The phrase “the good enough mother” was coined by Donald Winnicott to take the pressure off mothers. In his view, most mothers would quite naturally do what was required to ensure the healthy development of their children without having to listen to the likes of him (although, admittedly, this did not prevent him from doing a series of radio talks on the matter). You don’t have to be perfect, you just have to be good enough. Winnicott, as with many things he said, was of course correct. Obviously, it is not the 1940s, so “good enough” now refers to good enough care, not just mothering.
Lost In Care
14 years working in residential children's homes. 5 years training foster carers and care staff. Trainee child therapist. 14 years in care as a child. Diary, anecdotes and rants about the good, bad and mediocre. Anonymised but all true.
I am doing a “shadow shift” at a therapeutic community – it is part of their recruitment process – when I first meet Sam. He has just turned 10, he is skinny and small for his age with lank, greasy hair and wears Wellington boots and a black, quilted coat – both of which he refuses to take off indoors. Sam tells me he has lived there for a year. He seems fairly keen to get to know me – much to my relief because I am equally keen to show my potential employers how well I interact with children.
I guess I’ll start with the bare facts: Jenny had been living with her father until just under a year ago when she disclosed he was physically abusing her. She was removed. A few months later Jenny discloses her father sexually abused her. He confesses but claims he didn’t do anything wrong because they were ‘in a relationship’. Jenny’s father is charged with multiple counts of rape and possessing indecent images. It is because of the material found on his hard drive that we can be certain the abuse of Jenny started when she was two-years-old. Continue reading
What do you think of Donald Trump? Seriously, think of some words you would use to describe him now. I reckon most of the readers of this blog will have had negative thoughts to say the least – I am making an assumption but it is an assumption I would stake my life on. Just out of interest, did you judge the behaviour and not the person? Like we’re meant to? I bet you didn’t.
When I was about 20-years old, I shut myself away for a few weeks in the one room I was living in. I didn’t answer the phone or engage with the outside world in any way – other than to cash my dole cheque to buy food and baccy. The baccy ran out of course, so I would recycle my dog ends, and then recycle them again. I can still remember the smell of my fingers. Food would run out too of course, so occasionally I had to venture out and shoplift.
Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.
Carl Jung
Carl Jung used the concept of “the wounded healer” (which he borrowed from Greek mythology) to describe his belief that psychoanalysts need to use their awareness and understanding of their own emotional struggles in order to help others with theirs. He also believed that through this process the analyst would help to heal him or herself.
Firstly, before I become all “left-brained” about this, imagine actually doing it. Close your eyes if you need to. Imagine the feel of an AA battery in your hand – the size, the weight. Notice how solid it is. Now imagine resting it between your lips – the feel of cold metal. Picture yourself pushing the AA battery, with the tip of your finger, all the way into your mouth and towards the back of your tongue. Now imagine swallowing. Go on – really imagine it.
I wonder where you are right now? I am here – in my bedroom, in the house that I share, lying on my bed, propped up on pillows, legs bent to push this laptop close to my hands. I can hear the breeze in the trees outside, the gentle thump of the tumble dryer downstairs, and a train passing. I can feel the weight and heat of the laptop on my thighs and stomach. I can feel my hair, still damp from a recent bath and a vague, but always with me,ache in my lower back – I assume it is an unavoidable symptom of the gradual onset of middle-age. And I am thinking about you.
I recently wrote a piece for Community Care about the difficulties involved in keeping some looked after children safe and what I think needs to be done to address this. If you haven’t already, you can read it here. It received a much bigger response than anything else I have ever written – most of it positive or, at least, engaged with the issue, and some of it critical.
However, while it is of course flattering when people say nice things or agree with me on Twitter (I have an ego), I did not write it for these reasons. Nor did I write it as clickbait for Community Care. I wrote it because I am very worried about the issue and feel passionately about it. It is for this reason I am pleased it got a bit of attention.
As most of you won’t have noticed, I haven’t written for a while. I couldn’t think of anything to say. Taken as a whole this blog is fairly bleak and I noticed the most popular posts were generally the ones in which I lay bare painful autobiographical detail or describe the traumatic experiences of children I have looked after. There is value in telling these stories of course, but I think it started to skew the way I was thinking about my work and my own past – as if it was all just material to write about. I gradually became uncomfortable with this.
I said goodbye to Scarlett yesterday – tomorrow she moves to her fifth placement in the 18 months she has been “looked-after”. She has been with us since Christmas Eve. I will discuss why in a moment, but first:
What a cold, clinical and straight-out horrible word, it has just occurred to me, “placement” is. There is a reason we use words like this as professionals – it’s a defence. It protects us from having to confront the full reality of what is happening. “Placement” doesn’t have quite the same emotional resonance as “home” does it?
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