An open letter to social work from a Black female social worker
I am writing from a deeply personal place, as a Black woman and a newly qualified social worker, to share my experience of navigating the emotional and professional challenges of the past two years.
The recent observance of Baby Loss Awareness Week once again triggered the trauma of my own pregnancy loss, and brought to the surface the broader issues of intersectionality, race, and disability relating to trauma and professional vulnerability that I have been grappling with.
Recently, while at work, I saw an email related to Baby Loss Awareness, and I found myself overwhelmed by emotion. I parked in my car outside work and cried for half an hour, unable to return to my responsibilities without first reaching out to Sands Charity for support. This moment was a stark reminder of the emotional burden I carry, not just because of my loss, but also because of the way my grief and vulnerability have been dismissed within my workplace.
As I reflect on this experience during Black History Month, I am compelled to speak to the intersectional challenges that I, and other Black women, may face in this profession. While social work is meant to be a field rooted in empathy and advocacy, I have found myself questioning whether those values are truly practiced by all when it comes to supporting Black professionals.
It seems that, as a Black woman, my vulnerabilities are too often dismissed or overlooked. I have been called names like "hysterical" for expressing my grief related to miscarriage that I experienced while at work, forced to return to environments that trigger trauma, despite there being other available options, and left without adequate support in a profession that should understand the importance of mental and emotional wellbeing.
In addition to my emotional struggles, I face the real fear of speaking out. When I made a complaint about the treatment I was receiving, I was told that “Everybody knows each other in social work,” which I perceived as a thinly veiled threat. It felt like a warning that speaking out could result in being ostracised from the profession or labelled as problematic, making it difficult to find future employment in or outside my current authority.
As a newly qualified social worker, this is an overwhelming and all-too-real fear of possibly jeopardising my career simply by standing up for myself and seeking justice.
Systemic issues: racial disparities in childbirth and pregnancy loss
This is not just about my personal experience, but about systemic issues that disproportionately affect Black women. According to the NHS, Black women in the UK are four times more likely to die in childbirth compared to white women. Additionally, Black women are 40 per cent more likely to experience a miscarriage. These figures highlight the serious, often overlooked, challenges faced by Black women when it comes to healthcare and pregnancy.
As someone who has experienced a pregnancy loss, these statistics are not abstract. They reflect a reality that some Black women face in both healthcare and professional environments such as social services: a lack of understanding, empathy, and action when it comes to our health and wellbeing.
It is critical to consider how these systemic issues of racial disparity intersect with the emotional strain placed on Black social workers, who are expected to care for others while often struggling with a lack of care themselves due to discrimination.
The current climate of social work is already challenging, with high workloads, emotional strain, and increasing demand. To add the layer of racial identity and the fear of reprisal for speaking out compounds this struggle for professionals like myself. How can Black women like me survive in such an environment? When the very systems meant to support us can sometimes feel hostile or indifferent, the emotional and psychological toll becomes unbearable.
I am fearful not just for my job prospects, but for the safety of my professional registration. The thought of being targeted with malicious allegations as a result of speaking out is a constant concern, but the pain of remaining silent, knowing that these behaviours will continue unchecked, is even more disturbing.
This creates a toxic environment where Black social workers and other marginalised groups feel unable to express their concerns without fear of retaliation.
Call for change and support
What protections can be put in place to ensure that social workers, especially those from marginalised groups, are safe to raise their concerns without fear of being blacklisted or facing malicious allegations? How can we make sure that the profession lives up to the values of accountability, empathy, and justice that we are taught to embody in our work with service users?
In this Black History Month, I believe it is critical that we reflect on how racial identity intersects with professional challenges and how the lack of support and understanding for Black professionals impacts both our wellbeing and the quality of care we can provide.
I urge you to consider the real fears that professionals like myself face and create awareness of the impact of experiences such as mine to foster a more proactive approach and conversation that addresses these systemic issues.
It is not enough to celebrate the achievements of Black social workers during Black History Month without addressing the structural barriers that continue to exist. We need real change, change that acknowledges the complexities of our experiences, provides us with the psychological safety to speak out, and ensures that our contributions to the profession are valued without fear of retribution.
Thank you for taking the time to read this letter. I hope that by sharing my experiences, I can contribute to a broader conversation about how we can build a more inclusive, supportive, and accountable profession.