by Sophie Baker

This is the fourth installment in Sophie Baker’s ‘What I wish I had known…’ series, where she reflects on her approach to practice when she started out – and what she would tell her younger self now.

Watching Adolescence this month brought back many memories of my early career. I was struck by the powerful acting, especially in an intense scene between Jamie (played by Owen Cooper) and his psychologist, where he was shouting, swearing and knocking over furniture.

It reminded me of my experiences with Shauna, a ten-year-old girl who spent much of her childhood in and out of care and who was one of the first children I worked with.

Shauna’s mother, who had bipolar disorder, provided loving care when well. But during her low periods, she couldn’t get out of bed and struggled to meet her children’s needs. In her highs, she took risks, falling into debt and forming unsafe relationships.

During these times, Shauna experienced physical and emotional neglect in a home environment that was dysregulated, chaotic and volatile.

Each time their mother’s mental health declined, Shauna and her siblings were moved to a temporary foster home, waiting for the moment they could return to her care.

As a result of her experiences, Shauna was often oppositional, impulsive and confrontational. It also meant that it became harder and harder to find her a stable foster placement.

Looking back, the memory of one afternoon I shared with Shauna leaves me contemplating what I wish I had known during my work with her.

Children won’t always behave in a way you expect

Sophie Baker has over 20 years of experience working in children’s social care

Some of my most treasured memories of my early career were spent with Shauna. For the most part, our interactions had been positive.

However, this afternoon was different. We were sitting in my car when I broke the news that she would be moving to another carer.

Abandoned. Again.

She immediately started shouting and screaming, banging her fists against her head and the car dashboard. I could feel my heart beating in my chest as she moved her face close to mine. She glared at me and then spat on my cheek.

Shauna spent the next five minutes or so in what I can only describe as white rage.

She took out my CDs and snapped each one.  She bent my sunglasses out of shape and threw them out of the car window.

Lastly, she got out of the car and climbed on to its roof. As I tried to encourage her down, she jumped up and down, denting it in the process.

Children with trauma will struggle to regulate their emotions

I can still remember the emotional and physical responses I experienced during her outburst. Initially, I was shocked.

I had been told that Shauna got angry, but up until that point had never experienced it firsthand. I was frightened that she would not only hurt herself but also hurt me as she hurled herself around.

My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, and I could feel my cheeks burning red. My hands were shaking and as I tried to calm her down, my voice was trembling. I felt helpless to calm the situation.

What I learnt over the first few years of my career was that children that have experienced trauma like Shauna often struggle to regulate their emotions and behaviours. They can have impulsive and intense reactions to stress.

If I were able to turn back time, I would tell myself that Shauna was communicating in the best way she knew how. My role in that moment was to listen and to reassure her that I would stay with her until she calmed down.

No judgement – just unconditional support.

Their anger probably feels as frightening for them as it does to you

I am not ashamed to say that I was petrified during those moments. What I wish I had known was that Shauna was probably very frightened too, struggling to recognise the huge feelings she was experiencing.

Even as an inexperienced social worker, I knew it was imperative that I stayed calm and did not get caught in any kind of power struggle with Shauna. She needed time and space to calm down.

I knew that I needed to validate her feelings and show her I could contain her (and myself!). I needed to remain a positive role model by handling my own feelings in a calm way and modelling a healthy response to stress.

That was easier said than done, but I took deep breaths and kept reminding myself that I needed to be a source of strength for her.

Work to help a traumatised child to feel safe

There are some techniques I have learnt along the way that I wish I had known then. These start with seeing beyond her immediate behaviours and asking myself, ‘What does Shauna need?’, rather than, ‘What is wrong with her?’.

Looking back, I now see I should have helped Shauna feel safe. Instead of immediately trying to calm her down, I wish I had started by reassuring her that she was safe.  She was safe with me as a trusted adult, and I wasn’t going to leave.

I also wish I had asked Shauna if there was anything I could do to help. Then and there. Did she need a hug?  To hold my hand? A drink of water? For me to put on some chilled-out music in the car? Letting her have a bit of choice and control over the situation may have helped her calm down a little easier.

In hindsight, I probably tried too hard to offer solutions to Shauna during her outburst.

I was trying to make her feel better, but offering solutions to problems in a time of absolute crisis was not helpful. Mentioning how a new foster placement could be great or that they had a dog (she loved dogs) was not an appropriate response for that moment.

Managing professional guilt

I remember the feeling of overwhelming sadness washing over me as I watched her. She was distraught.

