Tracey is having her first session with a counsellor, and is recounting her life history:

I’ve just turned 30. I’ve been a social worker for five years now, and most of the time I enjoy my job, though sometimes I find it difficult, especially with families like the Dudleys. I think I’m a pretty resilient person, but some people just seem to get under your skin and make you wonder if you’re in the wrong job, and think there must be a less stressful way of earning a living. But I’m not about to give up; I’ve worked hard to get where I am today. When I left school with no qualifications, I never dreamed I could go to university and have a proper career; in fact, I didn’t feel I had much of a future at all. But then I managed to get a few GCSEs at college, and then got a job as a carer in an old people’s home, and discovered I was good at it. So one thing led to another, and I began to get better jobs and to take advantage of some of the opportunities for training that they offered, and eventually I decided I wanted to try and become a social worker. Ken and Mary encouraged me; they always believed I could do it even when I doubted it myself. I couldn’t have done it without Rob’s support either. We met when we were both working in a supported housing project. It was my first proper relationship; there’d been others before, but they’d all been pretty disastrous one way or another. He’d just finished his social work training, and talking to him about it began to make it seem like a possibility for me too. We moved in together after we’d known each other for about six months, and by that time I’d started on an access course. It was really hard work, but it prepared me well for uni, and I loved the social work course. It made me see so many things differently, including my own life history.

It helped so much that Rob was happy to support me financially so that I didn’t have to try and hold down a job as well while I was training. Although I was nervous about the placements, once I got started I was fine. I seemed to find confidence I didn’t know I had, although there was lots to learn. I was only 24, but I wasn’t as young as some of the other students, and I had a lot of life experience that they didn’t; I knew what it was like to be on the other side of things. I got offered a job in the team where I did my final placement, and I’m still there now.

I became a social worker because I wanted to make a difference to children’s lives. I know what it’s like when things are difficult in your family; I had a rotten start in life, with a mum who couldn’t cope and a dad who walked out when I was a baby, before he’d even had a chance to get to know me. He took my two brothers with him too, and I never saw them again. My Nanna often used to talk about them. I spent lots of time at her house when I was little; I think my mum was working then. I’ve got good memories of cuddling up on the sofa with Nanna, with her reading me stories or watching the children’s programmes on the television together. But all that stopped when my mum moved in with Dave. I remember a huge row one day when he and my mum came to pick me up from Nanna’s. I don’t know what it was about, but everyone was shouting, and we drove off so fast from the house that I remember being really scared we were going to crash. I don’t remember too clearly about things after that, but I know from what I’ve been told that things got really bad at home, with my mum and Dave drinking, and lots of arguments. I do remember one time seeing my mum with bruises all down her face, and her telling me that Dave had done it. I know I was scared of him, and I think I did my best to keep out of his way, and to keep my baby sister out of his way too. He hated her crying, so I used to think up games to play with her to make her smile and keep her quiet and happy. I was at school by then, and I didn’t like having to leave her when it was school time.

Then Social Services got involved, and we were all taken away; me, my little sister and the new baby who had just been born, who I never even saw. I didn’t know about her until much later on, when my social worker told me when we were doing my life story. She was adopted straight away. I went to live with Nanna, but she didn’t feel she could manage my little sister as well. She hardly knew her, because Dave had stopped my mum from having much to do with Nanna. So she was fostered, and I really missed her. I asked Nanna to take me to see her, but the foster carers lived quite a long way away and Nanna couldn’t drive, so she said we couldn’t do it. It still upsets me, that; I don’t know why she and the social worker couldn’t see how important it was for me. Looking back, I think maybe she was already becoming ill, and she just didn’t have the energy to make the long bus journey. And our whole family seemed to be falling apart, and perhaps she just felt there was nothing she could do about it except look after me.

When I was 8 Nanna had a bad heart attack. She’d had heart trouble for a while; I remember she couldn’t push me on the swings any more when we went to the playground, and she kept having to sit down and rest when we went to the shops. The doctor said it was too much for her to look after me, and that’s when I went to live with Mary and Ken, my foster carers. They’ve been my parents, really. I don’t know how they’ve put up with me sometimes, especially when I was a teenager. I was horrible! Skipping school, staying out late, drinking, drugs, boys; all the usual things. They’d seen it all before, I suppose. They’d been fostering for years before they had me, and they had plenty of experience of problem adolescents. And they somehow saw through the behaviour to the sadness and anger that was underneath it, although I couldn’t talk or think about any of that then myself; I was just trying to run away from it all.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. When I first went to Mary and Ken’s I was fine. I was able to stay at the same school, and I still saw Nanna sometimes, and we’d watch television together, just like when I was little. But then, when I was 12 she had another heart attack, and this time she didn’t survive it. Mary and Ken went with me to her funeral, and I just remember feeling bewildered, empty and alone. My mum wasn’t there; no one had been able to contact her, or even knew where she was. It was awful. So, I guess that’s when it all started. I think Mary did try to get me some counselling then, but my social worker at the time was a bit useless, and it never happened. They kept changing, too, and it wasn’t until I was 15 that I got a decent one. She was really great. Her name was Lynn, and it was thanks to her that my life began to get back on track. By then I’d got pregnant and had a termination, and I was in a real mess, depressed, self-harming, hardly going to school at all. She got some therapy organised for me and helped me apply to college when I failed my GCSEs. She was only young, but I seemed to be able to talk to her about anything. She did a life story book with me, which helped me to make more sense of what had happened to me and why. She found out that my little sister had been adopted after she was fostered, and that really upset me, because I’d always hoped I’d see her again sometime. I suppose it could happen now we’re both grown up, but it won’t be the same. She also tried to trace my father and my two half-brothers, but drew a blank there. I wasn’t too bothered about my father, but I would like to have known about my brothers. I didn’t want her to try and find my mum either; I figured it was up to her to find me if she wanted to.

