A guest blog from an adoptive parent - "Molly"

This is an anonymised guest blog sent to ECLCM by an adoptive parent. The names have been changed to ensure privacy. Although our campaign is solely to achieve "Staying Put" rights for all care leavers, we are publishing it without prejudice to share this adoptive parent's concerns and permit debate

"Dear ECLCM,

I'm writing to explain the bones of our case in the hope you might be able to glance over it and note where practice had gone wrong

We adopted our two older children when they were seven and five years old respectively. We were told they'd had some neglect and parents weren't very attentive. It turned out that this was far from true and both children had suffered severe and sustained repeated trauma due to violence, abandonment, feral living and sexual as well as emotional abuse.  Worse, these are the youngest of 13 children. It's been a long 20 years of Social Services’ involvement.

 Our eldest John was compliant and subdued, Molly acted out. Having between five and 10 rages a day and very much struggling with having any capacity to calm down. Normal parenting strategies had no effect. We joined ‘Adoption UK’ and learned quickly about trauma aware therapy and that we needed to develop therapeutic re-parenting.

We tried through a long and exhausting process to get any support. In the end resorting to complaints which yielded some help but by then Molly was 12 and it was all too little, too late. We had some life story work together, but she needed much more.

Her dissociation and violence were really extreme at that point. CAMHS diagnosed severe attachment disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder, but it became clear we were getting no help and neither was she. Living in a family was too hard for her and so CAMHS suggested a 52 week residential placement in a therapeutic community.  She lasted two and a half years there

Molly wasn't able to engage long term and began to abscond. The unit were not allowed by OFSTED to lock their doors and so Molly started to abscond further afield. One week she absconded to London and the police didn't bother looking for her as she was a ‘looked after child’ and didn't matter. We kept on fighting for her to be supported and found and she reported in of her own volition, she explained she'd been sexually assaulted.

On her return to the unit she became increasingly in trouble with the police for theft, taking other young people off, setting fire to the buildings. The unit managed to diagnose her with ‘atypical autism’ and for a short while we felt supported and understood. However due to her increasingly destructive behaviour and lack of engagement they gave notice on her bed.

My husband and I researched and looked round at other units that would off some secure accommodation for her. The day before she was due to move social care said she was going into foster care and if we did not like it she would be sent home to us. That would mean they would remove the other children at home here.

So we had no choice, we wrote formally warning Social Services of our concerns that she'd never cope and please don't place her with other children. This was completely ignored. They placed her with a family in a large town locally. It was a disaster. Molly constantly ran away, no school attendance. She began self-harming. The police kept picking her up with a variety of phones in men's flats and they were clear Molly was being exploited.

One meeting the foster carers said unless something is done Molly will be raped or worse. Then Molly escalated again, threatened to kill the foster carer and menaced them with a lighter, wrecking the house.

Molly found herself in police custody in a cell at the station aged 15. It was grim, not least because that we weren't allowed to see her as the custody sergeant assumed we were abusive parents because she was in care.

All weekend I tried to get Social Services to agree to a secure placement and eventually on the Sunday we got that agreement. Monday morning she appeared in court and as she was no longer on remand. Social Services washed their hands of their commitment to place her in secure and instead placed her in a children's home.

Her new home let her go out with no supervision and again we protested. We were told we were ridiculous; that 15 year olds all go drinking up the park etc. Tearfully I explained about the risk to Molly of paedophiles and rape. I was told that it was a nice area etc. Within 2 weeks she was raped, and then was raped again three months later. Suddenly having support going out was a good idea after all. Dreadful!

Molly got into more and more trouble and ended up in court expecting a custodial sentence for burglary but instead she got a tag,

During the last six months we were allocated a good post adoption social worker who had her head screwed on. She helped us apply for the new adoption support fund which paid for my husband and I to have psychotherapy. It was only 10 sessions but it really has helped.

It took us nine years of asking to get the children’s files from the placing local authority. In the end we had to take it to the ombudsman before they capitulated. The files aren't complete but even so betrayed 20 years of Social Services’ chaos as the children were said to be the Housing Department’s problem, then the Health Authority’s problem, then the school’s problem, or the responsibility of the older children’s team and not the younger ones, or else the younger ones, not the older ones....

The children disclosed sexual abuse and were described as feral children in a derelict house. The older boys were drug running and the birth mum making her living through prostitution. At one time the home situation was so awful that they took the dogs away – but they left the children.

