Dysregulation Hangover

I had a hangover once when I was 15. I remember vividly the subtle blend of seasickness, feeling like I'd been  hit in the face with a frying pan and of someone using my mouth as an ashtray.

It was a profound moment, I thought this is hellish I'm not doing that again.
So I haven't been drunk or had a hangover since and I have no intention of ever feeling like that again. Mrs Cs happy I'm always the designated driver. You could say I'm a control freak I prefer to think of myself as dull.

To be honest I was feeling quite optimistic and hopeful about 2016.  Lots of plans and schemes for the new year. Then like a rolling storm it all unraveled in glorious widescreen technicolor with dolby surround sound.

It arrived like a Catherine wheel of emotions, arms and legs flailing, insults spewed and threats made. The whole house kicked in the emotional teeth, things broke, threats made and bags packed, we were all impacted by the magnitude, if you weren't directly involved you heard it. The blue touch paper had smouldered for a day in the lead up,  then this Catherine wheel went off and lasted a couple of hours at it's height.

Mrs C tag teamed me after a few hours and brought it down,  it was over, wailing, sobbing, shower and bed. I say over though the sparks and fire had gone the dysregulation hangover was left.

We're emotionally and physically drained. Then we have an enquiry, what was the cause, could we, should we have seen it coming. But what had lit the touch paper and set off the raaaaaagh? It could have been the build up to Christmas, the lack of routine, the Xbox, the sugar overdose, the lack of exercise, the present jealousy, the this and the that.
I'm tired of trying to work it out, overanalysing.

Who said what and who did what. The scuffle, the kicking, the punching,  the argy bargy. I'd rather not talk about it, I'd rather not think about it but Mrs C and I did. I'm tired of trying to make sense of the senseless.

So, the next the dysregulation hangover remains, we move delicately around the house. I've put work back a day, it's raining outside and a delicate peace hovers inside.

I choose my first words and tone carefully.

'Get lost' is the reply.

I walk away, to tired to fight, nervous, are we going to play this out again?

My body aches from the argy bargy, the tension, the raaaagh, my heart aches from the argy bargy, the tension and the raaaaagh. I think about the future the whats and ifs. It's ok now but what about in a year or five or ten? The hope and expectation I'd had for the year have dissolved and worry and tension lays like a blanket over us all, we become a one narrative family.

We get through the day without incident.

Like all hangovers, it lifts, slowly but surely, 12, 24, 36 hours and we dare to feel better.
I have no intention of ever doing that again but I'm afraid this one is out of my control.

The Adoption Support Fund: The Word on the Street

Before we start.
I'm not a propaganda tool for the DfE and certainly not for LAs. I have no vested interest, I gain in no way from the Adoption Support Fund doing well. I'm not a therapeutic service or practitioner looking to build my client base or a national charity with services and training to offer or sell. Neither am I an apologist for Social Workers and their practice or a professional critic looking for fault.
I feel better for that.

The Adoption Support Fund (ASF) continues at a pace. Nearly two full months into the fund and the word on the street is that over 200 families have successfully accessed the fund and nearly 400 others are in the process of applying. So that's all good news. In context there were over 20,000 children adopted from care in the UK in the last 5 years alone so still a small proportion have accessed the fund. Clearly, not all will need or want support but the threshold for eligibility is that the child would benefit from therapy so potentially many could apply.

As many have noted a by product of the ASF is that it is acting as a magnifying lens over all local authorities' Post Adoption Service in a way that an audit couldn't possibly do. Many issues are being highlighted, processes, team sizes, allocated resources, waiting times and everyones favourite basic Social Worker practice issues are being dragged under this lens.

In fairness good and bad are being highlighted with some folks having very positive experiences of applying and feeling empowered by the process.Unfortunately this is not always the case with some families waiting weeks just to speak to Post Adoption Social Workers; being given 15 minute appointments or just been put in a queues. I hear adopters talking about uncertainty that Social Workers have in relation to the process and eligibility. So not all is rosy. Some authorities have hit the floor running and have grasped the opportunity to support fund but the painful reality for others is that some LAs are still scratching their heads at the sudden glut of adopters on the phone. Another fight for adoptive families.

