Your Stories
The atrophying of connection in the OOHC system
My experience of relationships in OOHC is that human connection is at the same time the most important but elusive part of my work as a therapist. When I first started in my field, there was a lot of discussion around the impact of trauma on children and how this shaped their development. We were taught about ‘trauma informed practice’ and believed that this would change the way psychology would work. As the years progressed though, I saw these deeply informed and human ideas fail in practice again and again. While we’ve never known more about what we should do to help, children’s access to enduring relationships which nurture and sustain these ideals has never been less.
And this is hard for helping adults like me, even as far removed from their daily lives as I am. As their therapist, I watch and acknowledge that tipping point when I become the adult that has known them the longest. Or one of the first males that didn’t hurt or ignore them. When I ask them about who they are before I read what strangers have written about them. I try to help them understand why they were relinquished by carers who feel abandoned by the system and try to help them believe that it’s not their fault, that they are worthy of love. It is humbling to see how little is needed from me to connect with a child who has no reason to trust but fights to stay curious and hopeful. Moments of humour and shared interest and stories that are honoured, all of these require the child and another.
It is this other that feels desperately hard to find. That is what a relational approach to OOHC means to me and why I am fighting for change. All human beings reflect and grow through connection with the soul of another. For the child this means a home with an adult that is known to them and knowing of them. For the caregiver, it is permission to fail and rage but feel safe to keep trying because they know they’re not alone. And for people like me, a helping adult standing beside others, a relational approach allows me to understand and endure this challenging work. It gives me a foundation to apply theory I know works in a child’s brain and body but also permission to name the needs of adults around them.
I don’t yet know all of the ways a relational model of OOHC would work, but I do know this. A relational model would acknowledge the atrophying of connection in the OOHC sector. It would name and broadcast the deprivation experienced by children in institutional care. It would hold a mirror up to actions across the sector, including mine, and demand that our concept of child welfare include ongoing connection as well as immediate safety. I believe this would give all of us permission to name a creeping dread that many of us feel, that we are doing more harm than good despite our best intentions.
This small story represents my effort to bear witness to the children and families who have shared their time and lives with me over twenty something years, for this I say thank you.