The sensible part of me knew that it wasn’t my fault that Shauna needed to move to new carers, but I was wrought with guilt.

I felt like she had been failed by a ‘system’ that was unable to match her with foster carers who would offer her unconditional care; failed by the social workers who had come and gone over her short life; failed by me, who hadn’t been able to visit her as often as I would have liked.

I was devastated.

As I matured in my practice, I came to realise that there is a real danger for social workers to hold feelings of guilt. Much of our work relies on resources that are often lacking and can be hard to manage.

However, with good supervision, I got to a place where I felt I was practising in the best way I could and felt less guilt about the constraints of the resources available to me.

Is that good enough? Sometimes it has to be.

by Sophie Baker

This is the third installment in Sophie Baker’s ‘What I wish I had known…’ series, where she reflects on her approach to practice when she started out – and what she would tell her younger self now.

As a newly qualified social worker, I was taught that building trust sat at the heart of social work.

During my studies, I heard that children were more likely to share their thoughts, feelings and worries with professionals they trusted. I understood that secure, consistent relationships were vital for children to feel safe enough to open up about their experiences and hopes for the future.

What I hadn’t fully grasped was just how difficult a task building the foundations of a trusting relationship was going to be.

Creating true connections with children who are going through difficult experiences is an exceptional skill. It takes patience, warmth and sincerity.

Here are some lessons I learned when trying to form impactful relationships.

Being clear about my role

Sophie Baker has over 20 years’ experience in social work

I remember how difficult it was to explain my role to children in a way that felt honest and comforting.

In the early days, I often used vague phrases like, ‘My job is to keep children safe’. While this wasn’t wrong, it didn’t give a full picture of what that actually meant for them.

I wish I had taken the time to explain more. I could have said, ‘I talk to your family, teachers, and other people who care about you to see how we can make things better’; or,  ‘Sometimes families go through difficult times and I help find ways to make things better’, or, ‘I will listen to you  and make sure your voice is heard when decisions are made about you’.

Children want to understand why we are there and how we can help. We need to be as clear and transparent in our answer as we can.

Keeping promises

Not long after qualifying, I remember my supervisor telling me, ‘If you say it, do it!’.  What a great piece of advice!

Many of the children I was working with had been let down by adults and, consequently, they needed to see the actions behind my words.

Children need to know they can rely on us. I learned that it’s not just about saying I would do something, it was also about following through with my promise.

Showing up when we say we will and doing what we promised is how we can demonstrate we are trustworthy. Children sometimes need deeds more than words.

Being present during visits

I knew that building a connection would be much easier when offering the child my undivided attention during our time together.

Yet the anxiety I felt during the first few months of practice hugely impacted on my ability to be truly in the moment at times.

In the rush to manage my workload, I sometimes found myself distracted. I would grab a few minutes here and there during home visits to speak to children, but I struggled to give them the uninterrupted, meaningful time they deserved.

I felt deeply ashamed. It took me some time to confess these issues to my manager, but it was ultimately supervision that helped reframe my way of thinking.

Techniques to prepare for sessions

I came to understand that relationship-building with children wasn’t an ‘extra’ part of the job, but the heart of effective social work.

I developed simple techniques to get mentally prepared before one-to-one sessions.

During car journeys, I created space in my mind by slowing my breathing and using affirmations such as ‘I am here, and I am ready to listen with my full attention’.

I also practised techniques like the 5-4-3-2-1 method, where you name things you can see, hear, touch, smell and taste to ground yourself in the present.

These small steps made a real difference, helping me to be fully engaged with each child and leave the ‘to do’ list aside.

Using creative tools for communication

Children often have a hard time expressing their feelings with words.

In my early days, I sometimes relied too heavily on traditional methods of talking and using worksheets.

However, I knew I needed to change that when Freddie, a young boy I was supporting, told me he had completed the same ‘Who Am I?’ worksheet multiple times with other workers. He was fed up, and rightfully so. It didn’t feel special to him.

He taught me the importance of diversifying my approach.

I started exploring more creative tools like sand trays art materials, and role play with him. A simple ice cream tub filled with sand and miniature figures allowed us to explore Freddie’s relationships, dreams, and strengths in a meaningful and playful way. It worked wonders in helping him open up!

Were I to have been developing this knowledge now, I think I would have also explored digital tools, such as apps and online games, which can engage children in new ways and make it easier to connect.

Being honest with children, even when it is painful

Throughout my career, I’ve had many painful conversations with children.

