Jane’s Story: A Foster Mom’s Fight for Help That Didn’t Exist

Jane* never planned to become a foster mom.

It happened suddenly, the way many life-changing moments do. A close friend of hers fell into addiction and lost custody of her children. Jane had known the family for years, and when the child welfare system looked for someone stable to step in, she was the closest thing to family.

That’s how 10-year-old Bella* came to live with her.

“I wasn’t really prepared,” Jane remembers. “One day I was helping a friend. The next day I was responsible for raising her child.”

Bella arrived carrying little more than a backpack. Mental illness ran deep in her biological family, and by the time she came to Jane’s home, her life had already been chaotic, and full of trauma. When she was removed from her mother’s custody, there wasn’t even an immediate place for her to go. She spent two nights sleeping in a child welfare office before Jane could take her in.

“By the time she came to me,” Jane said, “everything was already a mess.”

Still, Jane committed herself fully. She brought Bella to the Bert Nash Center, got her connected to care, and tried to build stability. For several years, things were manageable. From ages 10 to about 13, life settled into something that almost felt ‘normal’.

“She went to school. We got through the days,” Jane said. “We were just trucking through life.”

But when Bella turned 13, everything began to change.

What started as marijuana use quickly escalated. By 16, she was using fentanyl. Her mental health crises became more frequent and more dangerous. Jane did everything she could think of; calling caseworkers, seeking evaluations, driving hours to hospitals. But help was always somewhere else.

“There was never anything here [Douglas County],” she said.

The closest inpatient options were in Topeka or Kansas City. Each crisis meant long drives, emergency evaluations, and hours spent pleading with doctors to understand how serious the situation was.

Sometimes Bella would calm down by the time they arrived. Other times there simply weren’t any beds available.

“One time they told me the wait for a bed was two months,” Jane said. “And I remember thinking, she’s not going to be alive in two months.”

So Jane did what many parents in crisis end up doing. She drove, she waited, and she prayed they would make it safely through another night.

At home, instability affected everyone in the household. Jane’s biological son, Sam*, had been only a toddler when Bella moved in. As he grew older, he witnessed the impact that repeated mental health crises and addiction had on their home and family.

“There were nights she was destroying the house,” Jane said. “I’d put him in the front seat of the car and her in the back as we drove out of town to a hospital.” 

Sam rarely cried during those moments. Instead, he would quietly try to calm his mother. 

“He put his small hand on my arm and he would just say, ‘It’s okay, Mom.’ He was my peace in the storm.” 

Even when Bella received services, the support was fragmented. Doctors and case managers rarely communicated with Jane in meaningful ways. Family therapy or guidance for caregivers never happened. 

“No one ever sat down with me and said, ‘Here are coping skills. Here’s how you survive this," she said. 

Instead, the pattern continued: brief stability, followed by another crisis. 

Without a safe place nearby to stabilize her and offer the appropriate follow-up care, Bella continued to spiral through her teen years.  

Looking back now, Jane wonders whether earlier intervention might have changed everything.  

“If there had been a place for her to go when things first started getting serious, I think our story might have ended differently.” 

Today, Bella is 22-years-old. She still struggles with severe mental illness and addiction. She cycles through crisis services, jail, and temporary housing. 

For Jane, the hardest part is carrying the question so many families know well: what if help had been available sooner?  

“When kids grow up surrounded by chaos, they don’t even know there’s another way to live,” Jane said. “If we had gotten her the right help early… maybe she would have learned the coping skills she needed.” 

That’s why Jane supports the effort to build the Judge Jean Shepherd Youth Recovery Center in Douglas County. 

For families like hers, the biggest problem wasn’t love or commitment. It was the absence of somewhere to turn in an emergency. 

“There was never a safe place where I could take her and know she would get the help she needed,” Jane said. “And where someone would help me too. If there had been a youth crisis center here, it would have been a godsend.” 

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* Names have been changed for privacy.