The most powerful stories are those most difficult to own….
We are often asked by media, funders and sponsors to put
families forward to tell their stories.
I understand; a real life story, a photo of the family, these resonate,
people can relate to them and see the difficulties faced by a family not that
different to their own. Funders can see
the difference that support has made, the impact for the better and also hear
the voices of those for whom our service exists. All of that said, it’s an aspect of charity
work that I wrangle with. Something that
goes against our instinct to protect the people that we work with and help them
to preserve their privacy as they work through their challenges in the hope of
coming out of the other side. The result
of this regular request for families to own their stories publicly is that
those with the most powerful of experiences to share are the ones that never
make it to press.
Those stories however, are never far from my mind, having
worked alongside many families for whom owning their history publicly would
have been too stressful. These are the
ones that give the true accounts of challenges faced.
One such story is that of a little girl called Megan and her
dad, Ben. A family that I will never
forget.
When Megan was born, the family lived in a rural village
community. Mum, Marie, stayed at home to
bring up Megan whilst Ben held down a skilled job in a local engineering firm
working long hours. When Megan was a
toddler Marie suffered a sudden brain haemorrhage and passed away. Ben
tried to maintain his job but the enormity of dealing with his grief, caring
for Megan and having no family support around him proved unmanageable. The constant reminders of a life irrevocably
changed, his loss of identity that his job had provided and the instant need
for him to be Megan’s whole world meant that Ben found himself looking for
escape. Financial pressures were also
proving too much and so he took the decision for a fresh start in Blackpool,
the town where he had positive memories of his own childhood and also time
spent with Marie.
Ben’s hopes for solace and a new life by the sea were short
lived as he felt more isolated. With
limited knowledge of Blackpool, small things like using the bus and doing the
weekly shop became huge hurdles that he felt unable to cope with alongside
being a full time dad to Megan and having no one to share his worries and
feelings with. His escape to find a new
life had become his prison. With deteriorating
mental health alongside the grief of losing Marie, Ben started to self-medicate
with alcohol and cannabis. He found
sleep difficult – either too much sleep or not going to bed for days. Routines were hazy, some days were better
than others but not many days would pass before the wave of being overwhelmed
rose up again and alcohol would win out.
Whilst Megan was below school age, little was noticed of Ben’s
battle to cope. With limited input from
the outside world other than the odd visit to the GP, Ben and Megan existed
alone. As Megan started school and
settled into life outside of home, teachers noticed that all was not ok. Although a bright and happy child, eager to
learn and responsive to those around her, Megan worried a lot about dad and
talked about ‘looking after him’. School
supported Ben to talk to them about his home life with Megan and, over time,
suggested that our young carers family support may help them.
I remember visiting Ben and Megan at home for the first
time. Wary of support, not used to
having anyone in his home, Ben was very conscious that he felt he was letting Megan
down, not up to being a good dad by having to ask for help. Megan however, was a whirlwind of smiling
energy! Excited to have someone new to
talk to, someone she could show off her dancing talents to, ask lots of
questions of and most visits were topped off with her rummaging in my handbag
for lip gloss! Watching them together it
was clear to see the love and bond between them but for Ben his conversation
was focused on him feeling that he was not a good enough dad, that he was out
of his depth and didn’t know where to start.
Since losing Marie he felt that he had lost his anchor in life. He needed help to tackle practical things
such as how to manage the home, pay bills, make meals, have a good bedtime
routine for Megan. Small things like knowing how to put Megan’s hair in
pigtails, at what age it would be ok to let her go to the corner shop alone,
how often to change the bedding and clean the fridge, were all conversations
that he had no one to share with. These
small things had become big things to him as he felt that he was doing everything
wrong and couldn’t live up to how Marie had kept everything running. His ‘normal’ was going out to work each day
but this felt far out of reach for him now.
Our work together focused on helping Ben to make good
decisions for the future as well as working on the small wins such as taking Megan
to the park and teaching him how to do plaits in her hair. We worked to reduce
his drinking, start treatment and also to attend counselling….a huge step for
him to open up feelings so deep rooted but we did this together. My time with Megan was a joy! Once a week I would collect her from
school. This was her time to talk and
play, her time to be a little girl, not a young carer. I clearly remember our first trip to the
park. As we walked to the playground we
talked about our favourite places and best memories. She took my hand and said ‘this is my
favourite thing ever!’ Although they
lived half a mile from the park she didn’t know that such a place existed. Our time there was spent exploring and eating
ice creams, talking about how much she loved her dad and that, although
sometimes he was sad, she could always make him smile. The week after Ben joined us at the
park. Megan’s excitement overruled his
anxieties about coming along. He sat and
watched as I pushed her on the swings and stood guard whilst she navigated the
climbing frames. The week after Ben
started to become more confident in joining in with the play. He said that he had worried that people would
judge him, that they would know that he wasn’t coping, that he wasn’t the dad
that he should be. The reality, he
realised, was that every parent is living their own struggles and too occupied
in their own lives to notice, especially when chasing children around the
playground! Megan joined our youthclub
respite sessions as Ben became more confident in her being away from him. She bounded in each week ready to meet new
friends and threw herself into whatever activities were on offer. As time passed, Ben began to see life in
colour again. Through his treatment
programme he met others who supported his recovery, he started to join in with
life. Rather than drop Megan off at
school and speak to no one, he was more willing to talk to staff if he was
worried about anything or needed advice about Megan’s progression.
There are no quick fixes, no magic wands, but as a family
they made huge strides together to make life better. Ben now understands addiction, his own
behaviours and limitations. This doesn’t
mean that his drinking and using will never be a problem again, but his
learning is there and he has more self awareness to see problems before they
turn into chaos. For Megan, she always
was astute, but through the time we spent together she now understands that
dad’s drinking, using and mental health are not her fault or in her control. Now she is older, she can help him to find
ways out of his spiralling thinking and she knows where to go for support for
both her and dad. Their story may never
have the happy ending that everyone wants for them but they are in a better
position to make things work for them.
Owning this story may have been something that Ben and Megan
could do at certain points in their journey, but then that would be out there
for all to see when times turn bad or when they want to move on from their past
and not be reminded of it. For these
reasons we are there to keep their stories anonymous but we can still be touched
by them. I will never forget Megan’s
hand taking mine and now that she is older I hope that she still remembers the
time we spent together too.
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