These children are ruined by lack of care. They experienced too much of what they don't need and not enough of what they do.  I'm told that the ‘thresholds’ were high. To me, that seems to mean that child abuse is allowed in some rubbishy local authorities.

They then place these extremely traumatised children for adoption and wash their hands of them. If you dare to present to social services with any issues you are told clearly that this is your fault. They are ‘cured’ by adoption and all the rubbish behaviour they display subsequently is down to you. They are so punitive towards you that you are very reluctant to go near them again. If you then seek a diagnosis for your children's problems in order to achieve therapy or support, and go in with a good sound research backed argument, the social work team is intimidated by your knowledge.  They will suggest that you are over protective making excuses and have some weird form of ‘Munchausen’s by Proxy’.  They very much treat you as dysfunctional parents to a dysfunctional child, not as functional parents to dysfunctional children.

When Molly moved aged 12, Social Services were hellish. Despite her increasing violence & hurting our then two year old child, they insisted that she remain home but with the health visitor’s requirement that we be more vigilant. I have three children and cannot hold on always. I had to take our two year old with me when I went to the loo!

But it didn't stop Molly. Family was simply too hard for her. CAMHS backed us and Social Services were furious. To me, it seemed that they felt angry because we had achieved what they and their systems could not.  We had needed help badly, but it was not being provided. We went to see our MP in the end as the local authority wouldn't support us.  The MP set up a meeting and funding agreed by Health. It seems that Social Services have never forgiven us.  I believe that they lost sight of Molly’s needs totally.

When Molly moved my husband and I fell apart. He developed anxiety and had time off work and I was in hospital lots of times with an immune condition.  When asking for help we were told: 'You got what you wanted’.  I sobbed and was told that this was attention seeking ....

The last six months have been particularly grim with Social Services who not only investigated us for false accusations, then retracted them without informing or discussing it with us as protocol demanded, but gave Molly’s birth family ‘red carpet treatment’ to disastrous effect. The constant denigration of us in front of a very vulnerable ‘messed up’ young girl has contributed massively to where we are.

Molly is 18 now and we've lost her to the land of vice from whence she came.  As far as we are concerned much fault lies with social 'care' who do not seem to 'care' in the least.".

Ben's story

I remember when I was taken in to the care of the local authority. In some ways it seems like yesterday not over twenty years ago. It feels so real that it could be happening now. I phoned the operator on 999 “…my mom has abandoned me and my brother and sister, she hasn't been home for a few days, we don't know if she is dead or alive and we are alone at home!” The Police and Social workers turned up within the hour to see that we were all well and fit. We were, we had been eating jam sandwiches and custard creams.

The Social Worker ended up taking me and my brother to a Children's home a couple of miles away while my sister went to one of her friend’s houses to stay with them. It was only a couple of weeks away from Christmas and this is what we were faced with, being split up from my mom and sister for the first time ever. It was heart breaking knowing we weren't wanted or my mom just couldn't cope with us.

After arriving at the Children's home my behaviour was out of control and I was kicking off and joining in with the other young people who were misbehaving and refusing to go to bed. After a few days of being in the home I was told my mom had been found in Blackpool having a good time. She said she didn't want me and my brother back but my sister was allowed to return home. This made my behaviour even more erratic because I now felt un-loved and unwanted.

