Becoming a foster parent had crossed my mind more times than I could count. But every time it did, I found a reason to push it off.

Not now. Maybe later. When things settle down.

For years, I lived in that space between feeling called and actually saying yes. And if I’m being honest, I was really good at making excuses sound reasonable.

If you’re reading this and you recognize that tension — the quiet tug toward fostering mixed with a dozen reasons why now isn’t the right time — I want you to know you’re not alone. I was exactly where you are. And I want to share the excuses I made, because I think you might see yourself in them.

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Excuse #1: “I’ll Do It Later”

This was my default for longer than I’d like to admit.

Fostering wasn’t a “no” for me. It was always a “not yet.” There was always something else that needed to happen first. Life needed to calm down. The kids needed to get a little older. We needed to be more financially stable. We needed to finish that home project. We needed… something.

The truth is, I was waiting for a perfect moment that didn’t exist.

I kept telling myself I’d get to it eventually. But “eventually” has a way of never arriving. Days turned into months. Months turned into years. And the whole time, children in my community were waiting for safe homes while I was waiting for the right time.

Looking back, I realize that pushing it off wasn’t wisdom. It was fear wearing a practical disguise.

If you’re in the “not yet” phase, I want to gently challenge you: What are you actually waiting for? Because the perfect circumstances aren’t coming. There will always be something that makes the timing feel off. The question is whether you’ll let that stop you from answering a call that’s already on your heart.

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Excuse #2: “I’m Not Sure This Is Really What I’m Called To”

This one kept me stuck for a long time.

I felt something when I thought about fostering. But was it actually God calling me? Or was it just guilt? Was it a genuine leading or just an emotional reaction to a sad story I’d heard?

I questioned myself constantly. I prayed about it, but I wasn’t sure I was hearing clearly. I looked for signs. I waited for confirmation. I wanted a burning bush moment where God made it absolutely unmistakable.

But that’s not usually how calling works, is it?

I’ve learned that calling often feels less like certainty and more like a persistent whisper. It’s the thought that won’t leave you alone. It’s the thing you keep coming back to even when you try to ignore it. It’s the tug that survives every logical argument against it.

If fostering keeps coming to mind — if it’s something you can’t quite shake — that might be your answer. Not every calling comes with thunder and lightning. Sometimes it comes as a quiet knowing that refuses to go away.

I spent years waiting for certainty I was never going to get. Eventually, I had to take a step of faith without having all the answers. And that step changed everything.

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Excuse #3: “What About My Bio Kids?”

This fear was real and it ran deep.

I already had children I was responsible for. Children who needed my attention, my energy, my presence. How could I possibly bring other children into our home without taking something away from them?

I worried about the impact on their stability. I worried about exposing them to trauma they weren’t equipped to handle. I worried about divided attention and jealousy and confusion. I worried that being a good foster parent would mean being a worse parent to my biological kids.

These weren’t irrational fears. They came from a place of genuine love and protection.

But here’s what I’ve discovered since saying yes: my bio kids have grown in ways I never could have predicted through our fostering journey. They’ve developed compassion that goes beyond their years. They’ve learned that family isn’t just about biology. They’ve seen what it looks like to open your home and your heart to someone who needs it.

Has it been hard? Absolutely. There have been difficult conversations and challenging moments. But my children have also witnessed love in action. They’ve been part of something bigger than themselves. And I believe that will shape who they become for the rest of their lives.

I thought I was protecting them by waiting. But I was actually delaying one of the most formative experiences our family would ever have.

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Excuse #4: “I Don’t Know If I Can Handle More Kids”

Capacity was a real concern for me.

I already felt stretched thin. I already had days where I wondered if I was doing enough for the children I had. The thought of adding more kids to the mix felt overwhelming. Could I really handle the additional appointments, the paperwork, the emotional weight, the sleepless nights?

I looked at other foster parents and wondered how they did it. They seemed to have something I didn’t. More patience. More energy. More resources. More… something.

What I didn’t realize then is that capacity expands.

You don’t have to have it all figured out before you start. You don’t have to feel ready. You grow into it. You learn as you go. You discover strength you didn’t know you had because you have no choice but to find it.

I’m not going to pretend it’s easy. There are days when I’m exhausted beyond words. Days when I lock myself in the bathroom for five minutes just to breathe. Days when I wonder what I was thinking.

But those hard days don’t mean I made the wrong choice. They mean I’m doing something meaningful. Something that matters. Something that requires everything I have — and somehow, I keep finding more to give.

If you’re worried about capacity, I understand. But please don’t let that fear make the decision for you. You are more capable than you think.

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Excuse #5: “I Can’t Love a Child and Then Say Goodbye”

This was the excuse that cut the deepest.

