A Day In The Life Of A Support Worker

The alarm went off this morning and it was just one of those mornings when I wanted an extra half hour. It was evening outreach last night, so I pretty much got home, ate, then went to bed. No lie-in possible though, I’ve got so much to do today, and I want to make sure I have time for everyone who wants my support today. It sounds like a chore but it really isn’t, I love my job.

I get up and look out of the window, every day I do this to decide what I’m going to wear. It’s getting really cold now, so I choose nice warm clothes, then get ready. It sucks sometimes working outside when it’s cold, but I never forget that I’m lucky to have a choice of warm clothes and a warm house to return to, my job makes me ever grateful for the things that are easy to take for granted. I head to work and make a quick trip into the office. This is the hidden part of my job. All those conversations that I have out on the street with people lead to some sort of follow-up work. Apart from general admin duties, I also need to contact other services, make referrals, book appointments for people, challenge decisions for things like benefits or housing, and research provisions and legislation which are constantly changing and need researching regularly to keep my knowledge up to date and accurate. I try and keep my office time brief because I know I really want and need to be out on the street making contact with people, but the admin is just as necessary and important. Striking a balance can be really difficult. My job is frustrating sometimes.

I head out on outreach and soon locate one of my regular clients. He’s looking a lot better than I’ve seen him look for a long while, but he still has a look of sadness. We get to chatting and he tells me that he’s got temporary accommodation and is getting treatment for his drug addiction and mental health issues, but he still has lots of emotional issues that are making him feel very insecure and insignificant. He’s got some money and wants to buy some essentials, so I agree to accompany him to go shopping, as he is scared of bumping into his old “crowd” who he knows will pressure him into giving them money, and he doesn’t feel strong enough to stand up to them. While we shop, we chat, and he visibly gains more confidence as we go on. The trip comes to an end and we talk about how he’s had a really productive morning. I tell him how proud I feel for him that he’s working hard to improve his life, and a big smile appears on his face as he realises what a massive deal it is that he’s just had such a productive morning. To have the opportunity to turn someones morning round like this and leave him feeling happy and pleased with himself is an immense privilege; I love my job.

After lunch I try and contact one of my regular clients. He’s really vulnerable and prone to exploitation from others. He has some really worrying health problems right now which he doesn’t want to address because he has a fear of authority that stems from years of abuse. I have a chat with him; he tells me he doesn’t want to do anything about his health problems. I ask him if he’s considered what the impact of doing nothing will be, and he calmly tells me that he will die, and that he doesn’t have the fight in him to be concerned or upset about it. I’m trying really hard not to cry while I listen, he’s only a young man with so much potential, he’s a kind man with a wicked sense of humour who’s been dealt the worst hand life could possibly offer, he’s never had a relationship with anyone who hasn’t sought to abuse him, even as a child. I’m holding back the tears and listening while he talks, and in my mind I’m wishing I could reach those people who abused him and stole his dignity and self-esteem, and make them see what their actions have caused. My job really upsets me.

I have to work hard to track down my next client. He’s really not engaging with anyone at the moment. He’s using heroin and not using safe injecting practices. I’m trying to encourage him to engage with the drug treatment service and get on a methadone script but he’s just not interested. Whenever I suggest it, he gives me reasons why he can’t do it right now, and when I try and talk through solutions to these barriers, he just gets really annoyed with me and ends our conversation. It’s so easy to get frustrated by his behaviour and just say “well it’s his choice”, but on reflection I can see that the idea of being without the only thing that’s ever made him feel relaxed and safe is frightening. Today he tells me again that he isn’t interested in drug treatment. I leave our meeting with my mind working overtime trying to think of how I could work differently, and how I could encourage him to give the matter more thought. I decide that ultimately it needs to be his choice, not mine, and that I just have to keep offering that unconditional support and be there for him if and when he feels ready for change. My job really encourages me to reflect and think differently.

My next appointment is a home visit. My client has been given accommodation, but when I go inside, I see that the property is totally empty, no furniture, carpets, curtains; there’s just a sleeping bag on the floor. I have a good chat with my client, just a normal everyday chat about what his interests are, what music he likes and what films he watches. I tell my client what music I like and we have a good laugh while he takes the mick out of me for my dodgy taste in music. I really like having these moments where I can chat with a client in the same way you would talk to a friend. We talk about his worries about having a home; he’s never had any experience of budgeting or managing a tenancy, he’s really worried about debts and bailiffs and things. He can’t afford any furniture, and he’s never been shown the skills for looking after a home, so he’s living in it as though he’s still homeless. He’s unsure whether the responsibility and consequences of not getting it right are worth it, all just to sleep on a floor in a sleeping bag. He’s wondering whether being back on the streets would be just as easy. I tell him about some organisations that can help with furniture and provisions, and that can provide tenancy support. He says he will give it some thought. I’m full of hope that he will consider the support I suggested. To be honest I’ll be a bit nervous over the next few weeks while I wait and see whether the tenancy works out or not. My job makes me nervous and keeps me on the edge of my seat.

I’m just about to finish for the day, when on the way back to the office, I see someone begging. I say hello and we have a chat. He’s a nice guy but says he is desperate for housing and asks me for help. He’s rough sleeping right now and he suffers from depression. It’s getting quite late and the housing office is shut, so I offer to ring the out of hours service to see if I can get him a bed for the night. The out of hours service go through the usual questions. After considering this mans circumstances, they tell me that although he is homeless, they are unable to offer temporary accommodation because he doesn’t have a priority need, which is required under housing legislation for the local authority to have a duty of care to provide housing. I understand that they are doing it by the book, but I hate the current legislation. Surely sleeping in a shop doorway should give you a priority need for housing, but no. I have to put the phone down now and tell this man that he’s sleeping rough again tonight. I hate my job.

It’s the end of the day, and I’m going home now. I have a glass of wine and unwind, but a couple of things have stuck in my head from the day that are hard to let go of. Knowing I’m relaxing at home while my clients don’t get to do the same is difficult. I listen to music or watch a film, and tell myself that I need to look after myself so I’m strong enough to carry on going out and supporting people. I’ve never known a job like this, where one day at work can provoke such a range of emotions, but I do know that I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love my job.’