By the week before Christmas 1995 the staff at the home had had enough of me refusing to go to bed. I was warned on previous occasions that if I didn't go to bed I would spend the night in the cells instead. I'm 11 years old. My mom never threatened me with getting arrested for not going to bed. By this time I didn't really care if they rang the police, what could get worse? In the end the staff rang the Police and I was arrested along with two other young people for refusing to go to bed! I was then roughed up by the Police officer and handcuffed. Once at the Police station I was threatened again by the same officer “It's yes sir, no sir when you get in the custody area you little bastard.” I was shitting myself, I had never been in to Halifax Police station. I was put in to a cell with no mattress, no light or cover. Sat there in the pitch black crying because of how scared I was. I never thought this could happen to me and having been through hell the last few weeks I had thought it couldn’t  get worse……….it just had. But it was real, very real. If they were trying to teach me a lesson it probably back-fired. I hated the police officer who brought me in, how can I respect or even approach someone like him.
After I had been in the cells for hours in the pitch black I was let out of my cell and charged with breach of the peace, then told I am being split from my brother as the Children's home “..don't want you back there now.” I am now moving to Foster Parents eleven miles away in Todmorden. Now I have been split up from all of my siblings and mom. I am alone now for the first time.  I was quickly moved to another foster carer’s house also in Todmorden and then back to a different children's home. Over 1996 I had three Foster carers and four more children's homes and a couple of kinship placements that didn't work.
I was involved with the criminal justice system as I had started to offend on a regular basis and being moved from pillar to post, it felt like everyone was passing the problem - me! In 1997 I had 16 moves in a year. seven residential homes, ‘home’ twice, one foster home, one external and structured unit five times. My offending behaviour was getting out of control as was my self-harming. I was trying to take my own life at times and at other times I wanted attention. I had no chance of stability because I was constantly being moved.
I was being told that I will have a bleak future and have a life of being incarcerated if I carry on the way I am. I just didn't care about myself, no one else did so why should I? I was on a downward spiral to custody or a secure care centre because of my self-harming. I just didn't care, it was about the only thing I had any control of I would cut myself just to see if it hurt and get stitches. I would try strangle myself but this only led to one thing, no not seeing a therapist – being moved on.
I was taken to a secure care centre at Barton Moss on welfare grounds. The court had made the order for me to be there so I could have a full psychological assessment. It never happened and after three months the court refused to extend the order as the report hadn’t been done so I was discharged. Interesting that one, why didn’t they hold someone to account and get the assessment that was thought to be so necessary as to detain me in custody for three months? So then I was let out the moves and offending continued. I was moved from children's homes to different foster carers but it felt like everyone had either given up on me or that they could control my behaviour or both. I felt pretty much the same way.

I was out committing serious offences and taking drugs to numb the pain. Later I received a sentence in a young offender’s institution where I had my ‘light bulb’ moment in the court cells after being sentenced. I knew if I didn't change whilst serving this sentence then I would be involved with crime and drugs probably all of my life. I had seen friends die from suicide and drugs and feared that is the way my life would go. I needed to be strong and resilient to beat crime and drugs and to have a successful life.

By the time my sentence had finished I had been moved fifty one times and had thirty three convictions.
Has it been easy since? Never. Have I felt like giving up? Often. Have I had breakdowns? Several. I thought I would be dead by twenty one years old living the life I was. I'm not thirty two, a published author, campaigner, advisor and advocate who has been to Buckingham Palace as thanks for my services to children, young people and families. Is there to be a happy ending? Well, we’ll have to wait and see but I’m working and hoping for one.
At last I have been given the opportunity to do what has driven me on at times when giving up would have been so much easier. I'm currently waiting to start work as an intensive support worker with looked after children. If I can use my negative experience to make theirs a more positive one then that will be great.

A little bit of me....

A little of me….

There’s a box in my room, a box that holds my past, all typed up in fonts of sorts and thoughts of others who were acting as a mother. These others were busy defining my behaviour, deciding my fate, acting upon their theories, their knowledge and at times my wishes….but only at times.

I am shocked and heartened by the fact that at times someone did listen; someone did act and shout on my behalf about a system that was ruining me. Sometimes they used my situation to complain about a system that was failing, shouting to the gods above, those invisible people who make the real decisions, telling them what we know now is still happening. They shouted about a system that was underfunded, under resourced and so far from recognising us children as individuals. It was and remains a SYSTEM.  

This ‘system’ was taking me away from me, moulding me, shaping me into this “damaged” person. Apparently for one foster carer I was the most damaged person she had ever encountered?! This is actually stated in my care file. I read those words, written about me by some invisible other who ‘cared’ for me, but burning into my eyes all these years later.

It didn’t seem to matter what had been, what had happened to me before, she just saw the NOW. She wrote about being confused that I wouldn’t show emotion; that I didn’t talk of relationships; didn’t join in; that I was always on the periphery. I read these words and felt a swell of maddening rage and sadness re-emerging in me from a time in the distant past.  I had read the pages before I saw it coming, I understood why - I don’t remember this person they type about. I was just going through each house. I didn’t see what they saw as the’ problem’. I didn’t understand why this was a problem, or understand why crying, laughing, anger, happiness or the range of childhood emotions had to be shown just in order to keep my place – just to keep a home. How could I know that this was the expectation? I didn’t realise this was a norm.

