An open letter from a newly qualified social worker who was let down in childhood
To the early help worker who put me at risk and broke confidentiality
I ran downstairs begging you to stop, to which you responded, “I didn’t know”. You didn’t know what? You didn’t know telling my abusers that I made a referral would impose a threat? Or you didn’t know I was listening to every word you shared as I sat and dreaded the consequences of each and every word. I was terrified. But I didn’t want to ruin my chances, my chances with you. How sad is that?
I didn’t dare express my anger towards you in fear of being deprived of a basic human right to be free from harm, to be safe at night. The golden rule of social work, ‘If it’s not recorded it never happened’. Only it did, you appear to have forgotten to record this. Was this another thing you didn’t know? I was abused into homelessness that night, I just couldn’t take it anymore.
To the locality social worker I confided in
You promised me the world, promised me intervention, up until you closed the case without explanation. You closed the case despite reading an email stating I had been physically hurt. (I still have the email by the way). I simply cannot comprehend on what grounds you imposed the above risk to not be of your concern. Oh, and goodbye by the way, a good goodbye, means the most to me. I thought my voice was held with the upmost paramouncy?
To the neighbour who turned a blind eye
It’s not your job, your family home, not your business until there’s blue flashing lights outside and suddenly it’s everyone’s business. Let this be a reminder, what counts in safeguarding is what YOU do when nobody is watching.
To the social work manager who reassured me an assessment was taking place because I was worried about safety – you never did visit the family home.
To the police officer
I quietly summoned into the hallway upon witnessing one of many traumatic events that has altered my brain chemistry.
You might not remember me. After all, you didn’t even look at me, with tears streaming down my face, trembling as I handed you notes, reiterating I just needed to feel safe. Instead, you scrunched up my feelings like an outdated receipt and never said a word. Your lack of professional integrity cost me. I later developed PTSD.
To the police officer I met just a few weeks later
You visited the family home for something completely unrelated to my family at all. However, how was I to know that? It was me who hesitantly answered the door and you immediately asked for my parent, to which I responded, “It’s about last night isn’t it”. You didn’t need to say anything for me to understand I had slipped up, I had learnt to read people well before I read my first book. You stood and watched the colour run from my face as I stumbled to excuse the ‘mistake’ I just made. A mistake you needed to read between to grasp what was happening to me.
To the health consultant with over 20 years of experience who I met at just 13
You wouldn’t have as much difficulty remembering me. You labelled me as the second worst case you had ever dealt with and diagnosed me with a debilitating incurable illness. A day I will never forget. The day you were astounded at the severe progression of my disability which caused you to introduce me as “the poorly little girl” to the specialist nurse. I couldn’t dress myself for school due to excruciating pain. You had to prescribe me 15 tablets a day just so I could bear the pain. You and the surgeon told me to forget about college because my health was too far gone and needed to be managed, but I stopped attending appointments.
An emergency MRI scan was arranged which only exacerbated your concern. The findings of the scan confirmed the permanent damage to my body had been present for six months.
You didn’t come looking for me, but I came looking for you. Shortly after I turned 18 when access to my records was just for me. I hysterically cried down the phone before I managed to say, “You don’t understand what you have done.”
I wanted you to say sorry, to take accountability, hold your hands up without making a fuss. Before I even had the chance to explain what you didn’t understand (well, what I thought you didn’t understand) you stated: “You have been getting abused haven’t you.” Five years later you choose to speak up. You may have not hurt me directly, but you sat back and watched.
I wanted nothing more than to be wrong about you, I wanted you to give a rationale as to why so many red flags were missed or, in my case, why I was so blatantly betrayed by a person under obligation to keep me safe. I never did hear from you again; you left the NHS (running away doesn’t make me forget). Does safeguarding children mean anything to you?
To the aspiring social worker to be
You probably won’t listen to ‘people like me’. People like me who have fought to turn every loss into a lesson. People like me who go last so others can go first. People like me who placed themselves in the firing line to protect their siblings and give them a better life. Because that’s me. Your preconceived idea of me was based upon ACEs, a deterministic perspective which I will never be. I refer you to Social Work England’s professional standard 4.8.
To the professionals who presume a lack of competence based on what I have been through
Firstly, how dare you? I did the work, earned the title and we are now equals, regardless of what happened to me. Your assumptions hurt me. My experiences enable me to lead from within, to connect with families meaningfully, something so priceless to me. My experiences have enabled me to understand your shortcomings, so why can’t you do the same for me?
The debate on who’s to blame when things don’t quite go to plan continues to be highly contested. So let me settle it for you, I ‘blame’ all of you.
The fact you are even debating who holds ‘primary responsibility’ when it comes to the safety and wellbeing of a child speaks a thousand words to me. You all had safeguarding responsibility. If you were confronted with a helpless child presenting significant disability, riddled in fear and anxiety because they just witnessed a parent beaten ‘black and blue’, would you seriously sit and debate ‘primary responsibility’?
The only thing you all had in common was to safeguard me but I’m not sure you were even thinking about me at all. I got where I wanted to be without any ‘helpers’ ever helping me.
How many more times are you going to write ‘x failed to share information with y’? How many more times are you going to pry into someone’s life and fail to even get the basics right? How many more times are you going to preach ‘We need to get this right’ and be the person to let things slip by?
So, I ask again, with tears rolling down my face, who is to ‘blame’ when I ‘blame’ all of you, equally?
It’s always working together to safeguard children that matters, until it’s you, but nobody is ready for that conversation. You are all to ‘blame’.