key: cord-0726003-orjy8vg3
authors: Leigh, Jadwiga
title: ‘It was the best of times; it was the worst of times’: The impact of Covid-19 on families in the child protection process
date: 2020-09-03
journal: Qual Soc Work
DOI: 10.1177/1473325020953657
sha: 9f42389fb61afbea34a3582fde18b40cba127613
doc_id: 726003
cord_uid: orjy8vg3

nan

Temporality, or 'when time', in social work refers to a time 'when', for example a mother bore a child; 'when' she became a victim of domestic abuse or 'when' thresholds have been met for children to be removed (Leigh and Wilson, 2020) .

On New Beginnings we regularly talk about 'needing time' to work with a family because we recognise that although we cannot reverse past events, we benefit from spending time understanding how the past has affected the present. We have realised that this issue of needing time could not have been more apparent than when lockdown occurred. While we have been grappling with how best we could work with our families, many of our families have had to grapple with trying to manage without the support of services.

As we well know, the revised 26 week limit that ensures court proceedings in England and Wales are concluded in a timely manner was not written with the foresight that one day there may be a future pandemic (see Children and Families Act, 2014) ; one which would have a detrimental effect on families in the child protection process. In addition, social workers have struggled to adapt to new working measures within required timescales whilst Judges and legal teams have also struggled to adapt to virtual spaces to conduct hearings. The virtual environment has certainly presented challenges for a wide number of professionals in the social care arena but none of these challenges have been quite as difficult as those families in the child protection system have had to encounter, especially parents who have been separated from their children.

The first of our stories, a poem, comes from one of our parents whose children were removed from her care two weeks into lockdown. Whilst the situation has been devastating for her, it has been further compounded by the fact that for a number of weeks she was not able to have any real-life connections with her loved ones:

During Covid 19 you took away my kids away Nothing I could do Nothing I could say It broke me down and tore right through me I am a good mother why can you not see? You are breaking bonds that cannot be replaced How do you do it? How are you not phased? No cuddles, no playing, no breaking up fights This is a mother's job but it seems I have no rights Eight whole weeks before any time we could spend And nine weeks for a cuddle I didn't want to end Three video calls a week was just not enough I have so much to give I have so much love I feel like I've been pushed straight to the back I have no say in anything I'm bottom of the sack My babies are my world I would give up my life Without them my heart is being stabbed with a knife Where has my life gone? I don't feel complete But I promise you now I won't accept defeat So hear this story the next chapter I will send My babies will be back;this isn't the end.

Telling stories to one another is a practice we have been using effectively in group well before the pandemic took hold and it is a practice that has stayed with our parents as we have re-established ourselves online. Although relating stories can initially be difficult for survivors, we have learned that once their stories are acknowledged, our parents start to get a different sense of themselves. Telling stories is, after all, what we do in life. We take certain events and then link them together into a plot or theme. And this plot or theme about our lives then shapes our identities (Denborough, 2014) .

In the next story, we hear from a parent who lost her father when she was 7 years old. Normally, at this time of year, she pays her respects with extended family but as Greater Manchester has begun a second phase of lockdown the trip has had to be cancelled: This is a bad month because it reminds me of everything I don't have. It's worse this year as we normally go to his grave but we can't go there because it's in another part of the country. I normally stay with my Auntie and Uncle down there but due to their underlying health conditions I can't go there. I suffer from depression but I feel even worse because I can't pay my respects to my dad like I normally do. My dad died from a heart attack in a phone box. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 7 and my brother was 13. We were having an argument and my dad went into the phone box to call social services. Instead he collapsed and died. I still blame myself for that day. It took my brother a long time to forgive 'us' for his death. Normally my brother comes and gets me and we drive down to his grave. The car journeys are awkward because we are not close. We were separated after my dad's death and we went into different foster homes. We have never been a normal family since. I have never stopped wondering what life would be like if I had never argued with my brother that day.

Our lives are full of events that bring heartache, sorrow, shame and guilt. If those moments are all connected together into one storyline, they can leave us with feelings of hopelessness and despair. It is therefore important to acknowledge that there are also small moments of kindness, defiance and hope (Denborough, 2014) . We have found on New Beginnings that when these events are linked together, they not only tell a story about us and our parents, but they make life easier to live with. This next story is told by a parent who featured in our 24th of April blog Ordinary Magic and New Beginnings Maternal Commons (https://www.newbeginningsgm.com/post/ordinary-magic-and-the-new-beginning s-maternal-commons). In the blog, we heard how *Rhianna had been stopped from having physical contact with her daughter who was in foster care and the *Rhianna is a chosen pseudonym impact this had had on her. We now hear about how it has felt for her since her daughter has returned home, for good ( Figure 1 ) : My daughter has been home for six weeks now and it already feels like longer. When she first came home it was amazing. The first night, it was like magical. I couldn't believe we were back together and what I had been dreaming of and wishing for had finally come true. This time feels different too. It's like we have properly bonded. I am learning things about her I didn't know before. I am seeing things with new eyes. But then I am different now. There is no more domestic violence to deal with and there are no more drugs messing with my head. I am having fun. I play with her and am there for her in the night when she is teething. And even though I am knackered the next day, I feel great. I love her to pieces. And she definitely knows now who her mummy is. We are in a good place. (15th of July, 2020) Social work practices often expect parents to understand, take responsibility for, and change aspects of their life, that, as we have seen in this Editorial, span from childhood to adulthood, within a specific externally enforced timeframe (Leigh and Wilson, 2020) . And yet, in the midst of a pandemic, the topic of time and questions of timing have not been, for some, problematised as perhaps they should have been. We can acknowledge that problems have histories and are explored over time but what we need to consider more critically, is how such problems are affected by broader issues such as poverty, class, racism and sexism (Denborough, 2014) . These three stories have demonstrated how some parents have struggled with particular hardships; they have also served to remind us how important it is to separate the problem from the person at this moment in time.

The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

Retelling the Stories of Our Lives: Everyday Narrative Therapy to Draw Inspiration and Transform Experience

Sylvia's story: Time, liminal space and the maternal commons