I have to admit I didn’t feel safe within these bricks. There were too many people, too many things going on.  I couldn’t make sense of what was happening when he did the things he did - the other “damaged” kid. He was OK, but we were lost together, drawn together, trying to get through. We were doing what we needed to do just to make it through these bricks. I don’t know his “before” only the ‘now’ - but that’s another story - one that is not typed in a clever font, or even held within anyone’s memory - just mine and his. Many of my most intense child hood memories are intimately linked with others – times when we were so happy; so sad; so enraged - so anything. I shared in theirs and they shared in mine, our roads our etched in my head.

Reading my file I wonder was I always a target that they didn’t always reach? Was I bought and sold for the price of belonging? I can now hear the alarm bells ringing, the signals for abuses to follow in the future, of grooming, attention seeking, and the naivety of a child desperate to fit in. The muted screams of a child who just wanted to be wanted, who needed so much to feel wanted just for herself, just her.. just for me. Was I worthy? Am I worthy? What does ‘worthy’ mean? Can anyone actually want ME?

As I read on I see the change… the acknowledgment of myself finding myself part of something, a home, a sense of belonging, of becoming someone who would be understood. Understood perhaps, but not in the functionality of a family. I was defined and understood as one with others in homes, one of numerous young people, each with their own personality, each with a ‘before’, all with a part of me that I recognised at times in my life - my day, my soul.

I ‘belonged’ in kids homes, I got ‘me’ in kids’ homes because in that setting I could actually see myself running - running round, sitting off, kicking off, shouting crying, talking… through the mist of events and feelings I could finally see ‘me’.

I felt safe with these kids, but not with the staff. The staff were a different entity, a 'THEM', but the kids, ha, I was with them, part of them all the way. Even the shit dynamics and sociological expectations of this systematic community I understood instinctively. We at times were one! We were united. We were solidified in a strong but silent way by our ‘befores’, our unknowns, our unspoken understandings. We the powerless shared a common need to rebel against and hold power for once. I felt this strongly then and I feel it now. I wear a badge that I hold no shame in wearing.  I AM A CARE LEAVER.

There have been different times in my life when wearing that badge has brought me shame, happiness, anger, and a range of emotions, but it has also always brought me a sense of belonging. 

This strong sense of belonging is one that carers and social workers could not give to me no matter who they were and who I was at that time.  These care kids gave it to me. A hilarious journey of defiance, comradery, unspoken understanding.

The fonts on my file keep on appearing, being signed off by names and people I once spoke with. Each page is littered by words describing my linear experiences of the physical aspects of my life. They record ‘things’ events, happenings. They don’t reflect what my heart and soul were doing or how I was really growing and developing. They are a litany of acts, moves, changing faces of interchangeable people …many, many people. They are as a novel of a life that seems so long ago, a novel of developing emotions, never written but that the enlightened can read easily between the lines.

Many bricks held this girl. There were 72 places made of those bricks, 72 places, each built with the expectations of the system and its norms, 72 places of bricks and mortar. Each place was physically real but was not tangible to me. Each was just another font in that box, but each adding to the burden I carry today. Most things if not all I accept as things that cannot be changed but these things have made me the person I am today. They have shaped me into this person who knows and understands, and who more often than not can see between the lines. I fight with myself with this skill – and it is a skill.  It’s a skill that can be draining; that can harm if not careful, but can help if used correctly.

There’s a box in my room, holding pages of font that were types by many, written by some. A box that I sought in earnest to help me to get to know me, but which slapped me down as an adult. There’s a box in my room that holds in font the reasons why my paths were trodden as they were, a box which holds the insights of my heart and my head.  There’s a box in my room; a box that most care leavers seek to find and discover at some point in their life.

Each care leaver hopes that their box will hold an explanation, will bring reasoning to their life. They hope their box will explain their ‘nows’ and perhaps even what went before? Why what was was; and what is is? Why they are what they are, and what is ‘now’. Once a care leaver always a care leaver.

Those days of leaving care I would say were my darkest, most lonely days of my life. They were a time I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.  I was so, so, so lost, and I question now if the fonts in that box read differently to others, or even if those fonts were actually ever read by the gods above, those faceless decision makers busily pushing their pencils. If they really knew what happened to me, would they have let me spend so much of my young life in that awful, awful black abyss that is leaving care? Would I keep being smacked in the face and let down so hard and so often? Or is that just normal?  All in a day’s work in the life of the gods?

