Inside Kinship Care

Understanding Family Dynamics and Providing Effective Support

David Pitcher

• Publisher: Jessica Kingsley Publishers
• Year: 2013
• Print ISBN: 9781849053464
• eBook ISBN: 9780857006820
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Social Work
• Index: Social Sciences

Kinship care – the care of children by grandparents, other relatives or friends – is a major part of foster care, yet there are distinct issues that arise in care involving family rather than 'stranger' foster carers.

This book takes an in-depth look at what goes on 'inside' kinship care. It explores the dynamics and relationships between family members that are involved in kinship care, including mothers, grandparents, siblings and the wider family. Chapters also discuss issues such as safeguarding, assessment, therapy, encouraging permanence, placement breakdown, support groups, and cultural issues. The final part of the book looks at kinship care from an international perspective, with examples from New Zealand, Australia, South Africa and the United States.

Drawing on a range of theoretical perspectives and with contributions from different branches of kinship care, this book provides an invaluable overview of the issues involved and how to provide effective support. It will be essential reading for all those working in the kinship care field, including social workers, therapists, counsellors, psychologists and family lawyers.

PART 1

Family Perspectives

CHAPTER 1

Entering Kinship Care

A Young Person’s Story

Amy O’Donohoe

The funny thing about growing up in a bad situation is that for the most part you don’t realise that anything is wrong. I certainly never questioned the near constant presence of alcohol and police, or thought that sitting in the pub all day was strange. Although things got progressively worse as I grew, I don’t think I noticed how toxic my mother and stepfather’s lifestyles had become. Life was difficult, much more difficult than I should ever have had to deal with, but I never thought it had gone too far. At least, it didn’t seem it before my mother fell pregnant. In a brutal change of situation, my selfish and innocent way of seeing the world was ripped away; everything which had previously seemed bearable to me now became a threat to my unborn sister – and I had no way to protect her. I spent nine painful months watching my mother’s drinking become worse than I remember before, and when my sister was born (miraculously, with nothing obvious wrong with her) our home life somehow got even worse.

It was more than unfortunate that (due to another eviction) when my sister was born, our family was living in a one bedroom pub. With a constant flow of alcohol our parents never stopped drinking, and became steadily more violent towards each other. They made less and less effort to care for us. When my sister wasn’t being showed off in the pub, I tried to look after her upstairs. Having no knowledge of how to care for a baby, I had serious difficulty coping with my home and school life. The only normality I had in those days was the weekly visits to my aunt’s house. It was an afternoon of peace, a decent meal and a chance to do my homework. It was a chance to act my age. When my brother and I were younger, my aunt looked after us whenever she could, making sure we were fed and OK. It was a regular occurrence that the police would take us to our aunt’s house when there had been a particularly bad argument. I remember her making us fish fingers or chips in the early hours of the morning because we hadn’t been fed. We would stay and be looked after for a few days until the argument had blown over, and then we’d have to go back to our mother’s until the next time. Looking back now, I can see that my aunt was always trying to find ways to look after us. I didn’t realise it at the time, but I really did rely on those afternoons to keep me afloat.

In the nine months following my sister’s birth, our family life grew unbearable. We moved from the pub to a small house, but our mother continued to drink extensively and fell into depression. I looked after my sister for the majority of the time, and at the same time I was trying to hide knives and razors and making sure our mother wasn’t hurting herself. I often found her with gashes on her wrists, and once I confronted her about cutting herself in less conspicuous places like her shoulders or thighs. Sometimes I had no chance to notice until she had cut herself so deeply that the blood stained her clothes and pooled on the floor. My relationship with my mother soured as I realised that she refused to put anything or anyone before herself and her drinking. She acted like she hated me, and so I hardened myself to it and hated her back. Instead of being upset around her I cried on my way to school, I cried in the toilets, I stayed after school and made detours on the way home. In fact the only reason I didn’t leave or tell any authority of our situation was the fear of losing my brother and sister. To me it would have been much better to stay and cope with what we had than risk having my siblings torn apart just so I could have an easier life.

Our life continued to spiral. I argued constantly with our mother while trying to look after everyone, and I honestly couldn’t see how it could ever get better. So it was terrifying, and oddly a relief, when an argument broke out when my brother and I were away from home and the question of child protection was finally raised. My mother was arrested for harming my sister in front of the police, and for the first time my brother and I had the choice to be somewhere else. Our aunt, who was in a panic thinking something had happened to us during the fight, found us at our friend’s. She took us in, and gave us the chance to stay with her while she tried to sort things out for us. Even though none of us were under the impression it was to be a permanent placement, our lives started to change.