I knew what foster care meant. Children would come into my home, and I would love them. That’s the whole point — to provide love and stability during an incredibly difficult time in their lives. But many of those children would eventually leave. Reunification with their families is the primary goal of foster care, and that’s a beautiful thing. But it also means letting go.

I didn’t know if my heart could survive that.

I imagined falling in love with a child, building a bond, becoming their safe place — and then watching them drive away. The thought was almost unbearable. How do you recover from that kind of loss? How do you open yourself up to that kind of pain on purpose?

For a long time, this fear paralyzed me.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand: the potential for heartbreak is not a reason to withhold love.

Those children need someone to love them fiercely, even if it’s temporary. They need someone to show them what safety feels like. They need to experience genuine care and connection, even if the relationship doesn’t last forever.

Yes, goodbye hurts. It hurts more than I can put into words. I’ve experienced that grief, and it’s real and it’s heavy.

But I’ve also seen what love does for these kids. I’ve watched walls come down. I’ve seen trust begin to form. I’ve witnessed children start to heal because someone was willing to show up for them completely, without holding back.

My fear of heartbreak was really about self-protection. And I had to ask myself: Am I going to let my fear of pain prevent a child from experiencing love?

The answer had to be no.

I went home that night and told my husband we needed to start the process. Whatever fears I had, whatever questions remained unanswered — none of it mattered as much as being part of the solution.

We could be a safe home.

Not a perfect home. Not a home with all the answers. But a safe one. A home where a child would be protected, loved, and cared for. A home where they wouldn’t have to be afraid.

We started the licensing process shortly after. And everything changed.

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What Saying Yes Actually Looked Like

Our first placement was our son. We fostered him for about two years before we adopted him. Then came our daughter — a little over two years of fostering before she became ours forever too.

Those years weren’t easy. There were court dates and caseworker visits and uncertainty that stretched on for months. There were sleepless nights and difficult behaviors and moments when I questioned everything. There were times I cried in the bathroom because I didn’t know if I could keep going.

But there was also love. So much love.

I watched my son learn to trust. I watched my daughter begin to heal. I watched two children who had experienced things no child should ever experience slowly start to believe that they were safe. That they were wanted. That they belonged.

All those excuses I had made? They faded into the background every time I tucked them into bed. Every time they called me mom. Every time I saw evidence that love was making a difference.

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What I Wish I Had Known

Looking back, I wish I had known a few things during those years of making excuses.

I wish I had known that fear doesn’t disqualify you. I thought I needed to feel confident and ready before I said yes. But courage isn’t the absence of fear — it’s taking action despite the fear. Every foster parent I know was scared. They said yes anyway.

I wish I had known that “good enough” is enough. I wasn’t a perfect parent before fostering, and I’m not a perfect parent now. But these kids don’t need perfection. They need presence. They need consistency. They need someone who shows up even when it’s hard.

I wish I had known how much I would grow. Foster care didn’t just change my children. It changed me. It stretched my capacity for patience and compassion. It deepened my faith. It showed me what I was capable of when I stopped letting fear make my decisions.

I wish I had known that the hard parts are worth it. Yes, there have been goodbyes. Yes, there has been grief. Yes, there have been days when I felt completely overwhelmed. But there has also been healing. There has been joy. There has been the profound privilege of being part of a child’s story.

I wouldn’t trade any of it.

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To the One Still Making Excuses

If you’re reading this and you recognize yourself in my story, I want you to know: I see you.

I know the fear feels rational. I know the timing feels wrong. I know you’re questioning whether this is really what you’re called to. I know you’re worried about your bio kids, your capacity, your heart.

I had all those same fears. Every single one.

But somewhere out there, right now, there are children who need a safe home. Children who need someone to show up for them. Children who need to know they matter.

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You don’t have to feel ready. You just have to be willing to take the first step.

Your excuses aren’t stupid or selfish. They’re human. But don’t let them be the final word. Don’t let fear write the end of your story.

If fostering is on your heart, lean into it. Ask the questions. Take the training. See where it leads.

You might just discover that you were made for this all along.

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You Don’t Have to Walk This Road Alone

If you’re in the middle of this journey — wrestling with the decision, navigating the process, or already in the trenches of foster parenting — I want you to know that you don’t have to figure it out by yourself.

That’s exactly why I created the Foster Mama Lifeline Community. It’s a place where foster mamas can connect, support each other, and get real answers to the questions that keep us up at night. Because this work is too hard to do in isolation.

If you’re looking for a community that gets it — the fears, the joys, the impossible moments — I’d love to have you join us.

But whether you join or not, please hear this: your willingness to even consider fostering matters. Your heart for these kids matters. And whatever excuses you’re wrestling with right now, they don’t have to be the end of the story.

Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say yes before you feel ready.

I’m so glad I did.