One of My Biggest Failures
He got out of the car, took one look at me—and ran.
Jules and I had talked about adopting before, but never moved forward. Years later, with our own kids leaving home and the house falling quiet, we felt ready for a new chapter—one with purpose and impact. So, after much thought, we signed up to become foster carers.
The approval process took six months: training, interviews, home inspections, and a final panel. We were ready—or so we thought.
Our first foster child arrived just before Easter. He was 10. The moment he saw me, he bolted down the driveway and disappeared. The social workers called the police, who eventually brought him back. From the beginning, we were on the back foot.
He didn’t want to be there. And when he didn’t get what he wanted, things escalated in ways I’d never experienced. He ran away again—this time through a window. I had to call the police. After four days, we sat at the kitchen table with social workers and the agency director, trying to work out what to do. He returned to the home he’d come from.
We were shaken. I wanted to quit then and there. But I didn’t. We’d put so much into this—training, preparing our home, opening our hearts. Maybe this was just a rough start?
We kept going. Three more children stayed with us over the following weeks—short placements of a few days each. No police this time. Only one runner. The kids were amazing in so many ways—and deeply challenging in others.
But something in me shifted. Our home, which had been my safe place for over 20 years, started to feel like a prison. It was too much. A few days later, I called the agency and resigned.
We had committed to this. Thought deeply about it. And it felt like a spectacular failure.
I had so many questions:
The truth is, I still don’t know.
What I do know is this: the problem wasn’t the kids. As my former client Dave Linton of Madlug says, every child has value, worth and dignity . The problem was with us. Maybe we loved the idea of fostering more than the reality of what it would demand.
There’s a Spanish proverb that says, Take what you want and pay the price. I don’t think we were willing—or able—to pay that price.
I now hold deep respect for foster carers. It’s grown exponentially.
And I’ve come to see: fostering wasn’t the path for us. It wasn’t the way we were meant to make our impact.
My life is full of failures. That’s not something I would have admitted easily before. Failures as a husband, a parent, a friend, a leader. Failures that led to burnout.
Failure is funny. We’re taught to avoid it, but I don’t think that’s possible. And I don’t want to reach the end of my life filled with regrets about the things I didn’t try.
So, I’m learning to give myself permission to fail. To own it. Clean it up. And keep going.
I’m not fully free to fail—yet . But I’m getting there.
The more honest I get about my failures, the less power they seem to hold. And the more forgiving I am with myself, the more human I become.
What part does failure—or fear of it—play in your life?
Much love,