My mother told the doctor I was faking my seizure for attention while I was unconscious on the floor

She reached over and took my hand. She said that was probably shock and that trauma did that.

She suggested that I should maybe talk to someone professional. Patricia helped me set up counseling through the foster care system.

The therapist’s name was Dr. Ysef. He was Ethiopian, mid-40s, with a quiet presence that made the room feel safe.

His office had soft lighting, comfortable chairs, and boxes of tissues on every surface. He asked me to tell him my story.

I started with the first seizure, and he stopped me. “Start further back,” he said.

So I did. I told him about growing up with a mother who treated every need like a burden.

I told him about the broken wrist she ignored and the migraines she said were fake. I told him about being made to feel like existing was an imposition.

I spoke about the constant message that I was too much, too sensitive, too dramatic, too needy. Dr. Ysef listened without interrupting.

When I finished, he was quiet for a moment. Then he said that what I described was emotional neglect.

He said it was real and valid and had nothing to do with me being dramatic or sensitive. He explained that children need emotional attunement from their caregivers.

He said they need their feelings validated and their pain taken seriously. He explained that when that doesn’t happen consistently, it creates attachment wounds that affect how you see yourself and the world.

“Your mother’s response to your seizures wasn’t about the seizures at all. It was a pattern that had been there your whole life. The seizures just made it visible to other people in a way that couldn’t be denied or minimized.”

He asked if I’d ever thought about what I’d need to heal from this. I told him I didn’t know where to start.

He said we’d figure it out together, week by week, session by session. He told me that healing wasn’t linear but it was possible.

I left his office feeling like maybe I wasn’t as broken as I’d thought, just cracked. And cracks could be repaired with time and the right care.

The court date arrived three months after I’d been placed with Patricia. My mother had contested the CPS findings and was demanding my return to her custody.

Linda had warned me this would happen. She said family court prioritized reunification when possible.

She explained that judges were reluctant to permanently terminate parental rights unless there was severe abuse. Medical neglect lived in a gray area.

It was serious but not always enough for permanent removal. I had to testify.

Linda prepared me beforehand. She told me to stick to facts and not to get emotional or argumentative.

She said to just answer the questions truthfully and let the documentation speak for itself. The courtroom was smaller than I’d expected.

It had wood paneling, fluorescent lights, and uncomfortable chairs. My mother sat at a table with her lawyer.

She was wearing a professional dress and had her hair pulled back. She looked like a concerned parent instead of someone whose neglect had been documented by multiple medical professionals.

The judge was a middle-aged woman with reading glasses and a tired expression. She reviewed the case file while we all sat in silence.

Then she asked the CPS lawyer to present their evidence. Linda stood up and walked through everything.

She detailed the ER visits and the treatment refusal. She mentioned the medication my mother had picked up but not given me.

She spoke about the second seizure that happened despite my compliance with treatment. She cited the documented statements from medical staff about my mother’s behavior.

Dr. Patel had submitted a written statement, and so had Dr. Okafor. Both described patterns of dismissal and minimization that had endangered my health.

The judge took notes and asked clarifying questions. Then she asked to hear from my mother’s side.

My mother’s lawyer stood up. She painted a picture of a devoted single mother struggling to raise a difficult teenager.

She said my mother had been overwhelmed and frightened by my first seizure. She claimed that her initial reaction had been shock and denial, which was understandable.

She said she’d since attended parenting classes and therapy. She claimed she recognized her mistakes and wanted the chance to do better.

She said taking me away had been an overreaction to an isolated incident. She argued that families should be kept together when possible and that I belonged with my mother.

The lawyer called my mother to testify. She walked to the witness stand looking small and vulnerable.

She cried when describing how much she missed me. She said she’d made mistakes but loved me and would do anything to have me back.

I watched this performance from my seat next to Linda and felt nothing. I just felt that same hollow emptiness.

Then it was my turn. I walked to the witness stand on legs that felt disconnected from my body.

The judge asked me to describe what happened. I told her about the first seizure and about waking up in the ER to my mother calling me dramatic.

I spoke about her refusing overnight observation and about finding my medication on the counter the next morning. I told her about my mother telling Dr. Okafor that I had a stable home when I didn’t.

I said that the second seizure proved I’d been telling the truth all along. The judge asked if I wanted to return to my mother’s custody.

I said no. She asked why.

I looked at my mother sitting at her table. Her lawyer had told her to look sad and concerned, and she was doing it perfectly.

I told the judge that my mother didn’t see me as a person with real needs. I said that she saw me as an extension of herself whose problems reflected badly on her.

I told her that I couldn’t trust her to take care of me when I was sick or vulnerable. I said that I’d rather stay in foster care than go back to feeling like a burden in my own home.

My mother’s lawyer objected. She said I was being coached or influenced by CPS.

The judge asked if that was true. Linda stood up and said absolutely not.

She explained that I’d been in therapy and had space to process my experiences without pressure. She said my testimony was consistent with months of documented observations.

The judge asked me directly if anyone had told me what to say. I said no, that these were my own words describing my own life.

The judge made more notes. Then she said she’d review everything and issue a ruling within 30 days.

Court was adjourned. My mother tried to approach me on the way out, but Linda blocked her path.

She told her there was a no-contact order in place during the investigation. She said any communication had to go through lawyers.

My mother’s eyes met mine over Linda’s shoulder. For just a second, the mask dropped and I saw something raw underneath.

It wasn’t love or concern. It was rage, pure rage at me for exposing her.

The ruling came four weeks later. The judge had decided to keep me in foster care for an additional six months.

Reunification therapy was required before any custody changes. My mother would have supervised visitation once a month if I agreed to it.

She’d have to complete parenting classes and continue her own therapy. The court would review the case again in six months to determine if reunification was appropriate.

Linda called to tell me the news. She asked how I felt about it.

I said relieved. She said that was valid.