We adopters with the ear of the DfE have been asked to gather information on good and bad practice and feed it back. They have stumped up the cash and are keen that it is used. If there are failings in the process or barriers that adopters face they can apply pressure that only they can. They want to know what's happening or not happening.

So, in short, let us know. All confidential.

@nadjasmit

@sallydwrites

@JenniferJ432

Or Facebook me

And in other news we're moving house or as Flossy perceives/feels it the catastrophic end of human civilisation.

Adoption: Is it happy ever after?

A guest post from prospective adopter Eva.

Let me start by saying we are neither naive nor ignorant about the harsh reality of adoption; the ‘trying to raise somebody else’s child’ bits; the ‘trying to make the most of a less-than-ideal situation’ bits; the ‘trying to correct, re-train and manage damage control constantly’ bits... I do get it!

I appreciate the best intentions of adoption trainings where they only try to prepare you for the worst, while they tell you to ‘feel free to hope for the best’, but their knowing smile and sad face speaks louder and we both know better... or do I, really?

We are still waiting to be approved. In the meantime we take part in regular trainings like all adopters do. Recently the topics turned darker with titles like ‘Managing challenging behaviour and the use of restraint’ or ‘Attachment problems and Trauma management’ and these to reinforce this growing feeling inside me that we have signed up for 20+ stormy years with only occasional sunny minutes that are few and far in between.

We were encouraged to join online and offline support groups, subscribe to adoption related magazines, read books, socialise with adopters, hear their stories, follow blogs of funny/experienced/honest/REAL DEAL adopters who have seen it all and willing to share their stories...etc. We jumped onto the bandwagon eagerly realising that we have soooo much to learn! Now my social media feeds, my inbox, my post box is full of stories, full of how-to-avoid articles, and I do get one message loud and clear:

There are no happy ever afters! Ever! It is well worth it, sure, rewarding even, occasionally fun, sometimes OK, but never happy, or not for long anyway!

At the moment I am feeling overwhelmed with all the negativity that I read on Twitter/Facebook/online forums, all that I hear when I ask adopters direct questions or just listen to their ranting about ‘another terrible weekend’, ‘another epic fail’, ‘another bruise’, ‘another fight’... Suddenly I understand abbreviations like CPV (if you know this, well, I am truly sorry; if you don’t, be happy!) all too well.

Even the stock photos of happy people (the ones that are used in adoption advertisements) were condemned as ‘giving false hope and not showing the real side of adoption.’ Another person told me once I adopt a child they will become invisible and can never be seen on photos ever again!

I do understand where all these comments come from. I understand that it is hard, that it can be painful. What I don’t understand is where the happy endings hide??? I refuse to believe there are none! I, for one, am tired of reading only about complaints, challenges and bad days and long for a more balanced representation of this crazy calling.

I am being encouraged ONLY by friends who are not part of the Adoption Triangle; those who don’t have firsthand experience; those who only know somebody who knows somebody who is involved in adoption and sadly I am beginning to believe that their positivism is rooted in blissful ignorance. But even so, they try to do the right thing by lifting my spirit up, bringing my vision back to the positive direction, help me to focus on the bright side and most importantly: don’t crush my hopes and dreams!

So, on behalf of every person who contemplates adoption:

I BEG YOU, ADOPTERS

Please please please post the happy memories too! Encourage prospective adopters with positive messages!

And share happy endings!

It's not personal.

Violence:

1. Behavior or treatment in which physical force is exerted for the purpose of causing damage or injury.
2. Intense force or great power, as in natural phenomena.
3. Extreme or powerful emotion or expression
4. Distortion of meaning or intent.