May I just say here now that I did struggle hugely leaving care. I probably was included in every care leaver statistic at some point - apart from going to prison. It was a dark time. It was lonely. It was harsh beyond the capabilities of clever fonts and invisible gods to explain. But I am here now with that all too familiar sense of resilience to succeed.

Now there’s an oft used word that I have issues with -resilience!  That’s a discussion I will save for another day.

I still have that box in my bedroom. I visit it now and then, but never for long. It angers me but it also makes me smile. There were some bloody good people out there who really got it, who really got me! There are memories that remind me of who I am and fundamentally that I am a good person. I fought back then for the children with the muted voices, on roofs and in font. I always fought. I continue to fight now and will stand with ECLCM until we succeed.

I won’t ignore the 9%; I won’t see another box in a room holding a whole host of questions and answers in font. Action is needed. I ask you to please join us.

BE THE FONT THAT COULD CHANGE THINGS! SIGN THE ECLCM PETITION. 

Let the next box (because there will always be one), hold different tales, different words.

Every child leaving care matters!

Danni

Swings ‘n’ Roundabouts

Firstly let me explain the title for this blog.

‘Swings ‘n’ roundabouts’ refers to your actions and reactions to other people  based upon the actions and reactions you interpret as inflicted upon yourself.

It is a truism that the way that you are treated very much depends upon how you treat others. That being so, in my eyes compassion breeds compassion. If I expect to receive compassion from others, I must first treat others compassionately.

It follows then that if you are treated like rubbish and belittled every day of your young life, that will elicit a negative reaction.  In fact, I suggest it might result in two different reactions.

One reaction stems from your self-belief being totally and utterly destroyed such that you become convinced that all you undertake (if you ever deem to undertake anything that is) is doomed to failure. With each resulting failure, the impression grows progressively stronger and more self-destructive

The second reaction is that you treat people around you with utter disdain, belittling those around you and bullying your way through life. You pick on the vulnerable and weak in society, much like you were once picked on yourself

Of course, the people I'm referring to here are children. Children in care, ‘care’ being the operative word.

Most children in care are nurtured and helped in as much as time and resources will allow. Staff being loving, caring and committed is not enough if they are not given the time and resources to do their job.  They can only spend so much time sharing a limited amount of love amongst a large group of love –starved children. Every child matters; every child is an individual and needs and deserves individual care. Sadly, the reality is that time and resources don't always allow for them to be treated as such and to receive enough of that loving care from their carers.

Children often enter care for their own protection having been the victims of abuse. They sometimes come from a bad environment and it is not uncommon for them to bring that bad environment into care with them. Like a malevolent ghost it can haunt them throughout their childhoods. The lucky ones get help with their demons. Many don’t, and remain very vulnerable.

This vulnerability is particularly acute when it comes to the time when they need to leave care.

 Leaving care itself can be one of a series of serious childhood upheavals that the child doesn't need and sometimes just can't cope with.  It is made particularly more acute because what help carers were able to offer previously is too often withdrawn at this time.  You will notice that I am not politically correct – I refer to the ‘child’ and not the ‘young person’.  I said ‘child’ because that is what they are - children.

They are still children in the eyes of the law - they can't vote, go into a club or pub, can't drive, can’t marry without parental consent, etc. Yet they're expected at sixteen to cope with the adult world – to work, feed and clothe themselves and to cope with all life will throw at them. “So what?” I hear you say. "That is what all children have to do." That’s often true, except that children from care cannot just turn up at mum and dads for help or support, to borrow money or enjoy a roast dinner on a Sunday. They can’t leave a week’s washing and ironing for mum to do.  Such luxuries are not there for these vulnerable isolated children.  These children have nobody to turn to for a hug or to help them out when things go wrong. Under such pressure, the child can all too easily go off the tracks, resort to crime, hurt themselves, hurt other people, or just give up trying and disappear into hospitals or on to the streets.  Only then if they are lucky might they get the help they so desperately need. 

Tragically, by then it is often too late, because once they have started that downward spiral and finally reached out for help,  it is sadly too damn late.

Now to me that can't be right and I'm sure it’s not ringing too well with you either.

Why not break that cycle? Why waste resources and money on throwing children out at sixteen. Why not just give them that helping hand, that guiding hand, and let them go into the world a few years later? 21? 25?

It makes perfect sense to me and I hope to you. Because these children are potentially such valuable members of society, given even half a chance ... Give them that chance; give them that chance to shine and know just how good a feeling it is!