It’s an inevitable part of being a social worker. I sometimes needed to explore deeply distressing topics with children: grief after the death of a sibling, allegations of sexual abuse by a parent, the repeated disappointment of a parent failing to attend family time, the serious illness of a foster carer.

I always dreaded these discussions, and the emotional weight of them lingered long after with the memory of some of these still bringing a lump to my throat.

An important lesson for me during those interactions was always coming from a place of honesty and transparency.

It was so tempting to protect the children from stress and worry by softening the truth, being a bit vague or moving on quickly after I had delivered the news or asked a difficult question.

However, I came to understand that, when lacking accurate information, children will often make up their own versions of what is happening. The real danger lies in their imagination making things feel scarier than they really are.

I wish I had known that providing clear, age-appropriate information helps children make sense of the situation and gives them a greater sense of control.

Being honest during the most painful moments is one of the most valuable ways we can build trust with the children we work with.

Celebrate those who’ve inspired you

Photo by Daniel Laflor/peopleimages.com/ AdobeStock

Do you have a colleague, mentor, or social work figure you can’t help but gush about?

Our My Brilliant Colleague series invites you to celebrate anyone within social work who has inspired you – whether current or former colleagues, managers, students, lecturers, mentors or prominent past or present sector figures whom you have admired from afar.

Nominate your colleague or inspiration by filling in our nominations form with a few paragraphs (100-250 words) explaining how and why the person has inspired you.

*Please note that, despite the need to provide your name and role, you or the nominee can be anonymous in the published entry*

If you have any questions, email our community journalist, Anastasia Koutsounia, at anastasia.koutsounia@markallengroup.com

by Sophie Baker

This is the second installment in Sophie Baker’s ‘What I wish I had known…’ series, where she reflects on her approach to practice when she started out – and what she would tell her younger self now.

As I perched on the edge of the two-seater sofa in the lounge, facing Vicki*, I knew I had made a big mistake.

Not because I was intimidated by her, but because I was frightened of her boyfriend, Danny*. He stood leaning against the doorway of the lounge, blocking the only exit, with his arms crossed and his anger palpable.

Neighbours had reported incidents of suspected domestic abuse after hearing Vicki and her two young children screaming and crying.

I was freshly qualified and had been told that the police had asked Danny to leave the home, so I hadn’t been expecting him to be there.

He was immediately angry that a social worker was visiting and did not feel it was necessary. He denied that the children had been impacted by the arguments and described the neighbour who had referred them as nosy and interfering.

His eyes were bulging and he kept pointing his finger at me as he spoke.

In social work, we often visit families alone; many of these families are experiencing crises or challenges that can evoke strong emotions, like anger or fear. These situations make safety a crucial part of our practice.

Here are the lessons I wish I had known before I knocked on that door.

Making sure my supervisor knew where I was

It seems obvious, but it’s vital to let someone from your office know where you are at all times.

In this instance, I hadn’t told my supervisor where I was heading. This left me especially vulnerable.

I should have provided my supervisor with the details of whom I was visiting, the address and my estimated return time. We should have also agreed on a plan if I didn’t return as expected.

If I could go back, I’d also make sure to discuss the home visiting policy with my supervisor early on, so I was clear on how best I could be kept safe.

Better preparing my journey

Sophie Baker has over 20 years of experience working in children’s social care

I hadn’t thought through my journey to the family’s home. It was dark, it was raining and I had to park far away and walk through a poorly lit area.

By the time I reached the door, I already felt uneasy – not the best mindset for a home visit.

In hindsight, I should have parked my car as close as possible, ensuring it faced the exit and was in a space where it couldn’t be blocked in. I’d also avoid parking in a family’s driveway to ensure I could leave quickly if needed.

Before leaving my car, I’d take a moment to get my bearings so I wouldn’t feel disoriented. A great tip I’ve learned over the years is to keep your car keys in hand as you leave so you’re ready to unlock your car quickly.

Thinking about where I positioned myself 

During my visit, I unknowingly positioned myself with my back to the lounge door while speaking with Vicki.

This meant I didn’t notice Danny’s presence until he started speaking. His positioning against the doorway meant I was trapped in the lounge.  He could have easily stopped me from leaving had he wanted to.

At that moment, I felt incredibly vulnerable and unsettled. It made me realise just how important it is to be aware of my surroundings.

From that day forward, I made a conscious effort to choose a seat where I could clearly see both the exit and the entire room, ensuring that I always had a sense of security and control over my environment.