With the Adoption Social's week of focus on Child to Parent Violence #CPV I've been mulling over my own thoughts and experiences. I often unpick events in minute detail trying to fathom what's happened, what was said, what set us on a path to an incidence of violence. Sometimes I can see plainly and sometimes it's veiled by my lack of insight or understanding.

But really what I'd like to say is how it feels for me. All the books I read and the professionals I speak to. All the still voices of reason and voices of friends and family tell me the same thing. 

It’s not personal.

After we've had a 'incident', when the dust has settled, reconciliation is made and the delicate peace that we live in is restored. 

Then, I know it’s not personal.

I know the violence is born of inexpressible fear and anxiety at the loss of control. 
I know it's the overflow of emotion that cannot be stemmed.
I know it's and the inability to moderate and reason alI routed in a distant experience but bearing fruit in my today. 
I know it's not personal.

When spiders of disassociated fear, anxiety and pain creep closer to my child she lashes out to keep them at bay.

So, it's not personal.

But in truth it often feels it.

It's my body that gets hurt and it's me that is insulted. 

I sometimes wonder if  I'm slowly being eroded by the force of this violent wind. 

This is the paragraph at the end where I tie it up nicely, with a warm sentiment and tell of how love overcomes and parents do what they have to do cos that what we do. But I'm not going to patronise you today.
Fear not, I will keep on and I will refuse to take it personally. 

Truth, Lies and Social Workers

A twitter conversation drew me into thinking about the murky world of the information that we are given as adopters. It reminded me of a lesson we had at the beginning of out journey.

Mrs C and I were allocated our very own Independent Social Worker. The BBC* had commissioned her to just look after us and make sure that we negotiated the adoption process without mishap. It was a rather interesting experience; she had no managers breathing down her neck; no hoops to jump through; no gates to keep or agenda other than supporting us through the process. We would ask questions and she’d give us answers, no ducking, diving, flannel or patter.

It became a little more interesting when we then asked our assessing Social Workers (yes, we had two at the same time) the same questions. What we discovered was that there was an interesting difference between the actual Regulations and Guidance and the policies and practices of our assessing authority. They weren’t massive differences but enough highlight the influences that Social Workers are subject to. What was more interesting was that practice and policy wasn't described as such more that it was the 'law'.
The Law that unquestionable entity that just 'is'.

The question I asked on Twitter this week was quite simple.

"Has anyone requested an Assessment of Need prior to the introduction of the Adoption Support Fund?"

I was surprised by the range of responses that I got when I asked the question:

Some told of Social Workers having never heard of it or having the assessment but never receiving the paperwork for a year after it or waiting up to 18 months for the assessment to start. Adopters being sent on courses as a substitute for the assessment and then being told they were anxious parents. Others of having the assessment but to no effect or others describing having to strong arm the LA into carrying it out. The conversations spiralled and danced around the topic touching on adopter's parenting capacity being questioned and  having asked for an assessment resulting in delayed Adoption Orders.

Though assessments of support needs have been a duty of local authorities since 2005** knowledge of them has not been passed wide and far. I ask you how many adopters sit of an evening and think "I know I'll brush up on some legislative frameworks". It seems that only now, due to the introduction of the ASF, is its existence being widely publicised and is entering into the general knowledge of the adoption community.

Culture, practice, policy, pressure from managers, budgets and the foibles and quirks of their employers have huge implications for the quality of the service that Social Workers can and do give. But also the information that they are given and then pass on to service users. Often they are the bearers of bad news, unhelpful policies or decisions born out of budget restraints rather than good practice. It's crap to be given bad news by a Social Worker I assure you it's crap giving bad news too.

Until now how much have we asked of Adoption Support Services? Many have just given up asking. But now at the very least the ASF has made us aware of their duty* to assess our needs and at this point we are seeing services that may be struggling or may be adapting to this requirement. Infuriating and heartbreaking for parents, equally so for the Social Worker that has to manage our requests and expectations against the directions and decisions of their managers and employers.

