Birthdays are supposed to be a celebration. A marker of growth, of love, of life shared. But in the world of child protection, birthdays can feel like one of the cruelest days of the year.
This month, I’ve faced two of them.
Two of my children, growing older — not beside me, but somewhere else.
In homes not their own.
Blowing out candles I didn’t light.
Wearing smiles I can’t see.
Opening cards from strangers, presents from people we don’t know
One of them, my son, turns 12 today.
He told us he wanted to be home by now.
He believed he would be.
We believed he would be.
But paths shifted.
The system made things harder.
Meetings turned into delays. Promises into silence.
And here we are — another birthday… without him.
We aren’t allowed those days.
Not even a few hours.
Not even a phone call or text,
Not even a hug.
Because someone, somewhere, decided it wasn’t in their “best interest.”
As if love isn’t.
Birthdays are family days.
But for families like ours, they’re a reminder of every court date, every accusation, every barrier they’ve built between us and the children we love.
They say they protect children — but what protection is there in this?
In tearing children from the arms that remember the weight of them as newborns, the giggle from their first party, the handmade cards that once said “Mum, you’re the best”?
We don’t get to bake the cakes.
We don’t get to light the candles.
We don’t even get to whisper “happy birthday” in person.
Somehow, we’re expected to accept this.
To sit quietly as time moves forward without us.
To smile politely when professionals say things like “they’re doing well in placement” or “maybe next year.”
But there’s nothing polite about this pain.
And there’s nothing normal about a system that keeps children and their parents apart on their birthdays — especially when those parents are still fighting, still showing up, still proving their love every single day.
I don’t share this for sympathy.
I share it because it’s real.
And because too many families are silently surviving these days, just waiting for someone to understand.
So if you’re reading this and you’ve ever had to wish your child a happy birthday through tears, through locked doors, through supervised calls or no contact at all — I see you.
And to my children:
I love you. I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday.
And I promise — when we do get to celebrate together again, we’ll celebrate everything.
thegirlspeaks.uk 