Meet Anber, a teen who struggles with mental health. Did the system fail her?

Note to readers: This five-part series is an up-close look into the world of Anber, who drifted in and out of mental health and foster care systems much of her childhood. Our journalists documented her year before she aged out of the system for good.

An impromptu birthday party unfolded outside courtroom 4-C. Anber was turning 17. She celebrated in a bland hallway with her mother, grandmother and former foster mother over gift bags with curly ribbons.   

Anber peeked inside one. “I got some Chapstick! I got some socks! I got some soap!”  

The basics are luxuries in foster care. Even more exciting was the tiny pink teddy bear, “I get to add to my collection!” 

“Are you collecting teddy bears?” said her mother Dawn Hoshor, patting her arm. Dawn wore a silver necklace that read “Mom.”

MENDING MINDS: Explore the mental health crisis faced by Southwest Florida's kids

The 39-year-old hugged her daughter, who is several inches taller.

Anber relished the doting. Often, attention comes her way for darker reasons: running away, displays of rage or threatening suicide. It was hard to see that side of her. In this moment, she was a big kid with a big grin, holding her mom’s hand. 

Mother and daughter hadn’t seen each other in two months. In October 2018, child protective services removed Anber from the WoodSpring Suites in Fort Myers where the family had been staying after an eviction. 

Department of Children and Families records are confidential, but Dawn’s lawyer said some allegations involved substance abuse and inadequate supervision.

Dawn insisted, “All allegations can be proven bull-crap except for maybe the drug test because I didn’t take one."

Before court, Anber toyed with her mom’s curls. Her own hair was clipped short, a length that made her self-conscious. Suddenly, her smile turned mischievous, “You know what we should do?”

She cupped her hand to her mother’s ear with a scheme. 

Dawn pulled away, shaking her head. “I can’t do that.”

"Sh, sh, sh," Anber shushed. 

"We can change my appearance, buy me all guy clothes, and say my name is Antoine." 

"How would we live?" 

"We get $900 on my check." 

"You wouldn't get your check anymore because you would be Antoine." 

More: She's 16 and suicidal, but an overburdened system responds in slow motion

Anber receives disability benefits due to her mental health conditions, her mother said. 

She is prone to whimsical thinking. It’s a necessity, perhaps, when your childhood is a revolving door of traumas and crises. 

DCF intervened for the first time when Anber was a toddler.

“Basically, I was a single mother. I had five kids before I was 21. I didn’t know how to be a mother,” Dawn said. Anber’s father was rarely in the picture. 

Anber's grandmother Susie Hosher had custody of Anber and her four siblings from 2005 to 2011 as Dawn faced her own battles. Susie and her daughter Dawn share the same last name but spell it differently because it was misspelled on Susie’s birth certificate.  

Anber began seeing things around 4 or 5, Susie said. 

She'd shriek, "Grandma!" 

Susie would find her curled up or hiding. She'd assure Anber that she was safe in spite of whatever she saw. 

"Nothing was friendly. She even called them demons or vampires." 

A doctor noted signs of schizophrenia, Susie said, but Anber was still too young for that diagnosis. Mental health professionals found others. 

“She had about nine diagnoses by the time she was 7,” Susie said.   

Her diagnoses have changed as she sees different providers but some have included schizoaffective disorder, conduct disorder and attachment disorder, Dawn said. “She has the inability to bond."  

More: Unequal treatment: Children's mental health dollars vary across state, Southwest Florida

School records identify an emotional or behavioral disability including attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and oppositional defiant disorder. The Mayo Clinic defines the latter as a "frequent and persistent pattern of anger, irritability, arguing, defiance or vindictiveness" toward parents, teachers and other authority figures. 

At age 9, Anber made national headlines when Lee County sheriff's deputies arrested her on four felony charges after a meltdown that began when a school bus driver told her to stop eating candy. A deputy took her to jail, where she was pepper-sprayed. 

That well-publicized incident should have set off alarm bells; maybe even lead to help. 

That has not been the case, said Karen Scott, Anber’s foster mother when Anber was a toddler who has remained in her life. She was there that day to deliver Anber's presents.

“I’m telling you, I’ve prayed for this child,” Scott said.

“This goes back to DCF failing, failing, failing to do their job. My God, Anber got pepper-sprayed. Right then and there they should have said there’s an issue here.”

Karen believes Anber should have been permanently taken from her mother earlier because of the intensity of her needs.

"And because Dawn was an unfit mother," Karen said.

Federal law prioritizes keeping families together and reunifying foster children with parents. Yet parents need to work case plans, demonstrate progress and an ability to better protect their children, said Nadereh Salim, CEO of Children's Network of Southwest Florida, which manages regional foster care for the state.

On her birthday, Anber longed to return to her mother. But Dawn wondered if her daughter would be better off in foster care.

