As we look back on our journey with the social services system, a deep sense of pain and frustration lingers. We’ve faced many challenges, but one of the hardest truths to accept is the overwhelming feeling of being unseen and unheard. The very system that was supposed to offer us support during some of our darkest days instead made us feel more isolated and abandoned.
Throughout our experience, we've met a few social workers who genuinely understood, who showed empathy, and who took the time to listen. But those moments have been few and far between. More often than not, we’ve been met with scepticism, indifference, or a complete lack of understanding. The times we reached out in desperation, when we needed help more than ever, only to be dismissed or doubted, are the moments that have cut the deepest. To be in a place where your pain and your struggle aren’t just overlooked - they’re outright disbelieved - is an agony no words can adequately express.
The lack of consistency has only compounded this hurt. Social workers come and go, and with each new face, we’re forced to tell our story over and over again, hoping that this time, someone will truly hear us. But all too often, we’re met with empty promises and a fresh face. The revolving door of workers leaves us feeling invisible, like our struggles don’t matter enough to be remembered. Each new worker feels like a fresh setback, and each retelling of our pain only deepens the sense that the system sees us not as people, but as just another case to be shuffled around.
Perhaps the most painful aspect has been the times when we were truly ignored. Files were mishandled and misplaced that had critical information lost, and we were left in the dark. This wasn’t just about bureaucracy - it was about being disregarded at our most vulnerable. The most important decisions about our lives, our children, were made without considering our story in full. The gaps in our file weren’t filled by us, and the resulting delays and confusion caused more pain than we can describe. There were moments when we begged for someone to see us, to recognise the urgency of our needs. But instead of help, we were met with silence. We were left to wait, to wonder if anyone even cared at all. We felt forgotten - like we didn’t matter.
The meetings only mirrored this indifference. What was supposed to be a space for resolution became a place where we had to repeat ourselves endlessly, often to people who had never truly listened. The focus was always on process, on ticking boxes, not on the real lives of the families in front of them. Each meeting felt like another test of our endurance, where we were forced to relive our struggles with no real acknowledgment of the pain it caused. We became experts at holding back our tears, at pretending we weren’t broken inside as we faced yet another meeting that led nowhere. Every unanswered question, every delay, every promise left unfulfilled deepened our frustration, leaving us to question if anything would ever change.
One of the most insidious challenges we’ve faced in this journey with the social services system is the strain it has placed on our relationship. It’s not just the bureaucratic delays or the lack of support that have tested us; it’s the sheer weight of not understanding the system’s thoughts, its processes, and its endless complexities.
When we reached out for help, we thought we were doing the right thing. We thought that someone - anyone - would understand, would see the full picture, and would provide the kind of support we so desperately needed. But what we encountered instead was confusion, disorganisation, and a constant barrage of decisions for alternative therapy that made no sense. The way things were handled - or not handled - felt like a constant mystery, and that mystery created a deep divide between us.
Trying to make sense of the social services system together has put our relationship through tests we were never prepared for. When you’re facing a situation as sensitive and emotionally taxing as adoption, or when you’re navigating challenges that feel insurmountable, the last thing you need is confusion about the very system you’re relying on for help. It’s hard enough to be on the same page when you’re just trying to survive the day-to-day challenges, but when the system seems so opaque, when their thoughts and processes don’t make sense, it creates a space where communication between partners falters.
We found ourselves questioning everything - each other included. Why was this happening? Why were we being left in the dark? Why was it so hard to get answers? As we watched the clock tick by, waiting for approvals, hoping for solutions, we began to grow frustrated with one another. We were both in the same battle, but it often felt like we were fighting against each other rather than with each other. The pressure of not knowing what was coming next - the unpredictability of the system - our adoptive child started to test our patience, trust, and our ability to communicate effectively.
We had different ways of coping. One of us would try to stay optimistic, focusing on the small victories, the rare moments when things went right. The other, overwhelmed by the chaos of it all, would lean into the frustration, questioning why we had to keep fighting so hard just to get the basics of what was promised. Those differing coping mechanisms - born of stress and uncertainty - sometimes led to misunderstandings. Sometimes, it felt like we weren’t even in the same emotional space anymore, and that emotional distance mirrored the distance we felt from the very system that was supposed to support us.
If there’s one thing that’s become clear, it’s that the way the system operates has a profound effect not only on the families it serves, but also on the relationships within those families. The stress, the confusion, the frustration - it takes a toll. But the hope is that, even in the face of these challenges, we can come out stronger. in this.
We are stronger than this system. We will continue to speak out, to advocate, and to call for change, because our voices, our pain, and our journey matter. The system may have failed us in ways we never expected, but we will make sure that no other family has to endure this feeling of invisibility.
We will fight for a future where every family is seen, heard, and supported - not just in theory, but in practice. Because we will not let our pain be ignored. We will make sure the system understands that we matter. Our children matter. Our journey matters.
And we will keep pushing until it changes.
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