To the Social Workers Who Quietly Changed the Course of My Life

An open letter during Social Work Month

This is for the social workers who probably never knew how much their small decisions shaped a life.

March is Social Work Month, and every year I see posts recognizing the dedication, compassion, and resilience of social workers.

This year, I wanted to say thank you a little differently.

Over the years, many social workers crossed my path. Some for a moment. Some for years. Most never knew the full impact they had.

Today I want to thank a few of the social workers who shaped my path, often in ways they never realized at the time.

Social workers are the backbone of the system that quietly holds society together, strengthening families, the foundation upon which communities stand and the threads from which our larger social tapestry is woven.

The system itself can feel clunky at times. Overwhelmed. Imperfect.

But the good social workers, the steady ones, the thoughtful ones—are the oil in that machine. They help it move. They help it breathe. And sometimes, without realizing it, they change the course of a life.

Looking back now, there are several people whose presence and partnership stayed with me.

Ms. Davy, my 8th grade guidance counselor, was one of the first adults who helped me see possibility in myself. Guidance counselors see hundreds of students every year, but somehow you made me feel like I mattered—and that my future mattered too. At an age when a young person is still deciding who they might become, that kind of encouragement can quietly shape the direction of a life.

Sue, you were the placement worker for my very first foster children and later my foster parent licensing worker. That trust changed the course of my life.

You were also the one who encouraged my husband and me to take our first teenager. We were only 23 and 24 years old, and if we’re being honest, we had no idea what we were getting into.

Parenting teens, as we quickly learned, is a vastly different kind of hard work. There’s a little less physical maintenance—but a whole lot more social and emotional maintenance.

You supported us as we learned. You helped guide us through those early years, offering encouragement and wisdom as we figured out what it meant to show up for young people who needed patience, stability, and a safe place to land.

But Sue, you were also a bit of a rebel.

You knew the system well enough to understand where the rules served families—and where they didn’t. And when a loophole meant a better outcome for a child or a foster family, you weren’t afraid to work creatively within it.

You had a wicked sense of humor and a deep instinct for fighting for the marginalized. You believed systems should serve people—not the other way around.

Looking back now, I’m deeply grateful you nudged us toward teens and helped us grow into work that would shape so much of our lives.

Dahlia, you worked with some of my earliest teen placements. Teenagers in foster care often arrive carrying far more than any young person should have to carry.

One of my first and favorite kids, Korren, came to us when he was 15. By then he had already been through 44 placements. He had been removed from his family at eight. He was a survivor in every sense of the word.

Like many kids who had spent years learning how to survive on their own, Korren ran. A lot.

Sometimes he came back when he was ready. Other times we had to go looking for him.

For a new foster parent, those moments were terrifying. I constantly questioned myself. Was I watching closely enough? Was I missing something? Was I failing him?

One night when he was on the run, my friend Tina and I decided we were going to find him ourselves. We dressed in trench coats and fedoras and wandered around town looking for him like two incredibly determined, slightly ridiculous—private detectives.

When I told Dahlia about this later, she didn’t laugh. She didn’t make me feel foolish.

Instead, she honored what was underneath it—that I was a worried mama looking for her kid.

She didn’t put on a trench coat and join us, but she calmly offered better ideas about where he might actually be hiding.

I’m sure she may have rolled her eyes on the other end of the phone.

But what I remember is that she respected the love behind the panic and helped me keep going.

Rachael, you were the caseworker for many of the teen boys who came later.

One placement in particular stands out—John.

Because of severe neglect early in his life, attachment was incredibly difficult for him. Relationships felt unsafe. At times it seemed like people were simply pawns in a system he had learned to navigate in order to survive.

You helped us understand him as much as a human being could. You helped us see the pain behind behaviors that were often exhausting and confusing. You encouraged us to keep perspective when everything felt overwhelming.

Just as importantly, you reminded us that continuing a placement didn’t mean pushing ourselves past our limits. You encouraged us to take the breaks we needed in order to keep going.

That balance mattered more than you realized.

Because of your guidance, we were able to keep showing up for John in ways that might not have been possible otherwise.

Missy worked in the child protection unit, and over time our relationship grew beyond the system and into friendship.

What I know about Missy is this: she is fair.

She sees families through a wide lens and holds onto a deep belief that most families want to be together—and should be together—when it can be done safely.

Yes, there were times when she recommended placement. That is part of the work. But there were also many times when she searched for another path because she believes people can change and that systems should exist not only to intervene, but to give people tools, agency, and healing.

Missy also talked me down from more than a few tizzies during the years when I was still growing into my role as a mom to many. When things felt chaotic or overwhelming, she brought calm, perspective, and sometimes the simple reminder to breathe.

She understood something the best child protection workers know deeply:

Protecting children and believing in families are not opposing values.
They are part of the same work.

And Courtney, the therapist who worked with my oldest.

At the time, my 15-year-old was what I affectionately called a wild buck, sowing his seeds with just about anyone willing to receive them. When we arranged for in-home therapy twice a month, I was relieved. I thought, Finally. He can get the support he desperately needs.

The day Courtney arrived, she stepped out of her car and my heart sank.

She was tall, blonde, absolutely stunning, with a brilliant smile.

And my first thought—one I’m not particularly proud of now—was: Well, this isn’t going to work.

I was convinced my teenage boy would spend the entire session trying to charm her instead of doing the arduous work of therapy.

I was wrong.

Courtney was not only incredibly beautiful, AND  she was also incredibly skilled.

My son never missed an appointment. She created space for him to talk, to process, and to begin working through things he had carried far too long.

He wasn’t magically healed. Real healing rarely works that way.

But it was progress. Real progress.

And once again, I was reminded of an important lesson: never judge a book by its cover.

Together, each of you represents something powerful about social work.

You show up during some of the hardest seasons in people’s lives. You stand beside families when life is messy, complicated, and uncertain. You help hold systems together while protecting the humanity of the people inside them.

Most days, you may never get to see how the story turns out.

But I want you to know this:

The work you did mattered.

The trust you extended, the wisdom you offered, and the patience you showed helped shape a path that continues to influence my life—and the lives of many young people.

Social work is often quiet work.

But the impact is anything but small.

Most social workers rarely get to see how the story ends. Files close, families move, and life keeps unfolding long after the case is over.

I hope this letter offers a small glimpse of the ripple effect your work can have for years later—long after the file is closed and life keeps unfolding.

With gratitude,
Robyn Harvey