A few years ago, I wrote the words below.
I wasn’t trying to inspire anyone. I wasn’t trying to explain social work to people who’d never done it. I simply needed to remind myself why, despite everything, I stayed.
Today is different.
Yesterday, I walked out of Birmingham City Council for what may be the last time.
And strangely, I’ve found myself carrying a sadness I wasn’t expecting.
Not because of a job.
Because of a city.
Birmingham is my hometown.
As a little girl, I grew up running those streets. They made me who I am. Random. Humorous. Quirky. Resilient.
People often overlook Birmingham. They see the headlines, the concrete, the chaos.
But if you know it… really know it… you’ll understand its beauty.
Not beauty in the obvious sense.
The kind of beauty you only find when you peel back the layers.
Raw honesty.
Characters you’ll never forget.
Communities that somehow hold each other together despite everything.
It’s messy. It’s brash. It’s frustrating. And somehow… it’s home.
In many ways, it’s me.
Over the last few years, working as a social worker in the very city that raised me has given me an entirely new appreciation for that.
Every person I’ve worked alongside has reminded me of someone.
Sometimes they reminded me of the little girl running through those streets.
Sometimes the teenager who was trying to survive things that felt impossible at the time.
Sometimes the woman I’ve become, quietly rebuilding a life that feels more like my own.
In every home I walked into, every conversation I had, every difficult decision I made, I saw little pieces of humanity that felt familiar.
And the greatest privilege of all…
Was giving something back.
Every lesson life had taught me.
Every breakthrough.
Every horizon I’d fought to reach.
Every ounce of hope I’d found along the way.
For nearly two decades, I’ve had the honour of pouring those things back into other people.
And that…
That has been everything.
A few years ago, I wrote this.
Today, I understand it even more.
—
Being a social worker is undoubtedly a challenging and demanding profession, filled with battles, tears, frustration, and disappointment. It often feels like a never-ending struggle. Too much work, too little time.
Countless sleepless nights turn into endless worn-out days. Clock-watching till Friday. Wishing weeks away. Even the small dwindles of hope seem to swiftly fall away at times.
Yes, it paints a daunting picture!
Why would anyone subject themselves to such a misery of a job for very little thanks..and, let’s be honest, very little pay for what you deal with each day?
I ask myself this question frequently.
But somehow, despite all of it, I always come back to this:
Despite its hardships, deep down in the cracks you find love and laughter amongst the madness.
On your journey, you meet the most honest, genuine, and beautiful human beings.
You learn to connect with the simplest pleasures in life and with yourself.. in ways you never expected.
You forge deep connections with colleagues who don’t just understand the challenges of the job, but often share similar personal stories. They become more than friends; they become your family. Providing unwavering support and picking you up when you’re down.
It’s like having therapists on tap. Always ready to listen, not always needing to offer guidance. Just… listen. The simple words “I hear you” offer more comfort than people realise.
And if all else fails, we get each other through with our random and somewhat dark sense of humour.. where tears of lost hope often turn into tears of laughter.
Social work is about celebrating the small wins others may never see. It’s about coming home after a long day and toasting yourself for simply getting through another week, even if only a fraction of your task list is done.
It’s about having enough of the job, yet still finding solace in watching a TV show that mirrors the trauma you’ve experienced that day.
And of course, waking up to do it all over again, because you care. Because kindness is intrinsic to who you are.
Our values align with justice and truth.
We aren’t swayed by materialistic pursuits. Our focus is on humanity. On what’s real. We find the most comfort in making a difference in people’s lives.
So despite the battles, the tears, and the frustrations, being a social worker provides immeasurable fulfilment.
A profession driven by love and compassion.
And even if we were to leave… social working will never leave us. Because it’s essentially who we are.
Reading this back today, I realise something else.
Social work didn’t just teach me how to support people.
It taught me how to see them.
Beyond the paperwork.
Beyond the crisis.
Beyond the labels.
It taught me to look for the child someone once was, the struggles they’ve carried, the strength they’ve somehow held onto, and the hope that’s still quietly waiting underneath it all.
I don’t know where my career will take me next.
Life feels like it’s changing.
I’m writing more.
Travelling more.
Dreaming differently.
But one thing I know for certain is this…
Every street I walked in Birmingham, every person who trusted me with their story, every colleague who laughed with me through the madness… they all became part of mine.
And wherever life takes me next, I’ll carry a little bit of Brum with me.
Because social work may have been my profession.
But Birmingham…
Birmingham raised me.
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