Finding my voice-Delivering my first workshop.

Roughly 6 months after attending the ACE Aware Nation event and learning about Bryan Post's stress model, I started to feel the need to tell people about this new way. People had to know. I kept imagining what a different world we could have if others had this knowledge—social workers, teachers, parents, carers, police. If they all understood that children were not choosing these behaviors, and that everyone is in a state of fear and survival, everything would change. Systems would change. Generational patterns of dysfunction could change. It was blowing my mind wide open. I felt the energy of this revelation pumping in my veins. I was being driven by something deep within, something new and unfamiliar. I felt this was my purpose. Every moment in my life now made sense. Every hard, upsetting thing I had ever endured—all of the childhood trauma and the years of being a stressed and overwhelmed, frantic parent—had happened for a reason. To bring me to this very place at this exact time.

At our next foster care support group, I asked if anyone was interested in me doing a talk about this new trauma-informed approach I had learned. I suggested we also have a showing of The Resilience film. This film, made by the fantastic Nadine Burke Harris, who I heard speak at the ACEs event, explained the impact of Adverse Childhood Experiences and was being shown across Scotland to many people working with children. I had already managed to see it at a local school. Many wanted to see it but couldn’t find anywhere showing it. It was an extremely powerful film. The other carers seemed interested, and the social workers agreed. The lead social worker put me in touch with our Educational Psychologist, who had the film and the rights to offer a screening.

I had a short PowerPoint of sorts that I had been working on, using some of the Post Institute slides sent to me while training in the model. Feeling like an absolute imposter, I met with the Educational Psychologist in her office. I explained my story and my idea, and she asked to see my slides. She said she would get back to me. I felt incredibly vulnerable, like a 5-year-old in the head teacher's office. I left with heavy feet, thinking surely she would laugh her head off at my PowerPoint and suggestions. But a few days later, she emailed me with possible dates, and a plan was formed.

To be honest, I resented social work for making me work with her. This was my baby. I didn’t need the side dish of intimidation. But if we wanted to show The Resilience film, she needed to be involved.

As the day drew nearer, I prepared. Friends who were carers signed up—some that had seen the difference in my wee guy and were curious, some who just wanted to support me and had no idea what to expect, and some who were forced to come by their workers and were disgruntled about it. Many had years more experience in foster care than me, and many I hugely respected. Around 15 people were booked in. We would show The Resilience film in the first hour, have a discussion led by the Educational Psychologist, and then I had 1 hour to deliver my part of the session.

I was pumped. I was excited. I was terrified. The night before, what I had signed up for hit me. What was I thinking??!! Where on earth did I get the idea that I had anything to say?? Pure terror set in. Steven could see this and gave me a wide berth, checking on me occasionally but knowing well enough that I was not fit for human company. I couldn’t even talk because the fear in my throat was so thick. I went to bed early and tried to find oblivion in unconsciousness. Thankfully, my brain shut down, and somehow I managed to sleep.

The next morning, I was a mess—grumpy, jittery, overwhelmed. I must be mad. Who did I think I was? Why did I say I would do this? But I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Breathing, breathing, breathing. I listened to one of Bryan’s recordings on the way there, which helped validate everything I was about to do.

Stepping into that room, I was met with so many familiar faces. I think this made it worse because I knew too well how set in their old-fashioned parenting ways some of them were. Those that had been told to come by their workers were obvious. Their body language said it all—folded arms, stern faces. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

The showing of the *Resilience* film went well, and the discussion afterward was good. Next, it was my turn. My legs were like jelly. My voice was cracking. “Come on, Suzanne, pull yourself together.” But once I started, it was okay. I got through the presentation. I told them about the brain, stress, and fear. I explained what we had experienced when we made this change. There was some discussion, and the Psychologist stepped in a few times. I didn’t necessarily agree with what she said and was hugely proud of myself when I found the courage to respectfully say so.

The feedback was very positive. Some told me we needed more of this information out in the world. I was just relieved it was over. But it was also exhilarating. As we packed up, the Psychologist told me she felt it had gone well and that this was information she often tried to give parents, but they would feel like it was a personal attack. She said that coming from me, using my own experiences, may appeal more and make the information more palatable.

I had hoped she would want to do more sessions with me or offer advice on how to use this knowledge, but she offered none. She said her goodbyes and went off to the social worker's office, I’m assuming to discuss the days events. I wasn’t invited to join. I left feeling pretty deflated. Where did we go from here?

In the days that followed, I emailed many different organizations, telling them of my experience and that I was retiring as a foster carer and looking to use what I had learned. They seemed confused by my offer.

It was on a Sunday morning, still in our pajamas over breakfast, that Steven came up with his idea. We were yet again talking over what to do with this information. I needed to find a job and didn’t want to walk away from fostering with all this new knowledge and not use it in some way. I had been a hairdresser for years and was now also training to become a swimming instructor, but my real passion was in sharing this information. No one seemed to take me seriously, though.

“Let’s start a charity,” he said.

Read more in the next blog-Starting a charity