I suppose it was Lynn that first made me think about becoming a social worker. I remember asking her about it when we were applying to college, but she said I needed to wait till I was older before deciding, and Mary and Ken said the same. And when she told me you needed a degree, I gave up the idea. At that stage, I didn’t even think I would manage to get my GCSEs. But I made it, and here I am! When Ken died suddenly two years ago one of the things Mary kept saying was how glad she was that at least he’d lived to see me make a success of my life. It’s been so hard for her. They did everything as a couple – they were always Mary and Ken – and now it’s just her on her own.

I spend as much time as I can with her, and I help with some of the practical things, but it never feels enough. I miss him too. He wasn’t a great talker, but he always made you feel that everything would be all right just by being there.

When I think about it, I have quite a lot on my mind at the moment. There are always things to worry about at work, I’m worried about Mary, and Rob and I don’t seem to be quite as much on the same wavelength as we used to be. We don’t argue, but I used to feel that I could talk to him about anything, and just come out with whatever was in my mind. But lately, I’ve found myself feeling more and more strongly that I’d like us to have a baby. The only time I’ve ever mentioned it he looked really surprised and a bit shocked, and said, ‘But what about the boys?’. He’s got two sons from his first marriage; they’re 10 and 12 and they spend alternate weekends and part of every school holiday with us. I love having them, and we all get on really well, but it wasn’t easy at first, and I suppose he’s worried about upsetting them, and us not being able to do the kinds of things we do with them now, like camping and canoeing, if we had a baby as well. So I haven’t dared raise it again, but I think about it all the time. Time is going on, I’m past 30 now, and I don’t think I could bear it if I never had the chance to have a child of my own. But I couldn’t bear it if Rob and I split up either, so I don’t know what to do.

When I’m at work, I can forget about my own problems. Most of the time, I feel focused and effective, and I think generally I do a good job. It can be stressful, but I usually find I can leave the stress at work, even though I work long hours and don’t have much time for a social life. But just at the moment I’m not sleeping very well, and when I’m lying awake at night I find myself worrying about my cases. It’s the Dudley family mainly that’s on my mind (Cases G: Dudley/Harris family). It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what is worrying me about them. There’s plenty to worry about, for sure; the house is usually dirty and smelly, and Caitlin and Josh are being neglected when their mum just opts out and takes to her bed leaving Chloe and Hannah in charge. They’re clearly both struggling; we’ve just had this report from the school that Chloe has been talking about suicide, Hannah’s just had a termination, and neither of them will talk to anyone, so it’s hard to know how to help them. And Caitlin’s a worry, too. Her bedwetting is getting worse, and she’s obviously unhappy. Josh’s behaviour in school is becoming a problem as well, and he’s only 6. Lee won’t take any responsibility at home; he leaves it all to the girls, and his attitude is making Caitlin and Josh’s problems worse. They all need help, and I can’t get through to any of them. The only one who’ll talk to me at all is Lisa, but she just tells me that she’ll try and do better as a parent, and I know that she’s just telling me what I want to hear, and that it won’t make any difference. I just want to shake her sometimes and tell her to get her act together, stand up to Lee and put her kids first for a change. I feel so angry with her. And then that feels really unprofessional, and it doesn’t help.

It’s not as if I haven’t worked with families like this before, and I know it’s difficult. But I feel absolutely out of my depth with the Dudleys. I find my heart sinking when I’m due to visit them, and I’ll often convince myself that there’s another more urgent piece of work that gives me an excuse to postpone my visit. I get this horrible feeling in my stomach as I walk up to their door, and I just feel I want to run away. I’m always relieved when Lee isn’t at home, though I know I need to engage with him because his attitude is part of the family’s problems. Once when I did try to talk to him, he got really abusive and swore at me, shouting ‘What does a young girl like you know about people like us, and what it’s like to try and raise your kids decently round here?’. Young girl! He’s only 7 years older than me!

But it’s true that working with the Dudleys does make me feel more like a young girl than an experienced professional social worker. I feel deskilled, and I don’t seem to be able to take a step back and think clearly about levels of risk and what possible ways there are of working with the family members, either separately or together. When I meet with other professionals to discuss the case, I notice that I seem to feel much more anxious about it than the others do. Of course, we all have concerns, and we’re doing what we can to address them through the children’s schools. But should we be doing more? Or am I getting things out of proportion? I just keep going round in circles with it.