I've recently started contributing to discussions around ‘Stress, Trauma and Contextual Safeguarding,’ and a powerful truth keeps surfacing: we need to fundamentally rethink how we listen to and understand the experiences of those who are care-experienced. This isn't just about inviting specific "experts by experience" to the table, it's about truly hearing the whispers, the frustrations, and even the crumpled-up pieces of paper that speak volumes.

Because real insights often lie not just in formal feedback sessions, but in the everyday moments of friction, in the complaints, the serious incidents, the informal comments, and even the rare compliments. It's in triangulating all these voices that we can truly grasp the impact of our systems.

Recently, I witnessed a stark example of this. Someone close to me, who is care-experienced, found themselves in a situation with the police. Both parties were keen to resolve things constructively, acknowledging their background. A standard form outlining the next steps was presented. I watched as they read it, and then, with a sudden surge of emotion, crumpled it into a tight ball.

It wasn't the first time I'd seen this visceral reaction to paperwork. Another instance involved a professional's well-intentioned, but poorly received therapeutic letter. Sensing the familiar wave of frustration, I gently asked if I could take a look. "Sometimes," I offered, "when it's personal, a single sentence can send us spiraling." I desperately wanted them to move forward, to address the situation they themselves desired to resolve.

They reluctantly smoothed out the crumpled paper, their finger jabbing at a specific paragraph:

The injustice hit me like a physical blow. For someone like me, facing a similar situation, the clock would start ticking at 6 years. But for this young person, whose involvement with the local authority was not a choice they made ("I didn't choose for them to fucking get involved!"), their past, and all their mistakes, their vulnerabilities, would be potentially accessible for a staggering 75 years. Even being under a Child Protection Plan meant a longer retention period.

My mind raced. My concern wouldn't be about a history stretching back decades; it would be about ensuring that after a reasonable period, my record was primarily accessible only to me. Yet, for this young person, the system seemed to be saying their history was inherently more significant, more enduring.

I started to explain, drawing on my understanding of the historic record erasure in adoption and fostering, the potential for the past to overshadow the future.

"I don't fucking care! I know what has happened to me, I'm the one that has lived it!" Their raw emotion was a powerful reminder of the lack of agency they often experience. In that moment, the policy felt like another exercise of power over them, not a measure of support.

Despite their understandable distress, I gently inquired if they would mind me speaking to the police officer about this specific paragraph. They agreed.

The officer listened intently, validating the concern and confirming it was indeed a government policy (UK GDPR). I later suggested adding a note to the form, something that stated the child retained their right to seek advice and potentially have their data treated more equitably after the initial 6-year period. It could at least give a sense of agency and move them to the point of signing the form and achieving their goal. The officer, understanding the rationale, smiled. The form was signed.

This incident underscores a critical point: How would you feel if an organisation's decision meant your life, your mistakes, your journey, were potentially open for professional scrutiny for a lifetime, simply because of circumstances beyond your control as a child?

 The argument for retaining certain records beyond six years holds weight, yet the form's sweeping declaration felt unduly punitive. A far more empowering model would prioritise granting individuals primary access to their own history after a defined period, ensuring readily available support to navigate these records. Crucially, however, we must consider the fundamental right to be forgotten. Considering the often-complex and sometimes unwise decisions made during teenage years, especially if also navigating in and out of a care-system, can we ethically justify the unquestioning retention of these records for a staggering 75 years, without any opportunity for review or challenge? 

I don't claim to have all the answers, and as someone without direct care experience, I tread carefully. However, this raw, unfiltered outburst, this scrunched-up piece of paper, is a vital piece of feedback. It's a stark reminder that we must broaden our listening, value the unspoken frustrations, and allow all voices, not just those who volunteer for formal groups, to shape a more just and equitable system. Let's not just hear the curated narratives; let's listen to the scrunched-up truths. 

#trauma #adoption #engagement #coproduction