Please! I beg you all - let's lobby the government and sign the petition for every child leaving care. For every child to have that extra few years, a few years in which to find themselves and to learn safely just what the outside world is about.

Sixteen is a very dangerous age. It's an age where we experiment. It’s an age when we take on board just what's going on around us; it’s an age at which we like to think that we are adults and that we know it all. Of course, we don't and no one does.

So there you have it! That is my case for extending the age of Care Leavers to a minimum of 21. Let these kids whom life has treated so badly have a chance to put something back. Give them the chance to prove that they are or can become a valuable link in Society’s chain.

Thank you for reading and thank you for your support.

Kev Edwards.

The ugly truth of a care leaver

"Life is hard, life has challenges. We all know that. It's how we approach those difficulties and deal with them that shape us into who we are.

We all have inner strength and as humans can adapt to survive in this world.
In life we want to be happy. We want to feel love. Love is what gets us through life. The love and support of our families, the encouragement and care of those closest to us. Growing up those elements are vital for us to develop as healthy human beings.
What about those who never had love? What about those who never had encouragement? What about those who never had support?
Forgetting about what some people never had what about those people who had the opposite, damaging end of the spectrum?
What about those who had hate? What about those who had neglect? What about those who felt abuse?

Well I'm aware first hand how those who did have that negative upbringing are stunted from healthy, mental development.
Lots of children who were bought into the world in troubled homes do end up in the care system. Often in multiple foster families and sometimes children's homes.
What I want to focus on though is what happens when that child becomes an adult.
At seventeen that child is on their own. Chucked into the world on their own with the occasional superficial advice from a support worker.
But hey, they've had a rough start in life but it's what they do now that matters right? You get to hear people say 'well I moved out when I was sixteen and I made it OK'.
Or another thing that annoys me is people who get nice things and go on holiday all the time and are like 'well if you work hard you get nice things'.
The thing is, is that these people do not have the slightest clue.
Physically, most care leavers are on even grounds with everyone else. Mentally, people have no idea how much on a different wave length some of us are... and not by choice. People say 'just choose to be happy' or 'just get on with it'.
How many charity's and support is there for older people who are now alone and have no family? How many people feel so sad for those people? A lot of people do because dur it is sad.
How tragic is it to have that same thing at eighteen? To be completely alone. To have to figure out everything. To have the same cycle of waking up, going to work and then going home to be all alone.
Those people who have all those fancy materialistic things and go on great holidays blah blah can claim what they like about how hard they work but I'd like to ask - would they have the same motivation if the following factors applied?

1) Your family no longer exist
2) You don't have a nice home
3) Most of the money you get from your pay has to now go on living
4) You go home to be alone
5) In fact most of the time you are alone your own
6) Also your head is so messed up from all the traumatic childhood experiences you've had
7) Oh and also you get to look at your arm every now and then and embrace the scars that will never go away
8) and the stretch marks and excess weight from all the times you were so alone you ate for some kind of comfort
9) You're so stressed all the time you feel like you are dying

I could go on and on and on but I think you get the idea. 
Let England continue to fail care leavers. Let England continue to have unrealistic expectations. Let the system fail the most vunerable people.

Because I mean of course with all the above issues care leavers can:
1) Find somewhere to rent at 18...because of course they know so much about tenancy agreements and contracts etc and aren't bound to end up in some sort of financial trouble
2) Oh and let them do that while they legally still have to be in school
3) and have that full time job on the side
4) Yep, they can make great decisions on their own, no help required at all
5) Oh, finances...yeah paying rent, studying, working...eeeassssyyy.
6) But when we do have to drop out of college of course we can get to Uni with no A levels
7) Homeless? We'd never become homeless...

So yeah we can be successful right?...
We don't have to practically half kill ourselves doing so?

That is all"

Blog by a care leaver Hannah Lucy Ide, 

(Reproduced with her prior permission)

Demons

‘Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder’ – We have all heard of this. We recall how our veterans returned from the battlefield traumatised by the horrific things they had seen, and how that trauma blighted their future lives.  A little known fact is that some people who grew up in the care system may also suffer from very similar disorders that don’t stop when they leave care in their teens but haunt them throughout their lives.

Most children are taken into care for their own protection as a result of abuse by adults.  That was what happened to me. For many of us, the nightmares began there.  They should stop there, but sadly, for some they are reinforced by abuses within the care system. That was my experience as I was abused at the hands of thoroughly evil men who were supposed to be caring for me.

