The Human Cost Behind Policy Gaps and Lack of Access to Trauma Care
The Human Cost Behind Policy Gaps and Lack of Access to Trauma Care
“I’m so sorry Kaleigh… he was murdered.”
A phone call came in and shattered my heart. A teen I counseled for years was stabbed and killed on the streets of Phoenix. Not even 20 years old. A sweet soul with a haunted past. I wonder what he would be like if he was still here.
He was doing so well when he turned 18 and graduated from the youth program I counseled in. He was set up for success. He was stable. He was hopeful.
Unfortunately, many teen programs cannot continue supporting youth with trauma therapy as they transition to adulthood.
Policies and procedures that block access to care leave vulnerable youth and adults in positions that crumble the foundation they have been building on. Without reinforcements, a newly formed foundation is fragile.
In honor of this young man today, I share with you something he wrote at 17 years old.
When asked what he wanted his life to be, he wrote this 👇 in his English class. Here are some excerpts:
“I don’t want to die I want to live. I want to get a nice job. I would like to spend more time with family. I would like to see my girlfriend. I want a car. I want to go to Heaven so I can meet God. I want God to teach me to do good. I like girls. I would like to own $1 million dollars. I want people to know I am worth it. I don’t want people to think I’m not smart. I want people to think I am respectful, honest, chill, smart, and caring. You should always respect females no matter what because you can get beat up or put in jail. I want to be a great dancer. I want to be in the NBA. I was thinking about being in a gang, but I want to change because I want the best for me and my family. I want to get a job, car, and driver’s license and I will see my girlfriend one day. I will get married and I will get married in Hawaii. I want to live in a three story house. I want to be a cook and win 50,000 dollars so I can pay for a baby and the bills and get to travel the world. And teach my kids to do good, not to do drugs or be in a gang. And not to have sex until you turn 16. You got to use protection so nobody gets pregnant. I want to have a normal life and I don’t want to do bad things. I want to do the right thing. You should always do the right thing so things don’t go bad. People don’t have to do wrong things and what they want. Just do the right thing no matter what. And do it for yourself and your own good.
And that’s why some people don’t listen. The reason I listen is because I want to see my whole family.
I want to be able to have a good life. My life is important, more than anything in the world.
I just want peace in the world. People are always fighting. I always just want people to respect me and young people.
One day I will work with people through the age of 10 to 18. I want people to not do drugs or being in a gang or stealing from nice people. And teach them to do the right thing. I will tell them to always respect your mom and dad and your whole family.
I want to be rich and to give to hunger.
I want to be able to save people, people that can’t help themselves and make them feel safe. I want people to feel happy.
No one should have to feel unsafe.
I want to be able to see my parents and squash what happened between us.”
I still think about him often.
When I read the words he wrote as a teenager, I see something many people never had the chance to see—his hope.
He wanted a job.
He wanted a family.
He wanted to do the right thing.
He wanted peace in the world.
He wanted to help people.
He wanted a normal life.
And perhaps most of all, he wanted people to know that he was worth something.
For a season, he was surrounded by the support he needed. He worked hard in therapy. He was building a future.
But when youth programs end and access to trauma care disappears, many young people are left navigating adulthood alone.
Foundations that were just beginning to form are suddenly expected to hold the weight of the world.
Some survive that transition.
Some do not.
His story is one of the reasons I care so deeply about expanding access to trauma-informed care. When the right support is available, lives can change in remarkable ways.
And when that support disappears too soon, the consequences can be devastating.
I share his words today because they matter.
His life mattered.
And there are countless other young people right now who are carrying similar hopes for their future.
They deserve the chance to build lives that last longer than twenty years.
Share his story.
Support access to care.
Make a difference for a life today.
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