Reflecting on the implications of all of this my suspicion is that any weaknesses, mishaps and bureaucratic failings of the Adoption Support Fund are going to wash up at the door of Social Workers. Maybe some of that is deserved, maybe not. Perhaps our anger and difficult questions should be directed at those higher up the ladder, maybe right to the top.

One of Noam Chomsky's theories of manipulation, the problem-reaction-solution model, describes the idea of creating problems through neglect then offering solutions in the guise of privatisation of public services. Perhaps this will be the future of adoption support.
Perhaps not, it's just a thought.

The lesson I learnt from my BBC Social Worker was that we should not accept all that is told to us, to look closer and get good and impartial advice.

The lesson I learnt from questioning/interrogating my children is only ask them questions I know the answer to.

*The BBC followed us through the adoption process from 1998 to 2002 for a 6 part documentary on adopters and adoption.

**The Adoption Support Service Regulations 2005 -  Section 13 & 14 (click link)

Hurricane - National Sibling Day

I will confess to feeling a warming of my heart as Flossy and Lotty ran together across the large play area. It was so nice to see them enjoying each others company as they united in a common goal. Casting aside usual differences they put their remarkable energy and willpower into a shared task that they both clearly felt passionate about.

Ah, bless.

I was not proud that they intended to rip the arms off a 4 year old boy and beat him to death with them. But it was lovely to see them not fighting each other and moreover sharing something. The little boy hadn’t realised what he was dealing with when he over zealously pushed a then 3 year old Lotty off a play slide, she’d sought out Flossy, 4, and formed an alliance to ‘resolve’ the issue.

Fortunately, I’d witnessed the whole event and having perceived their intended goal I managed to sprint across the room to save to poor unfortunate soul. 

He’d sown the wind and was about to reap the whirlwind.

Though clouded in mystery and intrigue part of our motivation to adopt a sibling group was born from a desire to keep siblings together. We had this, perhaps romantic, view that that must be in the best interest of children.

Sarah, Gracie and Ginger were the embodiment of that. Throughout their child hood they were best mates. We rarely had any of their friends over, they just played nice for the 12 years the three of them lived in the house. The odd squabble and spat of course but no more than that.

Flossy and Lotty are a different matter. Enmity, jealousy and at a pleasure in the others misfortune is in their way. The reasons are multiple and complex. They share common biographies but differ in all the wrong, or right, places.

I’m not naive I know all siblings can fight, bicker, get jealous and fall out. But this is something different. Enmity was sown between them through contact experiences and is perpetuated by anxiety, fear, temperament, hurt, adrenaline and a raft of stuff. Sometimes one is the antagonist sometimes the other and sometimes both.

The rare times that they unite it is against Mrs C, one of the big ones or me.

They love each other I have no doubt but even that is a complex emotion.

Is it in their best interests that they were kept together? I can't and won't answer that but I'd be lying if on the worst days wondering what if.

When the regular headlines come out noting that X number of children in care are separated from siblings my heart cries ‘no’ and my head asks ‘perhaps there’s good reason’. 
Once again dogma, romance and popularism have no place in adoption, rather case by case pragmatic decisions.  

Triangle

As theoretical model the adoption triangle is fairly clear.

Though it reflects the individuals at the core of the adoption process it doesn't reflect the nature of the relationships or the process of adoption.
I find myself waking in the early hours with my mind ruminating on the the challenges faced by all the players in adoption. Increasingly my mind  sticks on the position and status of the members of the triangle.
In part this is highlighted by my own children moving into adulthood but also informed by my own professional and personal experiences.

The twitter adoption community feeds and threads are full of comments about challenges faced, mainly anonymous, and often aimed at Social Workers, Local Authorities, policy and government.
I'd do the same but they know who I am. It all points to the unseen member of the triangle

I would propose that we re draw the adoption triangle and reflect the status of the parties and players.

We could  argue about the position and size of my infographic bubbles. But for many of the players this is how it feels.

