Learning to Be a Kid Again

Landon was used to moving. From ages nine to twelve, home was wherever he could sleep that night. Sometimes it was a shelter. Sometimes it was a friend’s couch. Sometimes it was someone he had just met. His parents were in and out of prison, and when they were around, life was chaotic—filled with uncertainty, substance use, and moments of violence he didn’t always understand. 

At 13, Landon had already seen more than most adults. People called him “mature for his age,” but really, he had just learned to survive. He was tall for his age, strong-looking. Adults often assumed he was older than he was, treating him like he should be able to handle more than he could. 

But then, everything changed. 

Landon moved in with his aunt and uncle—people who wanted him, who chose him, and who would not leave. It was the first time in years he had stability. A warm bed. Regular meals. A space of his own. His aunt and uncle were doing everything they could to make sure he felt safe, but the years of instability had left their mark. 

He wasn’t sure how to trust it. 

That’s when Savio stepped in. Savio’s family therapy program didn’t just focus on Landon—it focused on the whole family. His aunt and uncle—who had stepped into parenting unexpectedly—were learning, too. 

They both worked multiple jobs, juggling responsibilities while trying to give Landon the stability he had never had. Therapy didn’t just help Landon—it helped them, too. They learned how to communicate better, how to create structure without pressure, and how to slow down. 

“We’re grateful for this,” his aunt said one afternoon, sitting with him at the dinner table. “Not just for what he’s learning, but for what we’re learning, too.” With support from Savio’s therapist, they built new routines. They found ways to manage the stress of parenting while still making time to enjoy being a family. And slowly, Landon started to believe this was something real—something that wouldn’t disappear overnight. 

At first, Landon didn’t like talking about what had happened. It was just life. The nights in shelters, the times he had no idea where his parents were, the fear when things got bad—he had spent years convincing himself it was normal.  

But in therapy, his counselor asked him to write a trauma narrative, a way to tell his own story, piece by piece, in his own words. At first, he wrote in short sentences, unsure of what to say. Then, something shifted. He realized that the life he had known—the one filled with fear and uncertainty—wasn’t normal. It was something he had survived. 

He started naming his experiences. Talking through them. Understanding that the things that happened weren’t his fault—he was a kid, just trying to make it through. And then, he started learning something even harder: how to feel safe. 

Landon had spent so many years focused on survival that he had skipped a part of childhood most people take for granted—play. Through Savio’s program, he learned coping skills—breathing exercises, guided meditation, ways to calm his mind when memories of the past crept in. His therapist helped him see that his body wasn’t stuck in survival mode anymore. 

And then, they did something unexpected. One day during a session, he went to a playground with his therapist. Landon had never really played on one before. He had spent his early years looking after himself, acting older than he was. But that afternoon, he climbed the jungle gym and let himself swing back and forth, higher and higher. For the first time in a long time, he was just a kid. 

At school, things started to change too. He made friends. He started playing basketball, something he had always watched but never tried. He even found a local art nonprofit where he could volunteer—creating something with his hands, shaping something that was just his. 

And at home, he did something he had never done before—he decorated his room. 

It was small. Just some posters, a few things on his shelf, a color he liked on his bedding. But it was his. A space where he belonged. And, for the first time in his life, it was also a family where he belonged.