Post-traumatic stress disorder is completely debilitating for the sufferer and will usually have life changing effects long after the original trauma has ceased. Some people will rely on medication to manage the symptoms for the rest of their lives.  Too often, once it has started it cannot be stopped, but fortunately that was not true in my case. With support I have regained control - no more waking at night screaming, not knowing where I was, not being able to communicate, not being able to enter a crowded room.

Granted, these things have not disappeared completely - I can manage my demons with support, but I am by no means cured - but I am getting better. I am better to be around, better to talk to and most importantly better to listen to. I don't ramble ... Only in writing I suspect.

During my childhood in care I saw two children take their own life - a girl aged sixteen and a boy aged around fourteen. In fact, he was a friend of mine and his death hurt me really deeply. I was told later, his family didn't even attend his funeral…but I'm rattling on. Sorry.

My original point was that children can suffer with PTSD symptoms as children which can continue and even worsen into adulthood. If this is not identified quickly enough, the outcome can be truly devastating; to not only the poor individual who suffers not knowing what is wrong but also their new family. Loved ones often bear the brunt of the mood swings, the suicide attempts for no apparent reason. They can't comprehend the crushing feeling of worthlessness that envelops the grown up child from care, who are reliving the agonies of years before dragging them once again into further despair.

My condition was not recognised until I was 58 years of age so you can imagine the devastation that I endured during my life. Not just me, but also my loved ones and the people around me. To love someone but feel unable to express that love, to struggle with expressing emotions and the strong feelings inside can be so destructive. People see you as cold and unapproachable when in fact the truth is the exact opposite. You want to be needed; you want to be touched; you want to be able to approach and enjoy the company of others and to be able to join in the fun, but you are emotionally incapable of doing so.

How on earth can a child of 10 year old be so affected? Horrible isn't it? It is horrible for the child, horrible for the teachers, the social workers and all who try to care for them. It is horrible for everyone who participates in the child’s lonely life. For the child, this is a life of being locked into your mind, locked into a world you think is fantasy but in fact is a cruel and cold reality. The turmoil in the child's mind then manifests in their actions and how they relate to other people and other children. I was going to say’ ‘play’ with other children, then but there's very little play in the life of an abused child.

The next time you see a child in the corner of the playground not joining in the fun, spare a thought for that mite who might be facing demons that you could never comprehend in your worst nightmare. It’s a short life to that point but it’s a life that will have seen more than most people see in a lifetime.

I’ve not mentioned the anger.  When a child is unable to express how they feel because they don’t know how, don’t have the self-esteem or their feelings are in turmoil, that can escape in an explosion of anger which will surprise and horrify those around them. This is described as ‘challenging behaviour’. When a child is abused in a relationship where they are powerless and impotent, where their feelings and well-being don’t seem to matter, that also gives birth to an intense anger, which can live just below the surface for many years to follow if not addressed.

What has all this to do with ‘Every Child Leaving Care Matters' you ask?  Helping children make sense of their lives and learn to face the world as a happy and fulfilled adult takes time, sensitive care and support. This is particularly true at certain times of life – adolescence for example. The teenage years are traumatic and difficult for most children. For many children in the care system, they can be living hell.

This is a time when children need security, continuity of care, caring relationships. Yet for many of the most vulnerable children in the ‘system’ in residential care, this is a time of life under ‘Staying Put’ when they may be compelled to become ‘independent’. Is it any wonder that so many care leavers struggle as adults?  Reflect on these words:

Every child leaving care matters

Kev Edwards

The Silent Ones

Children in the care system are each different and each respond in their own way to the stresses and struggles that being in care means to them. I wish to focus on a group of children in the care system who are often overlooked. These children are usually quiet unassuming souls who have been desperately hurt and abused, frequently so badly that their will and their spirit is broken.

They may not present behavioural problems and demand little attention from their carers, but they wear their inner sadness in their eyes and carry despair in their souls. They feel unwanted and unloved and are amongst the most vulnerable children in the care system.

These children have often been subject to abuse in all its forms and enter care at their lowest point. Care is supposed to provide a safe haven but for many of these children, it does not.  They may have good practical care – three meals a day, a clean bed to sleep in, but it simply isn’t the care they need. Even when the carers are kindly, these children need more than hugs or arms enfolding them. Within the care system, they are too often no more than a number, another call on limited resources, another name.