What scares me is if I was to have drawn this 50 years ago I'm not sure it would be any different.

Loss

I try to make my ramblings upbeat and I can assure many aspects of life in Coates Towers is positive. Of late it seems like there’s been a lot of tricky stuff going on for the kids and us. Re reading my posts I wonder if my blog should be titled ‘How not to adopt’ or ‘101 things about adoption you never cared to ask’.

This is our life at the moment and it reflects my belief that to adopt is to embrace sadness at some level. Even in the most successful, harmonious and straightforward adoption* at its heart lies an unavoidable sadness. We live with this tension and it’s varying manifestations in our lives day by day. It's the cup we drink from.

Added to our measure this week was the death of a close family friend. Over the last 8 years she had been an invaluable and unique source of support, insight, information to Mrs C and I and to Flossy and Lotty. Though her death was anticipated it has come as a shock to the children. Their response is complex it’s their first experience of the death of someone close. Predictably we’ve seen some interesting behaviour and grief manifested in many ways. Complex emotions and challenges to their understanding have left them in a fog of dysregulation.

Our friend, Flossy and Lotty’s birth Aunt, came into our lives in unique and unusual circumstances. We insisted on contact with her against the wishes of our Local Authority, and our Fostering Social Worker pled our case to the judge at the placement order hearing** and it was reluctantly granted. Tentatively we built trust and confidence and slowly, very slowly, she became a friend and then family.

We’d see each other weekly, Mrs C would talk and text daily. The two dimensional pantomime villains of our children’s paperwork became real people, lives, hopes, dreams, mistakes, tragedy and wrong decisions. She was a firewall between us and the less safe elements of birth family and an open door to the safe elements.

She broke the news of birth mum’s pregnancy to Mrs C, the imminent birth of Peanut. Mrs C and her agreed that it was best if Peanut came to live with us and 20 months later Peanut did***.

Flossy and Lotty loved their aunty, she was a tangible part of their lives and history that could not be replicated in a life story book or letter. She was an essential part of our lives she was a member of our family. We were blessed to see the pleasure she took in seeing her nieces grow.

All our grief and loss is compounded by our inability to attend the funeral to share our loss with her loved ones. Mrs C was able covertly to attend her bedside in her dying days and thank her for all she had done. This is the end of a special chapter of all our lives.

We feel blessed to have known her, rest in peace J.

*No such thing

**It’s complicated

***It’s very complicated

ASF

To cut a long story short I was invited to be a part of the Department of Educations Adoption Support Expert Advisory Group at the end of last year. Clearly, I need more things to do in my life but this seemed like too good an opportunity to pass. So, with a little trepidation I got myself down to that London, cycled through the city and rocked up to the Department of Education's HQ.

It was a long meeting with some of the great and good of the adoption landscape, civil servants, experts and the like. I worked hard and managed to not shame myself or the person who nominated me though it's early days and my capacity for stupidity is bordering on world class. I confess to feeling like Mr Bean as I got slightly lost on my way to the toilet in the corridors of power I broke into a minor panic anticipating Hugh Thornbury morphing into Malcolm Tucker at my ineptitude. He did not.

I'm there for no other reason than I've adopted children and appear on first glance to be able to string a few words together. I'm conscious that there are many adopters with a range of experiences. Reflecting on my position I can't help but think of the scores of adopters that find themselves in a position that they did not necessarily anticipate as they set out on their road to adoption.


We anticipated living with our children within the realms of normality, perhaps not in a little house on a prairie bubble of loveliness but at least in the spectrum of normal. We love our children, as Mrs C says every child is a gift. Some of these gifts come with shadows cast across their short lives and in need of support that stretches our knowledge and abilities.
So, we find ourselves at the mercy of the state, perhaps financially, but certainly in relation to provision of therapeutic support. Too many of us have been told their are no funds available or wait months for emergency referrals only to be told that they don't meet the threshold for services.

