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A view from a car of a man and a young girl on a street at night (posed by models)
One woman’s ex-partner was recently charged with modern-day slavery offences, drug and child trafficking (posed by models). Photograph: Alamy
One woman’s ex-partner was recently charged with modern-day slavery offences, drug and child trafficking (posed by models). Photograph: Alamy

'Cass's ex is a gang member and child trafficker who hit her': my job in social work

This article is more than 4 years old

Supporting women who have been caught up in the drugs trade and gang culture is exhausting but rewarding

Monday

I make my way to the back of the police station where I can hear shouting coming from across the courtyard. The police officer looks at me knowingly: “She’s unmanageable, this one.”

Honestly, I’m nervous. I’ve been told this 19-year-old woman handed herself in to the police in fear of her life, thinking that she’d be killed or hurt by a local gang. She’s “uncooperative” and “out of control” and they need assistance working with her. I walk into the cell. “What do you want?” she shouts. I introduce myself as a social worker and tell her: “I don’t want anything from you. But I’m wondering what is it you want. So I know this may be a strange question to ask right now, but what might be your best hopes from us working together?”

She stops and turns to look at me, suddenly seeming so much younger: “My best hope is that someone asks me how I am.”

Tuesday

Cass is flustered, nervous and 20 minutes late. “I’m so sorry, I only slept one hour last night. Is this going to count against me?” Her ex-partner is a known gang member recently charged with modern-day slavery offences, drug and child trafficking. She has experienced severe domestic violence at his hands and lives with depression, nightmares and anxiety, while her child is currently subject to care proceedings.

“What does it say about you as a person, Cass, that despite only having slept for one hour you’ve still been able to get out of bed and make it here to see me?” Cass looks lost for words and I’m trying really hard not to fill the silence. I hand her a bright pink sticky note and a felt tip pen, hoping it may help.

Cass takes it and writes “STRONG” in big capital letters. She smiles and mutters: “God I never thought about it like this before. I never realised how determined I am.”

Wednesday

No sessions today. I’m tired and secretly relieved.

Thursday

This is the sixth time Lucy has missed her session, and the sixth time I’ve made the two-hour journey to see her. I’m starting to feel like an unwanted therapy delivery service and wondering why the hell I do this to myself when suddenly I see her walking tentatively up to reception. I’m over the moon and I can’t hide it. “Don’t look too surprised to see me, then,” she jokes.

I ask her why, after all this time, has she finally decided to turn up? “I was just testing you. I wanted to see if you were going to give up and leave me like everyone always does. Shall we make a start?” I remind her she never has to tell me anything she doesn’t want to, that this is her space and what she shares is her choice. She looks at me cautiously. She then tells me how she was raped by her father. Rejected by her family. Placed in care. Then targeted by a gang and exploited to sell drugs.

This is someone described by professionals as “angry”, “difficult” and “not ready to engage”, but the young woman in front of me is polite, friendly and won’t stop talking.

Friday

Two more no-shows today but I have a bit more faith now.

I remember the week’s mantras. Monday: behind difficult emotions lies a basic human need, we just need to see it. Tuesday: behind every problem is a story of survival, we just need to look for it. Thursday: behind every act of resistance is a message, we just need to listen to it.

* Names and some details have been changed for confidentiality purposes.

If you would like to contribute to our My working week series about your job in public services, get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com

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