These children need to feel wanted, to belong, to be loved and cherished. In their struggle for acceptance and belonging, they often fall in with the ‘wrong crowd’. At least in the crowd, they feel a degree of acceptance that allows them to feel less lonely, less isolated, less irrelevant.  To them in their state of vulnerability, this mere acceptance is a good thing. Tragically, far too often, it isn't.

I'll talk a little of me now if I may.  I excelled in school because it was a release from the stress of care, a way of getting away from the despair of a life of pain and hurt.

At the age of fifteen I was due to be adopted by a family who had taken to me from my friendship with their daughter at school.  I was going to be the son they never had, the son they wanted. I felt wanted and valued at last, and I was happy for the first time ever.

 It wasn't to last though, and when it crumbled it was through my own stupidity. Looking back I can see why it went wrong, why I went wrong.

Not knowing what love was, and not knowing how to express or receive it made me feel empty inside. I was a shell unable to comprehend the damage I was about to inflict.

 I made their daughter pregnant!  This was truly devastating for everyone involved of course, but for me it was the beginning of a very long and deeply unhappy period in my life.

My behaviour suffered and I was expelled from school. I was sent a way to an ‘assessment unit’ the infamous ‘Redbank’ in Newton le Willows in Lancashire. For me at that time, this place was barbaric and like hell on earth.

I don’t intend to dwell on what happened there. Some things are too painful and must remain private even now, many years later. Let’s just brush over it.

My next placement was ‘Bryn Estyn’ in North Wales. I had been desperately unhappy at ‘Redbank’, but going to ‘Bryn Estyn’ was like going from the frying pan into the fire. It was far worse than the previous placement.

Again I'm not going to speak of what happened there, but as may be evident, a pattern was forming in which I was being punished severely for my juvenile stupidity. I know I had acted stupidly, but as I reflect I think it was possibly inevitable. It was inevitable because I did not know how to love or be loved.  The care system that had taken it upon itself to care for me had not seen fit to instruct me in the facts of life and I had no idea what love was. Shouldn’t someone have been teaching me that there is a difference between sex and love?

I digress; let's go back to the children like me who have been abused, beaten and broken.

 There's no escaping it; the system has let both them and me down.

If they're not shown love or respect in care, how can they hope to cope on leaving care at the age of sixteen? They are still little children when the ‘system’ discharges them and expects them to be ‘independent’.  There can no escaping or dodging the issue; it can't be glossed over -  these children like me are let down by a system that goes through the mechanical motions of ‘care’ often without actually offering what ‘care’ should really mean. By that I mean emotional acceptance, a sense of belonging, being taught that you are worthy, being listened, to heard, respected …loved? 

Too many of these children are simply unready and ill equipped to cope with life on their own in their teens. Many need to stay in care longer. Many need to stay at least until they are 21 years old because unlike children in a home environment, they may have spent their childhood living in a regime (in some cases a strict regime) where daily routine is strict and must be followed, but which simply has not taught its children anywhere near enough about the outside world. The world outside is different than the world in care – it is harder in many respects, because life in in care for many children is often emotionally sterile, with too many children shrouded in coldness and emptiness.  

This cannot prepare a child to have healthy loving emotional experiences that they have a right to expect when they are growing into adulthood.  Life in care for many has been emotional survival. This environment is not what they need to have as they prepare to enter the outside community.

Notwithstanding the emotional price, for too many the care environment doesn’t teach them how to look after themselves as far as work, paying rent, feeding yourself, shopping, laundry, bills, etc. etc. In fact, the world outside of care for too many of these children is an alien environment.

Children need to learn these life skills before they leave care. If they don’t they are going to end up in a vicious cycle of crime drugs, self-abuse, prostitution, exploitation – the statistics speak for themselves.  It’s as clear as night follows day.

In conclusion, I was one of the lucky ones.  I kept in touch with my girlfriend of 46 years ago. We are happily married and very proud of our wonderful caring son.

My story demonstrates once more that you can't judge a book by its cover or be judgemental about people based on their by their upbringing or childhood behaviour.

There you have my case for ECLCM. I’m sorry if I drifted and rambled - I’m not a great speaker or a great writer. I am however passionate about what I believe to be a right for children in care. It’s something I know about because of my time in care from the age of six months until I left care at sixteen.

Thank you for reading.

Kev Edwards.