This article is published in partnership with The National Network for Foster Sibling Connections.
“Children are meant to be seen, not heard.” That’s how it felt when I was used to meet child welfare agency requirements and then ignored when I asked to see my younger siblings.
My siblings and I entered foster care on the same night. But instead of staying together, we were separated into three different homes. I stayed with a friend. My brother went to another friend. My two little sisters were placed with foster parents who soon made it clear they wanted to adopt them.
At first, we were allowed occasional supervised visits and brief, monitored, and sporadic phone calls. But as time went on, the calls stopped being answered. The visits became mere memories.
At 16, I was left mourning the connection I had with my sisters.
In foster care, where nearly everything can change overnight, sibling relationships offer a vital sense of identity, security, and continuity. Being together supports healing, reduces placement disruptions, and strengthens resilience. That bond can be a lifeline.
For me, being an older sister wasn’t just a title — it was a role I took seriously. So when I lost that connection, I didn’t just feel sadness. I felt failure. I questioned whether I wasn’t good enough to remain in their lives, whether their foster parents didn’t see me as part of their future, and whether the system ever had.
Research supports what many of us know from experience: when siblings are kept together, children in care have better emotional and mental health outcomes. And yet, keeping those connections intact remains the exception, not the rule.
After months without contact, I made repeated requests to the court to see my sisters. These requests were granted but lacked enforcement. Eventually, our social worker, Lori Castillo, called with an offer, not a solution. She asked if I would accompany my sisters to their family therapy sessions with our biological parents. “They only feel safe with you,” she said.
Of course, I said yes.
Every other Wednesday, I left my high school early so I could sit quietly behind my sisters in the therapy room — not as a participant, but as emotional support. I would walk into a tense room with the parents that wouldn’t own up to their wrongdoings, a visibly uncomfortable therapist, and sisters who looked like they could finally breathe when a familiar face entered the room. I was just there to make the sessions easier for the therapist, for the parents, and for the system. But it was never for our sibling relationship.
When the sessions ended, I would look for even a few moments to connect with my sisters. That chance never came. Their foster parents always arrived on time, ready to sweep them away. I was left outside, waiting for our social worker’s ride back to my foster home, asking the same question every time: “When can I see them outside of therapy?”
The answer never changed: “I can try to set something up, but their family has a busy schedule.”
Translation: You’re not part of it.
This answer further validated my theory that I wasn’t good enough to be their sister anymore.
At the time, I didn’t know how to name what was happening. Now I do.
What I experienced was parentification: being cast in the role of emotional caregiver to my younger siblings, without support or agency. While I was being asked to provide emotional labor for their benefit, I wasn’t afforded the right to simply be their sister.
I also now understand how adultification played a role in my story. I was treated as more mature and responsible than I was. I was considered someone who could step in when it was convenient, but who didn’t need the same protections or care as my younger siblings. I wasn’t seen as a child navigating my own trauma. I was seen as capable, useful and, ultimately, expendable.
This isn’t a one-time oversight. It’s a reflection of a system that still too often treats sibling connections as optional, not essential.
We know what works: prioritizing sibling relationships. We know the harm caused when these bonds are broken. What’s missing is the will to fix it.
Child welfare systems must commit to keeping siblings together whenever possible. That means:
- Holding agencies accountable for maintaining sibling contact
- Ending the exploitation of sibling roles for institutional convenience
- Reforming court practices to prioritize and enforce sibling visitation and placement — judges should ask about sibling contact at every hearing and require concrete plans, not vague promises
Organizations like The National Network for Fostering Sibling Connections are already doing this work. As a nonprofit, they advocate for stronger legal protections, policy reform, and increased public awareness of sibling rights in child welfare. Their mission is simple but critical: to make sure siblings are not forgotten, separated, or silenced.
The most painful part of my story isn’t that I was separated from my sisters. It’s that I was only brought around when it served someone else’s goals, when it made their job easier, or fulfilled a requirement — not because our bond mattered and should have been honored and protected.
When we sever sibling connections, we don’t just fracture families — we fracture futures. But we have a choice. By valuing sibling relationships as essential and not expendable, we can shift from a system that isolates children to one that helps them heal together.
I was not just a helper. I was their sister, and that should have been enough.
