About Me
I'm a children's social worker somewhere in England. I'm twenty-five. I have a psychology degree I've done nothing with, a masters in social work that cost me more than my car, and a deep, personal relationship with the car park at my local family court.
I started this blog because I needed somewhere to put the things that don't fit in case notes or supervision or awkward phone calls to my mum. The stuff that sits in your chest at 11pm on a Friday when you've had the kind of week that makes you question every professional decision you've ever made and also whether cheese on toast counts as dinner.
(It does. Obviously.)
I write about social work because nobody else seems to, and when they do it's either a headline about something terrible or a politician saying the word 'reform' like it's a spell that fixes things. I wanted to write about what it's actually like. The boring bits. The devastating bits. The bits where you laugh so hard in the office that you forget, just for a second, that you spent the morning in a courtroom trying not to cry.
The Important People
Mr Whiskers - my cat. The most emotionally stable male in my life. Judgemental, but in a supportive way. Sleeps on my laptop when I'm trying to write this blog, which I think is his way of telling me to go to bed.
My best friend - she gets to go to actual parties while I sit in my pyjamas writing about safeguarding. She texts me seven times when I don't reply and doesn't take it personally. She's the one who tells me I'm being ridiculous when I'm being ridiculous, and she's right every single time. I don't know what I'd do without her. Probably cry more. Definitely eat worse.
My mum - loving, concerned, makes a lot of tea. Asks me every Sunday if I'm eating properly. The answer is always yes. The answer is always a lie. She worries. I tell her not to worry. We both know that's not going to happen.
My dad - the kind of quiet that means he's thinking, not the kind that means he's ignoring you. Grows things in the garden. Gives advice without realising he's giving advice. I ring him when I've had a bad day and he doesn't ask what happened, he just talks about leeks until I feel better. It works every time.
My sister - younger, lives in London, has a gym membership she actually uses, and basically has her entire life together in a way that I find both admirable and personally offensive. We argue about everything and would do anything for each other. She's annoyingly good at being an adult.
What Else?
I like wine (you knew that). I like dogs that aren't mine. I straighten my hair every morning even though it's a waste of forty minutes and it's going to rain anyway because this is England. I own more pyjamas than a person should reasonably need.
I comfort eat, which my mum would call 'emotional eating' and I call 'Tuesday.' I am single, which my sister brings up at every family gathering like it's a condition that needs treating.
Currently
Reading: The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins. Everyone at work is reading it. I'm only two chapters in but I already don't trust anyone on public transport.
Watching: Making a Murderer on Netflix. Which is a terrible choice of viewing for someone who works in the justice system because I keep shouting at the screen about procedural failings.
Listening to: Adele's 25, on repeat, in the car, crying. Also Florence + The Machine when I need to feel like I can take on the world, and Hozier when I need to feel feelings.
Eating: Too much cake from the office kitchen. Someone brings one in every Monday. It's a coping mechanism disguised as a team-building exercise.
Things I Can't Live Without
- Mr Whiskers (see above)
- The good kettle (second floor, fire exit corridor, do NOT use the one in the main kitchen)
- Dry shampoo (the real hero of the ASYE year)
- My best friend, who I do not deserve
- Slip-on shoes (for home visits, trust me on this)
- My dad's leeks (don't ask)
- This blog (apparently)
Why 'The Secret Diary of a Social Worker'?
Because I can't use my real name. Because the families I work with deserve better than to end up as content. Because the HCPC would have something to say about it. Because my manager would have something to say about it. Because my mum would definitely have something to say about it.
And because there's something freeing about writing when no one knows who you are. This blog is the place I'm most honest. More honest than my diary (which I also keep, because apparently I have a problem). More honest than supervision. Definitely more honest than the answer I give when people ask me at parties what I do for a living.
If you're a social worker reading this - hello. I see you. I hope today was one of the good ones. And if it wasn't, I hope tomorrow is.
If you're not a social worker - hello to you too. Please stop asking us if we steal children at dinner parties. We don't. The pay isn't good enough for that.
Maisie x
(Not my real name. But you know that by now.)