The Adoption Support Fund is a finite resource with its long term future yet to be clarified but it is here now and those of us who need it should grab it while we can.
Of course there are questions, uncertainties and as a new service areas for clarification and improvement but my hope is that it is symbolic of a change in government perceptions from a romanticised happy ever after 1960's model of adoption. That this will help to transform adoption into a contemporary service that is formed to meet the needs of children and adults. Where not only our right to assessment is enshrined in law but the needs identified in that assessment are met.

So, if you feel you need help call your Post Adoption Social Worker and ask them for an assessment of your family's needs and at least begin a conversation.

If you have a thought, question, query or comment then get in touch through twitter, blog or Google+. I'm not an apologist for the fund nor am I responsible for it but I endeavour to represent adopters in all their incarnations.

Just say no

If you can imagine the scene I’ve managed all day to avoid fights and strife. I’ve smoothed the path before my child at every turn. As I tuck them up in bed, about to kiss them lovingly on the forehead I can almost taste the relief, relaxation and few hours ahead where all I have to worry about is me.

Then she asks:

“Can I have a hot chocolate?”

Time slows to an almost stop and before me.

I visualise the potential outcome dependent on what I do next.

Option 1

I say “No, it’s a bit late now”, it all unravels, we fall into a dysregulation freefall of biblical proportions. Anything is possible, from fisticuffs, one sided slagging matches to bolting out the front door in PJs. Sleep is postponed for at least 90 mins.

Option 2

I say “Of course poppet, should we put cream and marshmallows on it”. Not ruddy likely. I frame parenting in terms of winning and losing and in this option she’s won. From this night on she would consider bedtime hot chocolate a basic human right and demand it every night.

Option 3

I say anything but the word “No”. I might say, “Of course you can. How about we put sprinkles on, oh (slaps forehead dramatically) what about your sister Peanut? She would love a hot chocolate but she’s asleep. (Pause for effect).Do you think tomorrow you could make one for her? Do you think you’re big enough to make a hot chocolate? I’m not sure, well perhaps, would you like to try tomorrow?”

I go for C, distraction and choice, I appeal to her better nature; a bit of flattery and challenge. All the while stalling for time hoping that the moment will pass and a different part of the brain will wake up.

I’m the master of saying “no” without saying “no”, the non-answer distraction technique.

Yes, I do sometimes just say “no” and it’s ok.

I sometimes say it because I can’t be bothered or am sick of being so damn wishy-washy. 

I sometimes say it and it kicks right off.

The word “no” provokes a response in my child like nothing else. Clearly, nobody likes being told “no” to a request, I don’t and Mrs C doesn’t. But for some children who’ve been ‘through the mill’ it can provoke an extreme response. A simple word that seems to provoke an avalanche of emotion and a crushing sense of being unloved and being unlovable.

If that how it feels then no wonder she doesn’t like it.

Today

I enjoying writing my blog, playing with thoughts and stories, turning them into little windows into our life. I enjoy the opportunity to reflect on the ebb and flow of our daily family life and some of the broader issues that impact on adoption.

Today I feel the need to write, but I've nothing to say, not because there's a lack of things to tell more that I'm struggling to bring a little light. I try to write with hope and humour to side step the 'other stuff' but today there seems to be more of the 'other stuff'.

Nothing out of our ordinary has happened; trips to school to talk to staff; unending negotiations/fights about 'screen time'; hyper stress and anxiety over what to wear to school on children in need day, near psychotic sibling rivalry and a bit of violence.

But today I'm struggling to see where the future lies. This week I confessed to a friend that my greatest ambition for one of my children was that she'd still be living with me by the time she's 16.

In another life she'd be the head girl, she's bright, athletic and focused. But were not living that life and in this life she's all those things but terrified and frequently dysregulated as well. My hopes are a set lower.

Today my head hangs low, my heart is heavy and I ask Mrs C 'is it all going to be ok?'.

She says 'Yes' and I'm choosing to believe her.

'Hope that is seen is no hope at all'

Maybe tomorrow the tables will turn, she'll be asking and I'll be answering.

