The Desperate Struggle for Help
Imagine this: a 9-year-old boy named Jamie, struggling with a mental health crisis, is rushed to the hospital by ambulance. His outburst at home was the final straw for a mother who’s been begging for help for months. Yet, despite her pleas, the waitlists are long, and the beds are scarce.
For Jamie, this is far from his first encounter with the system. The police know him well—but only as a “disruption.” To them, he’s just another child acting out, another case to handle. They don’t see the child behind the behavior—the boy lost in a whirlwind of fear and confusion. But that’s who Jamie is: a 9-year-old boy in desperate need of help, not punishment.
“Here He Is Again”
It’s 8 p.m. when Jamie walks into the emergency room. The nurses, stretched thin and overwhelmed, exchange weary remarks: “Here he is again. I wonder how long he’ll be here this time.” Jamie’s heart sinks. His shoulders slump. He isn’t just another “repeat patient” to him. For Jamie, this visit feels like yet another reminder that he’s lost in a system that views his struggles as a nuisance—rather than as a cry for help.
With no rooms available, Jamie is given a pair of hospital scrubs and a seat in the hallway. Alone. For hours. He waits in silence, a child surrounded by chaos. When he is finally assessed, Jamie is calm and cooperative, expressing remorse for his outburst. He shares that he wants to see his mom, but feels ashamed. Despite showing no immediate risk of harm to himself or others, the assessment clears him for discharge.
Abandoned by the System
The nurse calls Jamie’s mom to come pick him up, but her response is heartbreaking: she can’t. She’s exhausted, and she’s scared. The constant cycle of crisis and uncertainty has left her feeling hopeless. Jamie, left without answers, feels even more isolated and abandoned than before.
The hospital contacts county social services. A child protection case is opened against Jamie’s mom for “refusing” to pick him up, despite her inability to provide a safe environment for him at home. Meanwhile, Jamie waits. And waits. A month goes by, and the boy, once full of hope, now spends his days in a sterile, impersonal ER room—a 9×13-foot space where he tries to pass the time by shooting hoops in the hallway.
Trapped in a Cycle of Waiting
During his days in the ER, Jamie’s world shrinks even further. His name sits at the top of every waitlist for mental health services in Minnesota, but no bed opens. He receives only an hour of schooling each day, and the cafeteria menu? He’s eaten it all three times over. His only connection to the outside world are brief, infrequent phone calls.
As the months drag on, Jamie’s situation worsens. Three months pass. The system that was supposed to help him has instead buried him under layers of bureaucracy and delay. Jamie finally reaches the top of the waitlist for a group home—but by that time, his funding has lapsed. He drops off the eligibility list.
Months turn into a never-ending blur of isolation. Jamie never feels the warm spring sun on his skin. He never sleeps in a quiet, peaceful room. Instead, the sounds of rushing nurses and the sterile hospital environment are the only constants in his life.
Hope that Fades
Then, in the fifth month, there was a glimmer of hope. Jamie’s social worker informs him that they’ve found a place for him: a hotel with 1:1 staffing. He’s excited, but also anxious. For the first time in months, Jamie will be able to go outside, sleep in a bed without the constant hum of the ER around him, and maybe even go to a school in the community.
But when Jamie arrives, his hope begins to fade again. The hotel is not a true solution, it’s just another temporary stop. Other kids there are in similar crisis situations, and the staff, though well-meaning, are not equipped to provide the level of trauma-informed care that Jamie so desperately needs. Jamie’s mental health struggles continue to go unaddressed, and the school, though a bright spot for a moment, can’t compensate for the lack of therapeutic support. The fragile sense of stability he briefly felt soon slips away.
Falling Through the Cracks
The situation quickly deteriorates. Jamie acts out. Property is damaged. The hotel staff, overwhelmed and unequipped, calls the police. Soon, Jamie is taken to a detention center, his rights stripped away, his mental health needs ignored. Now, instead of being seen as a child in crisis, he is labeled as a “problem.”
The system that was supposed to protect him has failed. Jamie is left confused, angry, and more alone than ever, caught in a cycle that doesn’t seem to offer any way out.
A Widespread Crisis
Unfortunately, Jamie’s story isn’t unique. In 2003 alone, over 1,000 youth in Minnesota experienced something similar—a phenomenon now known as “social boarding.” Social boarding occurs when children in crisis are held in hospital emergency departments for extended periods, often for months, due to a lack of available mental health treatment options. The average wait time for a child in social boarding is 3 to 4 months, but some children spend well over a year in this situation.
This crisis is compounded by a severe shortage of resources. Since 2005, Minnesota has lost 888 mental health beds for children, a 36% reduction in capacity. The demand for services has only grown. Today, children like Jamie are frequently assessed as needing residential treatment or a group home, but the beds simply aren’t there.
MORA’s Glimmer of Hope: Setting a New Standard for Care
However, there is hope. Mount Olivet Rolling Acres (MORA) is stepping in to fill the gap. They are adding additional beds to support children like Jamie—those in crisis who need a safe, supportive environment to heal.
MORA’s Youth Homes are more than just places to stay. They are designed as therapeutic sanctuaries for children with the highest needs, offering a nurturing community environment. The staff is not only highly trained but also deeply committed to trauma-informed care. With 24-hour nursing, access to crisis counseling, and therapeutic support, MORA ensures that every child receives the care they deserve.
MORA’s homes set a new standard for therapeutic crisis stabilization, providing children with a safe space to heal, reconnect with their peers, and, importantly, rediscover their hope. Through your support, MORA can give kids like Jamie the chance to feel seen, to feel heard, and to feel like they matter.
Together, we can change the future for children like Jamie. Thank you for standing with us in this critical work.
To learn more about these new homes and the impact they will have, MORA is hosting an open house on April 26th from 2 pm to 5 pm The event will feature live music, games, food, and a ribbon-cutting ceremony at 3:30 p.m. We hope to see you there! Learn More Here