Holding Each Other Through the Shutdown
I keep thinking about what it means to hold each other up when the systems we rely on start to wobble. Vermonters know something about that. We’ve weathered floods, long winters, and loss. We rebuild, we show up, we share what we have. Not because it’s easy — because it’s who we are.
But I want to name what’s often invisible in the headlines: when the government shuts down, young people feel it first — especially youth in foster care.
When payments to foster parents stall, so does stability. A teen who finally felt settled might have to move again. Caseworkers get furloughed, meaning calls go unanswered and court dates get delayed. For a young person trying to reunify with their family, those lost weeks can mean lost hope. For someone aging out of care, it can mean no rent check, no food, no health insurance — no safety net at all.
And these aren’t abstract “program delays.” They’re the difference between staying in school or dropping out, between having a place to sleep or spending another night in a car.
When SNAP or WIC benefits freeze, foster parents stretch meals thinner. When Medicaid payments stop, therapy sessions get canceled. When transportation vouchers pause, youth can’t get to jobs or appointments. Every pause in the system creates ripples — and foster youth, already balancing on the edge, feel every one of them.
We see it every day at Elevate Youth Services. A young person skipping meals to make their stipend last. Another losing work hours because their caseworker can’t approve transportation. A youth aging out of DCF care who’s suddenly without coverage for meds they need to function. The smallest bureaucratic stall can topple an entire plan.
When the big systems stall, care becomes local. It happens in kitchens, in cars, in hallways — in the quiet, ordinary ways people look after each other.
Here’s what that kind of care can look like in Washington County:
Mutual aid and small kindnesses. A neighbor leaving groceries on a foster parent’s porch. A restaurant feeding teens without asking questions. A friend covering a phone bill so a youth can stay connected.
Trusted adults showing up. Case managers, mentors, and teachers who keep texting: “You good?” even when their own paychecks are delayed.
Spaces that stay open. The Basement Teen Center, the libraries, youth shelters, churches, and other community hubs that keep their doors open no matter what.
Voices that speak up. Foster youth, caregivers, and community leaders reminding lawmakers that every “shutdown” trickles down to real kids — kids trying to build stability in a world that keeps shifting beneath them.
We can’t control what happens in Washington, but we can control how we show up for each other here. It doesn’t take much to build a safety net — mostly, it takes belonging.
So let’s stretch our circles a little wider. Check in on the young people in your life, especially those in foster care. Offer a ride, a meal, or a quiet space. Support the local places that keep showing up, no matter what.
Even when the system pauses, community doesn’t. We’re still here. We’re still steady. And we still believe in our youth — always.