There were many issues that we had to overcome with the initial placement with our aunt. It was after all only a temporary placement. We all feared for my sister’s welfare, and the introduction of social services was no easy thing to accept when they seemed determined to make staying with our aunt impossible. As it was such an unexpected turn of events, our aunt had been able to make no preparations for our stay. She lived in a small three bedroom house with my two cousins, and though they were not lacking in space there was no room for two extra teenagers. We made do with what we had – my brother and I slept on my younger cousin’s floor – but unsurprisingly we quickly got under each other’s feet. More than once my cousin and I argued about the room we all shared, and as there was nowhere to get away from each other tensions ran high. It took a long time for me and him to get on again. I understood that it was hard for him, but I was too worried about myself and my siblings to care that his life had changed as well. I was selfish and self-absorbed – it’s an unfortunate product of feeling like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders at 14 years old. It took time but eventually our relationship changed. We started to accept our new situation and acted more like brother and sisters than cousins who had been forced upon each other. I didn’t like to think about what my cousins were giving up at the time; it was easy to mull over bigger things without looking at what my family did to help my siblings and me. Considering what us living with them meant they hardly complained at all; they made a difficult time much easier than it might have been.

As well as the problem with space, living with my aunt meant an entirely new style of living. I would be lying if I said it was easy for any of us to get used to. Though I was incredibly grateful to my aunt for taking us in, I resented being treated like the child I was when I hadn’t had rules or structure in my entire life. It took a very long time to accept that I didn’t have to look after myself. I pushed against it, not realising how much I needed to be cared for. It took a lot of getting used to, but eventually after many arguments I began to see my aunt as the parental figure. In truth, I spent most of the beginning months with my aunt worrying about my sister and my mother. I was so used to worrying about them at home that I found it difficult to get out of that mind-set while living with my aunt. I feared for my sister’s health and for our mother’s happiness. I didn’t think she would be able to cope without us being there and would hurt herself even worse than before. I knew she had tried to kill herself, and it seemed only a matter of time before she would succeed. At the beginning of the move we had letterbox contact with her, but the letters we received from our mother were cold and angry, and said nothing to ease my mind. It was easier to have no contact at all then deal with her barbed comments.

The few months that followed our initial move were difficult. The social care system was something none of us were prepared for. My aunt spent most of her time researching aspects of social services and family and friend carers. She found advocates for my brother and me, spoke to people who had been in a situation like ours, and started to fight social services for the things we were entitled to. When I think back to that time, all I remember is a blur of professionals asking me to talk about the same things again and again. I started to feel disassociated with my own experience; I started to explain everything that happened as if I had watched it in a film or read it in a book to stop me breaking down every time I spoke about it. I don’t remember most of what happened in my childhood now; it’s a shock every time I look through the old paperwork.

At every opportunity we asked social services how my sister was doing. They said that she was living in a pub with her father (my stepfather), and that despite our worries and the information we had given them, they had no reason to remove her. It was heart-breaking knowing the environment she was in and the neglect she would definitely be facing. In the middle of the night, four months after the move to our aunt’s house, we received the phone call we had all been waiting for. An argument had broken out between our mother and stepfather, the police had been contacted, and my sister was placed in my aunt’s care. My sister was filthy, her hair was matted, she was far too thin, and she was overly weary. I don’t think my aunt or I will ever forget that night: she was both the saddest and most wonderful sight I had ever seen and will ever see. That night my aunt, my sister and I stayed in the same bed, and when I woke up I felt happier then I had in months. It seemed like life was starting to move in the right direction. It was something all of us needed.

My aunt made a point of taking all the responsibilities for my sister. My immediate impulse was to jump back into the role I played while with my mum, and though it was difficult to accept, it started to fade. At first I didn’t understand why it had to change, as I was happy to help look after my sister. But I know my aunt was doing the right thing, she was forever trying to make me realise I wasn’t the adult I had been forced to be. For two weeks we felt like we were floating, in a daze because of our luck. None of us could get enough of my sister. We started to settle into a new routine, and the prospect that things could be OK started to dawn in all of our minds. However, this peace was brutally short. On the third week, our stepfather died.

My brother and I were both asleep when my aunt came to tell us what had happened. I thought she was joking… until she told us how it happened. It turned out that our mother had gone to his room and stabbed him to death while he slept. I didn’t believe it had happened until I was told our mother had done it. They were so violent towards each other that everyone ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Related Content
• Title
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Contents
• Foreword
• Foreword
• Introduction
• Part 1: Family Perspectives
• Part 2: Intervention and Support
• Part 3 International Contexts
• The Contributors
• Notes