Trusting my instincts

Reflecting on that day, I think I sensed something was wrong as soon as Vicki answered the door.

She looked worried, but instead of pausing to ask if everything was okay, I pushed ahead with my introductions. I didn’t give her the chance to tell me that Danny was in the home.

If I could advise my younger self, I’d say to listen to those nagging feelings.

It’s perfectly acceptable to make an excuse and leave if something feels off. You can always return later with additional support, or, if you’re worried about someone’s safety, you can call your office or the police for assistance.

I’d also recommend asking directly who is in the property or if they’re expecting any visitors. This simple question can provide clarity and help you prepare for unexpected situations.

Being brave enough to ask a colleague to join me

Early in my career, I did not feel I could ask for someone to accompany me to visits. I felt that, by seeking help, I was admitting that I lacked the courage to be a social worker.

I think it’s completely normal to feel this way, especially in a profession like social work, where staff strength and resilience are celebrated. However, I now know that asking for help is actually a sign of self-awareness, not weakness.

Visiting in pairs can prove vital. Not only does it provide added safety, but it’s also a great opportunity to observe and learn from others.

On a subsequent joint visit, I remember witnessing a colleague’s compassion as she sat beside a mother experiencing postnatal depression and held her hand.

That moment profoundly influenced my practice and taught me the importance of empathy and human connection.

The impact of fear

When people are angry, it can feel very scary.

During my conversation with Danny, my fear affected my ability to respond effectively.

I became flustered, interrupted him and struggled to find the right words, desperate to help him see how his alleged behaviour could be affecting his wife and children.

Unsurprisingly, this only escalated his frustration.

He started speaking louder. His tone became sharper and more aggressive, his body posture stiffened and his jaw was clenched. He was also muttering under his breath and scoffing at my efforts to explain why I was worried.

Learning to listen

In that moment, I felt unsure as to how I was going to calm the situation, but, over time, I’ve learned techniques to help de-escalate tense situations.

The most valuable lesson? Stop talking and listen. Let people express their feelings without interruption.

I learnt how to use a calm, steady voice and have open body language. Reflecting peoples’ emotions back to them can help too with phrases like, ‘I can see this is really upsetting for you’ or ‘I understand how frustrating this must be’.

Sometimes, just giving someone space to vent can help them feel heard and ease their tension.

Being mindful of language

I should have given more thought as to how Danny and Vicki were feeling about my visit. Home visits by social workers can feel intrusive, so building rapport and trust from the start is crucial.

Additionally, I fear the language I used felt accusatory and critical. This has made me mindful of ensuring families feel heard and supported before diving into the gritty details.

By focusing on building partnerships and genuine connections early, I found parents were more likely to co-operate and accept help.

Trust cannot be built immediately, but we can help move things along by proving early on that we are collaborative, reliable and consistent.

Fear can distort priorities

Looking back, this visit taught me the danger of fear unconsciously distorting our priorities.

If the children had been present, I might have overlooked their needs due to feeling so intimidated. Fear could have led me to rush the visit or avoid direct interactions with them.

It’s important to ensure our safety so we can think clearly and offer the best possible support to the family we’re working with.

I’d remind my younger self to pause, take a breath and remain focused on the children’s wellbeing, even in challenging situations.

*Names have been changed for anonymity.

by Sophie Baker

When I announced my decision to study social work, the reactions from my family and friends were a mixture of disbelief and concern.

I was the child who clung to my mum’s coattails, shied away from meeting new people and flatly refused to try anything remotely out of the ordinary. For me to step into a field that demanded courage, resilience and confronting the unknown? It seemed unthinkable.

And yet, in 2001, aged 22, I found myself freshly qualified and wide-eyed in a children and families’ team.

Those first years were undoubtedly the most challenging of my career. But they taught me so much.

The whirlwind of the first few post-qualification months

Sophie Baker has over 20 years of experience working in children’s social care

In my first months as a young newly qualified social worker, I wasn’t just learning the intricacies of my new profession; I was also learning how to navigate the complexities of adulthood.

Moving out of my family home, figuring out how to pay bills, negotiating the ups and downs of a relationship with a demanding boyfriend and carving out time to laugh, dance, and drink cheap wine with friends – it was a lot.

Meanwhile, my professional world introduced me to different realities.

I worked with a teenager who had abused his younger sister, assessed a family living in constant fear of an abusive stepfather and supported a mother with bipolar disorder to create a safe and happy life for her children.

