Parenting at a Distance
When my adopted son went back into care in July 2021, it felt like my world had ended.
I had fought so hard to keep him at home, but after years of violent outbursts, absconding, and police interventions, I was physically and mentally exhausted. I had no choice but to beg social services for a Section 20. It was the hardest decision I had ever made. His diagnosis—attachment disorder and trauma—made everything more complex.
A placement was found for him in a group home about an hour away. When I first spoke to the manager, I was struck by how much he wanted to know—not just about my son’s needs, but also his likes, hobbies, strengths, and struggles. He asked about family, friends, pets, and school. That small act of listening gave me hope.
Our first visit was for dinner, and I was relieved to find the home was warm and welcoming—nothing like the cold, institutional setting I had feared. It was bright, nicely decorated, and safe—no bars on the windows, just a real home.
Letting Go and Starting Over
When it came time to move in, I was encouraged to bring as many of my son’s belongings as he wanted. He packed nearly everything he owned, leaving very little behind. He felt rejected and abandoned, and I understood why.
The staff were incredible. They let him decorate his room, organise his space, and surround himself with familiar things—his own bedding, his Spiderman mug and cereal bowl. These small comforts mattered.
For the next six months, I visited every Saturday morning. The staff always greeted me with kindness and support, making me feel welcome. But my son reacted very differently.
He would lock himself in his room, refuse to speak to me, and scream obscenities through the door. He sent me cruel text messages, and I left each visit in tears. It was heartbreaking.
But the staff never wavered. They kept a positive message about me and my visits, reassuring me that healing takes time. Someone was always there to comfort me when I broke down. And I did. Often.
Redefining Parenting
Despite the struggles, I was never excluded. Every meeting, visit, incident, and decision—I was kept in the loop. At times, I felt defeated, questioning whether I had failed as a parent.
Then someone reminded me:
At the home, there are always at least four staff members on duty. And at the end of their shift, they go home to recharge. You never had that option.
That put things into perspective. My son wasn’t thriving because I failed—he was thriving because he had the right support.
A New Kind of Relationship
Parenting from a distance has been about teamwork. The staff and I support each other, staying consistent in our messaging and reinforcing boundaries. When my son tries to play us against each other, we stand firm together.
Our relationship has changed. Gone are the daily battles over brushing teeth, putting dishes away, or finishing homework. Instead, we focus on quality time, even if it feels a little unnatural and structured at times.
At first, we spent short visits together at the home, doing activities like baking, crafting, and playing games. The staff gave us space but stayed nearby in case I needed support.
Slowly, the visits grew longer. We started going out—to the shops, the cinema—and after nearly two years, we shared a meal together again. That moment was huge. It had been two years since we last sat at a table and ate together. I cried.
Three Years Later
Today, three years on, my son is still in the same placement. We have been lucky that he has had stability.
There have been staff changes, but the home continues to prioritise communication, keeping me involved in decisions, daily updates, and key moments in his life. Despite the physical distance, I still feel like his mum.
Parenting at a distance isn’t easy. It’s painful, exhausting, and often not what we imagined when we chose this path. But sometimes, the best way to parent is to step back and trust others to help carry the load.
And for that, I am grateful.