The Life and Lessons of a CPS Worker
She sits down at her desk and realizes she’s just taken her first full, intentional breath of the day. She begins jotting down her to-do list for the next morning — a quiet ritual, her way of closing the emotional door on the workday. For Alex Roque, a Ward County child protection services (CPS) worker, small moments like this matter. They allow her to leave the weight of her work at work.
When her list is complete, she gets in her car and cues up the same 11-song playlist she’s saved for the especially heavy days, and drives. The familiar songs and the rhythm of the road begin to clear her head. By the time she pulls up to the school to pick up her kids, the intensity has softened. She’s laughing with them, asking about their day and leaning into the life she’s built. The workday feels like it happened miles ago.
This isn’t an easy job, but Alex knew from the time she was a little girl that it was her calling. Her mom worked in social services, and she remembers using her toy chest as a desk, helping her mom assemble blank intake files. Even then, something in her heart stirred — an early understanding that compassion could be powerful.
Still, life took its own course. After a few years of college, Alex got married, became a florist, and had children. One day, while delivering flowers to a funeral, a grieving mother asked her to sit down and talk. What was meant to be a brief drop-off became a turning point. That conversation reminded Alex that her capacity to care was a strength, and that her community needed her. “It pulled at my heart,” she remembers. Soon after, she returned to school. She laughs now, saying her youngest child “has a bachelor’s in social work too,” having been there through it all.
We’re mid-interview when someone walks in to let Alex know she’s been assigned a new case. It’s a reminder of the urgency and fluidity of her work. Time is never fully her own, and yet, she gives it with patience and focus.
CPS workers are often the first to initiate contact after a report is received. Sometimes law enforcement or other partners are involved, but the initial connection typically starts with CPS; a first responder in the truest form. The timeframe for contact can range from 24 to 72 hours, but Alex prefers to act quickly. “When the reports come to us, they already meet a certain threshold. Most of the time, when they hit our email or phone lines, it’s urgent. Even if it says 72 hours, we try to go immediately,” she explains. “Reading the reports, it always feels like the sky is falling. You want time to prepare, but often you don’t have that luxury.”
When Alex walks into a home, she isn’t looking for an unmade bed or a few dishes in the sink. What she’s scanning for are immediate dangers — anything a child could access that puts them at risk. She’s also attuned to needs, because if help is possible, she wants to offer it. During her assessment, she’s building a full picture: how the household functions, the relationships between parents and children, strengths that can be nurtured, and challenges that can be supported. Each piece plays a part in determining the next steps.
Alex’s secret weapon? Curiosity. “I’ve always asked too many questions,” she says with a smile. “But that’s helped me. It’s helped kids and families.” She recalls the times a parent pauses and says, “No one’s ever asked me that,” whether it’s about who taught them to parent or what they enjoy most about being a parent. “Those questions matter. I think it validates something for them.”
I ask her what it’s like to walk into someone’s life at such a raw moment. She pauses. “I’m just trying to understand them. I’m not there to judge. A lot of what’s happening is the result of something they no longer control.” She lowers her voice. “Most of the time, it’s the worst day of their life. They’re thinking the worst of themselves.”
And yet — there is light.
“The most rewarding part,” she tells me, “Is when they let you in. When they trust you enough to share their story. That’s a gift. These stories are difficult to tell and they’re private. But being trusted with them? That’s everything.” Her eyes soften. “We don’t get to see the raw side of people very often anymore. I consider it an honor.” She speaks with deep respect for the human resilience she witnesses. “In a world where everything is polished for social media, very few people want to take down that shield and show you the real grit. I hope, when they open up, that it feels like a relief. Like they’re not doing it alone anymore.”
One of the most common misconceptions Alex encounters is that CPS workers show up to remove children. “That’s not our role,” she explains. “People ask, ‘Are you here to take my kids?’ I don’t have that authority — that would fall to law enforcement or a juvenile court officer.” She understands the fear, though. “There’s a history with CPS that has created that perception. But in North Dakota, we’ve restructured our approach. Since 2020 – 2021, our focus has been on preserving families and supporting them wherever possible. Part of our role is educating the public on that shift.”
Still, the job comes with its frustrations — especially when the systems meant to help families fall short. “I never go in promising that services will be available. I can’t guarantee housing or assistance programs. Sometimes, there’s just not enough support to offer. And that’s hard. For the families, and for us. I often wish I could do more.”
Toward the end of our conversation, I ask what keeps her going. Her answer surprises me.
“School buses,” she said.
I blink. “School buses?”
She nods. “Right now, I have 24 cases — that’s about 52 kids. With this new one, it’s almost 55. A school bus holds around 60 to 70 kids, right? So, when I think about my caseload, I picture a full bus. And I ask myself: if something terrible was about to happen to a bus full of kids, wouldn’t people want to do something about it? Wouldn’t they take action? That’s how I motivate myself. I remember that I can do something about it. I can ask the right questions, meet the deadlines, and do the paperwork. It might not be glamorous, but it matters. Because those kids are counting on me.”
And just like that, my heart catches in my throat. We both wipe our eyes.
I thank her for her time, her strength, her empathy and her fierce commitment. She smiled. “We don’t need the thank-yous or the special callouts. But it’s nice to talk about why I love what I do. I really love working with these families, and I learn a lot from them too.”
To anyone considering this work, Alex offers advice that’s simple and powerful:
“Be really curious. Maybe too curious. Never assume you know the whole story. Work on your interpersonal skills. Hold your boundaries. And take good care of yourself.”