My personal and professional lives couldn’t have felt more different. By day, I was immersed in helping vulnerable families to make difficult changes. By night, I was a young adult trying to figure out my own path, laughing too loud and making mistakes.

During this time, I suffered from terrible imposter syndrome.  I was certain it wouldn’t be long until someone exposed me as a fraud.

I wish I had realised that somehow it would all balance out over time.

I wish I had known the value I brought

Naturally, one of my biggest fears was that families would see me as too young and inexperienced to help them.

It wasn’t uncommon for parents to question whether I could understand their struggles when I didn’t have children of my own. At the time, these challenges felt deeply personal.

“It isn’t me we are here to talk about,” I often responded, defensively.

Looking back, I cringe at those words because they shut down a real opportunity to connect. Families needed reassurance that they were in capable hands.

Behind my defensive response was my own insecurity – an uncertainty about the value I could bring so early in my career.

I wish I had known that my perspective, authenticity and willingness to learn were powerful tools.

Instead of rushing to prove myself, I should have leaned into the parents’ questions with empathy and curiosity.

I should have said, “Can you tell me what you’re worried about?”, or, “It’s clear how much you care about getting this right for your children.” Such responses acknowledge their concern and invite conversation.

I would tell my younger self, and newly qualified practitioners today, that families don’t need perfection or years of experience. They need someone who shows up, listens and works with them to find the best way forward.

I wish I hadn’t obsessed over theory

In my early days of practice, I often found myself overthinking every conversation and intervention, second-guessing whether I was applying the “right” theory or tool.

This focus on “getting it right” was in danger of distracting me from what mattered most.

My understanding of theories, models and tools developed as I grew, but now I recognise that it’s okay not to have all the answers.

Families don’t care what theory you’re drawing from or which framework guides your practice. They care about whether you treat them with honesty, respect and genuine care.

They value your ability to listen and follow through on your promises far more than the technicalities of your approach.

So, I wish I had let go of the pressure to name every model or approach.

What matters in the beginning is your willingness to learn and focus on what the family needs.

Celebrate those who’ve inspired you

Photo by Daniel Laflor/peopleimages.com/ AdobeStock

For our My Brilliant Colleague series you can write about anyone who has inspired you in your career – whether current or former colleagues, managers, students, lecturers, mentors or prominent past or present sector figures whom you have admired from afar.

Nominate your colleague or social work inspiration by filling in our nominations form with a letter or a few paragraphs (100-250 words) explaining how and why the person has inspired you.

If you have any questions, email our community journalist, Anastasia Koutsounia, at anastasia.koutsounia@markallengroup.com

I wish I had known supervision is a lifeline, not a test

I wish I had considered supervision an opportunity to grow professionally, rather than a test of my calibre.

I remember working hard to build what I thought was a trusting relationship with a mother until she requested a new social worker during a period of deteriorating mental health.

I felt hurt because we had always worked so well together, and I spent a long time worrying that I had done something wrong.

Sadly, I didn’t feel confident enough to explore my feelings, or how my experiences were affecting my practice, with my manager. I didn’t want to seem incompetent, overly anxious or incapable.

I wish I had opened myself up more meaningfully to emotional support and trusted myself to have those critical conversations that I came to rely upon as a more experienced practitioner.

I wish I had trusted that parents are the experts of their children

My lack of confidence led me to focus too much on risk and harm, rather than taking time to explore the strengths and aspirations of families.

I struggled to trust that parents were the experts in their own children and, although it is hard to confess, I wanted to be the author of their plans to gain control over the uncertainty.

An example was when I worked with a family where the father was arrested for viewing indecent images of children.

Despite the mother making excellent safeguarding decisions, including separating from him and supervising contact, I struggled to trust she would maintain this. This likely prolonged my involvement with the family, unnecessarily.

Managing risk is one of the most difficult aspects of social work. It is not an exact science and can feel like a heavy burden of responsibility.

However, I wish someone had reassured me that, while I shouldn’t be blindly optimistic, the best outcomes would happen when I worked with families, not against them.

I wish I had known that the time when I would be most successful in practice would be when I realised that social work wasn’t about eliminating risk. It’s about empowering people to manage and navigate risks independently, to become their own agents of change.

Share your story

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Would you like to write about a day in your life as a social worker? Do you have any stories, reflections or experiences from working in social work that you’d like to share or write about?

If so, email our community journalist, Anastasia Koutsounia, at anastasia.koutsounia@markallengroup.com