“This is the first time I’ve ever felt like they might be doing something positive,” said Dawn, who sees the department as a recurring interloper in her life. 

More: Florida kids are getting sent to psychiatric units under the Baker Act in record numbers

She didn’t want Anber to hate her for not working a case plan. Yet Dawn had no car, moved between motels and worked overnights at the Waffle House. She couldn’t do much for her daughter. And she was sick of jumping through the system’s hoops.

But, there weren’t many options for Anber.

She is among a small group of foster children, usually older teenagers with severe behavioral health needs, that the system can't find stable homes for. These children switch placements often, even nightly. Sometimes they have no place to go.  

In Southwest Florida and beyond, foster children have spent multiple nights in unlicensed hotels and offices when agencies couldn’t find stable settings for them, a 2015 DCF inspector general’s report found. 

According to the internal review: 

The situation persisted even after a Tallahassee-area judge, in 2006, ordered that foster children have "a clear legal right" to licensed placements. Her decision came after a class action lawsuit alleged up to 10 foster children were forced to sleep up to 10 nights in a DCF conference room.

During seven months of 2014, 11 Southwest Florida children were housed in hotels or offices, sometimes on cots or a sofa. 

Salim said the practice is no longer permitted, though Anber recalled sleeping with her head on a desk in an office at least once.

More: Struggling with a mental illness? Here's how you or your child can find help

In less than a year in foster care, Anber would change placements 17 times, travel more than 800 miles and attend four different schools.

Anber crisscrossed the state in mostly group care, often a last-resort placement because of how detrimental they can be. She relocated from Fort Myers to Naples to Lehigh Acres to Naples to Miami to Lehigh Acres to Bradenton to Fort Myers to Cape Coral to Fort Lauderdale to Cape Coral. 

The constant uprooting took a toll. Anber spent 15 days in crisis units and facilities for commitments under the Baker Act. 

Before all that, in fall 2018 when DCF removed then 16-year-old Anber, there was hope the system might help.

Initially, Anber told her grandmother she called DCF. Anber wanted a chance at life, to go back to school. Later, Anber denied reporting her mom but did say, “I didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore. My mom was continuing doing the wrong things.”

Child welfare officials tried to convince Anber’s grandmother to take her. But at 61, Susie was tired. 

“I love Anber with my all heart, that’s my homegirl, but I can’t handle that,” Susie said. “When she loses it, you can’t control her. But I can’t blame her. If I was her, I’d be mad too. She’s like a gentle giant, really. On the inside she’s soft, but she’s also broken.”

Anber was placed in Youth Haven, a youth shelter and collection of group homes on the woodsy outskirts of Naples.  

“As soon as I know kids are in Youth Haven, I try to get them out,” said Diane Dramko, Dawn’s court-appointed attorney. “They’re not as monitored as they could be. It’s mostly teenagers they can’t find homes for.” 

“Then again, there’s no place to put these kids.”

****

In the moments before the December 2018 court hearing, Anber brought her mother up to speed on life at the shelter.  “Mom! Guess what, they bought me a birthday cake there and they also got me a present.”

“So, you’ve been being good?”

Anber hesitated, “Not really but…”

“But you’re working on it?”

“Yes, yes, because I’m trying to get out of there.”

Her expression changed abruptly. The smile vanished. Her eyes widened. She unzipped her camouflage hoodie to reveal large purple bruises on her inner right arm.  

“Staff did that to you?”

She nodded.

Dawn’s brow crimped. “OK, I’ll talk to them.”

More: After suicide attempt, Florida teen finds help and fairy tale ending

Dawn reached for Anber’s hand and led her inside, where a team of strangers in pressed suits and ironed dresses would dictate their future.

Anber sat before Magistrate Steven Studybaker in the small courtroom for families in crisis.

Behind her sat Karen Scott and Susie Hosher. Scott and her husband Bruce have taken in Anber several times before deciding, like Susie, they could no longer handle her.

Susie’s gray hair was swept into a ponytail. Her jean jacket embroidered with cats nearly swallowed her petite frame. Karen, curly-haired and demonstrative, wore heels. The two women have long been formidable allies in trying to right Anber’s life.

As a magistrate, Studybaker wore a coat and tie rather than a robe lending him an air of a wise uncle rather than a stoic judge.

“How are you doing today?” he asked Anber.  

“Bored,” she said. Anber is unafraid to speak up. She’s funny and chatty when in a good mood. On the drive to court, she said her case manager plied her with Milk Duds to keep her from talking.

“How many songs have you written so far?” Studybaker asked. “You write songs, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Anber said, playfully suspicious.  “How do you know?”

“I read the report. I do my homework.”

“I don’t like homework.”

“Even at my age, you have homework.”

“That’s sad.”

DCF lawyer Marisol Perez briefed the magistrate, referring to Anber as the child.

The child takes psychotropic medications, but residential mental health treatment was not recommended.

