What do we mean by social ‘care’?

Lived Experience: Adoption, Violence and Systemic Failure
I am a former social worker and an adopter. I have been profoundly Deaf since birth; I can speak and I use British Sign Language.
In the early 2000s, my then partner and I decided to adopt after experiencing several miscarriages. We were approved and later adopted two siblings, both under the age of six. We were informed that their birth parent had experienced significant difficulties, including alcohol use during pregnancy, but no further information was shared with us at that time.
For several years the children settled well in early years and primary education. There were occasional behavioural difficulties, but these were managed with support from education staff and social work professionals. During this period, I returned to work and we received some practical support from local social work services.
Some years later, my marriage ended unexpectedly and I was required to be reassessed as a sole adopter. This process was completed successfully, and the children remained in my care.
Difficulties escalated as the children grew older, particularly following the transition to secondary education. Over a number of years, their behaviour deteriorated significantly and became violent towards me. The abuse was directed solely at me and included:
• Physical assaults resulting in visible bruising
• Being grabbed from behind and pulled by my hair along the floor
• Kicking to my back and head from behind, resulting in serious spinal injury
• Punching walls, causing repeated damage to the property
• Breaking glass in picture frames and doors
• Deliberate damage to the front door
• Removal and concealment of household items intended to undermine my safety
• Tampering with my bed to cause instability
• Theft of money from my purse
• Locking me out of my own home
• Destruction of televisions and other electrical items
• Doors being ripped from hinges
• Furniture being smashed using hands and feet
• My bedroom being trashed in attempts to coerce me
• Plates, food and cutlery being thrown at me
• Verbal abuse, spitting and intimidation
• An object thrown at my face, narrowly missing my eye and requiring medical treatment
The police were contacted on numerous occasions due to the severity of the violence. Despite this, social work services repeatedly declined to intervene. The children’s school attempted to advocate on my behalf and contacted social services directly, without success.
The only support offered to me was respite care and a family support assessment. These interventions failed to address the seriousness of the abuse or the risks involved. As a social worker, I raised concerns about adult protection responsibilities and evidence-based approaches to adolescent violence towards parents. These were not taken forward. At no point was my status as a vulnerable adult formally recognised, nor were statutory adult protection duties applied.
It was only when I entered a new relationship that the extent of the abuse was fully recognised by someone outside the system. My partner was deeply shocked that no effective support had been offered and increasingly concerned for my safety. Eventually, following incidents involving weapons being thrown within the home, he contacted emergency social work services to inform them that he was removing me from the situation, leaving two minors in the property.
Only at that point did social work respond urgently. Practitioners attended and, with my agreement, the children were accommodated into care.
In retrospect, it remains deeply troubling that this action was taken only after an external adult intervened, despite years of documented violence and repeated requests for help. At the time, I was physically and emotionally exhausted and unable to challenge the response. As my partner later reflected, the initial expectation appeared to be that he should protect me, rather than statutory services fulfilling their responsibility.
What followed was equally devastating. After taking a short period of sick leave on medical advice, I returned to work on a phased basis. Within minutes of arriving, I was informed that I was under investigation for professional misconduct.
The fact-finding process lasted almost two years and did not follow internal policies or procedures. Allegations were raised without supporting evidence, including issues purportedly dating back several years, despite no concerns having been raised at the time through supervision or appraisal. I was removed from frontline practice and placed in a temporary role with limited scope.
A formal disciplinary hearing eventually resulted in a final written warning. Legal advice confirmed that although procedures had not been followed, there was little practical recourse without pursuing costly civil action.
During this period, my partner witnessed behaviour that raised serious concerns about the integrity of the investigation process itself. A complaint was submitted under data protection regulations, but no meaningful response followed. Shortly afterwards, those involved in the investigation left the organisation.
Attempts to pursue accountability for the earlier failure to protect me as a vulnerable adult were met with resistance and dismissal.
The cumulative impact of these experiences was profound. I developed severe mental health difficulties and ultimately left the profession through ill-health retirement.
Subsequently, my professional regulator concluded that the core issue had been a lack of appropriate supervision, and my professional registration was maintained.
Some years later, my lived experience was shared at a national professional conference focusing on intrafamilial violence and what happens when children become violent. This was organised by a professional association and remains publicly available.
This experience has left me questioning what we truly mean by “social care”. Children with complex trauma were left without effective intervention, while an adoptive parent was expected to endure years of violence without protection or support. As a society and as a profession, we can — and must — do better.