I’ve been in child welfare for over a decade. You learn to guard your hope — not because you don’t care, but because caring too much and watching families fall apart anyway will wear you down to the bone.
That’s how I felt walking into what I thought might be Jasmine’s final review.
Jasmine had been on my caseload for almost four years. We’d seen each other through two removals, two reunifications, one emergency shelter placement, and a dozen case plans that never quite stuck. Every time she started to get traction, something would crumble — a job loss, a relapse, a childcare arrangement that fell through.
She has three kids. Three different dads. Tyrell, the oldest, was spiraling — in-school fights, skipping class, vaping in the bathroom. He’s smart, but angry. Not just at his mom. At the whole world. Ava, just a toddler, was shut down or screaming — no in between. And baby Marcus had just been diagnosed with a developmental delay. Jasmine was drowning, and I didn’t know how to throw her a life vest anymore.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I had quietly started preparing for another removal.
I believed she loved her kids. I really did. But love hadn’t been enough to make it work.
When the supervisor suggested MiiWrap, I felt… skeptical. Not cynical, but weary. I’d seen programs come and go. I’d seen plans with too many moving parts, too many promises. I didn’t want to watch Jasmine fail one more system. I didn’t think she could take it.
But something felt different in that first MiiWrap meeting.
She walked in guarded, of course — arms tight, tone defensive, eyes scanning the room like she was already bracing for the worst. But the facilitator, Carla, didn’t jump into a checklist. She looked Jasmine in the eye and said, “We’re not here to tell you what to do. We’re here to figure out what matters to you — and build from there.”
And Jasmine softened. Just a little.
I had the privilege — and honestly, the unexpected joy — of watching Jasmine start to trust the process. For once, she wasn’t just being told what to fix. She was being asked what she wanted her life to look like.
And with the right support in place — support she helped design — she started to show up differently.
She didn’t get sober overnight. But when she slipped, she told the team. And instead of hiding in shame or waiting for the hammer to drop, she stayed in the room. That was new.
She didn’t become a perfect mom overnight. But she started asking for help — not just from me, but from people she chose to be on her team. That was new, too.
Tyrell went from near expulsion to daily attendance at a flexible learning center that actually worked for him. Ava started to thrive in her early learning program. Marcus made measurable developmental gains.
And Jasmine? Jasmine started to believe in herself again.
I didn’t realize how much I needed this, too.
It’s easy to say “we believe in family-centered work.” It’s harder when you’re sitting across from a mom you’ve watched break promise after promise — not out of malice, but out of sheer overwhelm. It’s hard not to slip into survival mode yourself. To stop expecting change. To file the paperwork and go home heavy.
But this? This reminded me why I do the work.
MiiWrap didn’t do the work for Jasmine. It gave her a framework that respected her voice, her pace, her reality. It gave her kids a real seat at the table. And it gave me, as her caseworker, a front-row seat to a family actually making a change — not because we told them to, but because they wanted it for themselves.
I’ve seen a lot of hard endings. But this time, I saw a beginning.
And I needed that more than I knew.
If you want to learn more about how MiiWrap can reinvigorate your staff and your community, click the button.
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