The child needs a tutor for "everything," her case manager Tiffany Williams said. 

The guardian ad litem, Anber's court advocate, asked about a therapeutic home.

Williams said she was looking into it. However, child welfare leaders said later that there's a shortage of therapeutic foster homes statewide and no specialized therapeutic group home in Southwest Florida. 

Christopher Boran, the lawyer filling in for Dramko took over, peppering case manager Williams with questions.

“Are you aware of what happened at Youth Haven yesterday?”

“No.”

“Are you aware that there was a physical altercation with the child and certain members of the staff?”

“No.”  

“Are you aware the child was injured?”

“No.”

“Are you aware the child is presenting with bruises?”

“No.”

“I know that Youth Haven is able to have hands-on intervention," Williams said, "but with me not having the report, I can’t answer that. I know that she’s not happy there and we’re looking into alternate placement.”

More: After regular Baker Act committals, treatment program helps Naples teen

Anber showed Studybaker her bruises. “I don’t feel safe at all.”

She admitted defiance but swore that she wasn’t out of control.

Scott whispered, it could be a fabrication. Those close to Anber say it can be hard to decipher the full story from Anber. She may offer the truth, a kernel of truth, or her truth based on faulty perceptions.  

“Your honor, this is not the first time," said Boran, that he had heard about safety issues at Youth Haven.

Studybaker directed Williams to find out the status of Anber’s allegations, “I have concerns.” He concluded, “Anything else counsel?”

“I just wish the department wouldn’t place kids at Youth Haven,” Boran said, sighing.  

Studybaker replied, almost apologetically, “If I could fix the whole placement issue, I would be the most popular person.”

The next day, DCF started an investigation into Anber's allegation but did not substantiate it, a spokeswoman said. 

Since January, the department has completed 11 confidential investigations into allegations of caregiver abuse or neglect at Youth Haven. One found evidence of sexual abuse/sexual battery. The others closed with no indicators or were not substantiated.

Youth Haven executive director Jinx Liggett could not respond to the allegations due to confidentiality but noted that staff members receive many hours of specialized training and education. They resort to holds only after verbal intervention and when a child is in danger of hurting themselves or others, Liggett said.

“Every child coming on this campus has experienced some kind of violence, so our ongoing training and safety are all geared toward never touching a child.”

Yet Collier County Sheriff’s Office records reflect that the campus can be chaotic. In June, a boy was arrested for battery after punching another boy in the eye.

Calls for service in 2019 show deputies responding often several times a month, sometimes multiple times in a day, for runaways, disturbances, or suicide threats.

Many foster children need a therapeutic setting, said Howard Talenfeld, president of advocacy group Florida’s Children First and a children’s rights attorney. He represented a foster child sexually abused by another child while both lived at Youth Haven. The 2017 suit settled in July for an undisclosed amount.

“The lead agency Children’s Network of Southwest Florida has had a perennial problem recruiting a continuum of placements,” he said. “And Youth Haven has been used as a shelter down there to warehouse kids that need far more appropriate placements.”

More: 'This generation is changing the world.' Naples teen starts group to help pay for kids' mental health care

Youth Haven is not licensed as specialized therapeutic care but is therapeutically-driven, Liggett said. The organization counts three masters-level social workers. 

Liggett said Youth Haven's team reviews a child’s history and staffing levels before accepting a child. “Everything is about safety and security.”

She pointed out the high fences, locked doors, security cameras in every home, 15-minute bed checks and special lighting. “Nothing is ever fully dark here.”   

****

Anber’s birthday celebration continued after the hearing behind Susie's old minivan in the Fort Myers courthouse parking lot. The van was a gift from the Scotts. 

Anber’s case manager lingered, offering them a few more minutes of togetherness. 

Grandma Susie handed Anber her remaining gifts.

“Oh, grandma got me chocolate, too! ...And a birthday card!”

Anber's eyebrows rose.  

Her grandmother recognized that look and scuttled that flume of hope.

“There ain’t no money in it because they’ll steal, but I promise when you come home you’ll have everything you need,” she said, hugging her. 

“Good call,” the case manager confirmed.

Holding an unlit cigarette, Dawn placed her hands on Anber’s shoulders and stared into her brown eyes, “Promise on our love, best behavior.”

Anber turned toward her case manager’s SUV.  

More: Here are the numbers behind the mental health crisis faced by Southwest Florida's kids

Dawn hurried after her. One more thing. “Can I have a kiss on the lips?”

“Eww,” Anber offered her cheek.

In January, Anber moved from Youth Haven to a smaller, all-girls home in Lehigh Acres. Her grandmother visited and hoped for the best. The staff seemed friendly at first. Roommates cooked meals together. It felt more like a home than an institution.

But the situation quickly turned south. 

Soon Anber would run from them too.

Data compiled by the Children & Youth Law Clinic at the University of Miami School of Law was utilized in reporting.