We've been in darker spots, days when we both asked and there was nobody to answer.

That's what I've got to say today.

Men

As much as I enjoyed the Open Nest Taking Care event, and I did, I came a way with more questions than I thought I would.

Please don't perceive this as naysaying because it isn't, I thought the day was fantastic and everyone I spoke to shared a similar view.

I confess to being perpetually confused by the disparity between Twitter names and 'real' names. Next year I'm coming in disguise as I felt significantly disadvantaged being an 'out' member of the community. I have being pondering the nature and reasons for protecting our identities and the underlying concerns and fears.

But my resounding question was, 'where are the menfolk?'.

In a room of over 80 attendees I counted perhaps only 7 or 8 men which clearly makes them significantly under represented. However, the attendees reflected the online community built around the excellent work of the Adoption Social and The Open Nest and the Twitter network that gravitates around them a predominantly female community.

I don't like stereotypes, however they can sometimes have a shadow of truth at their heart, 

Generally I find talking about my worries, stresses and strains, unhelpful. I prefer to escape on my bike and blow the proverbial tubes out. Like coming home from work the last thing I want to do is talk about my day, I want to leave it at work. This is true for the scrapes and bruises that I face with the family. Often I just need to be alone with my thoughts and only rarely do I talk to Mrs C or post to Twitter.  Perhaps I don't want to be perceived as not managing or or struggling. Maybe I just want to bury my head in the sand for a few hours or not to have every waking moment consumed by 'the kids'. 

But I dare not presume to speak on behalf of all the adoptive fathers and dad's. They're probably not even reading this so what does it matter. 

Are men struggling? I'm sure some are, I know I do. We have unique stresses we see our, generally female, loved ones bear the brunt of pain and anger. If we work we often are rendered impotent receiving texts and calls recounting behaviour at home; walking into homes after or during conflict or seeing our loved ones harmed emotionally and physically.

So, how do we provide support, how do we target support and do men want it? I'm just not sure.  

I'm not sure what I want. 

I spoke to a few women and they hinted that their male partners were perhaps on a 'different page'. Maybe that is part of the problem.

Maybe there is no problem. 

Maybe I need a ride on my bike to think it out.

Dust on my Shoes

Our Matatu came for us at 3am and we started the 22-hour journey home from the Sure 24 orphanage and school, Nakuru, Kenya to my front door.

It’s a long journey, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to slowly unpack the experience of spending time with these remarkable children and the adults who give themselves to care for them.

There are many things that I’m bringing back, stories,  feelings, thoughts, experiences, trinkets for my children and dust, lots of dust, everywhere, in my clothes, in my bags and on my shoes.

However, the enduring feeling is one of hope.

Through my eyes I’ve struggled to see how many of the children can overcome their experience and I am astonished at the sense of hope that permeates the home and school.

Yes, I’ve seen children on the fringes that are deeply affected by their experiences.  I wonder about the therapeutic value of shared trauma and loss and the mutual support that the children give each other. Those on the fringes are not falling through the net, but resources are limited.

Staff work ceaselessly to primarily meet the children’s needs as well promote a route for the children out of crushing poverty. Almost everyone, adults and children, has a collective gratitude for what they do have and they believe that things will get better. They have a hope, born from a personal and collective faith and a belief in the transformative, and proven, power of education.

With two street children now at University and others training for employment they see that there a route from where they have come to a different life. Many of the children are moving onto high school and the Sure24 Primary School rated by the government as the best in the municipality.

What I want to bring back is hope.

I need a little hope for my family, it feels almost absurd to discuss my circumstances in the same post.

But I have mentioned them and I know this, without  hope then our hearts grow sick* and everything is too much.

So, I’m bringing back hope and like handful of dust I threw in my bag, a little bit goes a long way.

If you’d like to know more about the work of Sure 24 then visit

http://www.friendsofsure24.org.uk

*That’s in the bible that is.