I’m still hoping for continued healing and open communication. 

But the simple fact is our relationship will never be what a mother/son relationship should be. That ship sailed long ago, when she repeatedly chose strangers over me. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk. 

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