Suffer Little Children

I don’t know how this post is going to go over with you guys, but it’s a subject close to my heart. Child abuse. If you're of a very sensitive nature or you can't face reading something that will get you down, don't read on, but if you can manage to read this, know that if you can do one of two things I ask at the end, or even both, together we may just make a difference.

I’ve always rattled on about it throughout the years, and in one of my other pen names, all my books have a child abuse theme, showing readers what abused children could become if that child is so conditioned they don’t know what they have suffered in their youth is wrong.

My oldest daughter has picked up on my compassion for abused children, having heard my thoughts over time, and chose to go to college then university to study to be a social worker. Throughout her studies, she has done several work placements in several places, ranging from kindergarten/toddler groups to looking after the elderly in care homes.

Now, she’s on the in-your-face stretch of her studies and has been placed, as a social worker, complete with nametag and photo that proclaims her as such—my God, I am so proud of her!—helping children who live with the most horrendous situations and who, quite clearly, see their lives as “normal”. The parents see what they are doing as “normal”. She can’t mention any names or addresses when telling me anything, but yesterday, she visited and had to offload what she had seen and the emotions she had experienced so far this week. Let me tell you, I have no idea how she holds it all together and doesn’t cry for the children and get angry at the parents. She wants to, believe me, but she’s been trained to act professionally and not allow her emotions to get involved.

Hard when she has to read case files on abused children with the view to creating a “help plan” for the parents to follow, knowing what these children suffer through every day. One house is so filthy the floor is littered with cigarette butts thrown down and ground out by the mother. Brown banana skins, take-away boxes, crisp/chip packets, you name it, also covers the floor. And those children sat on that floor eating their lunch from bowls—just bread by the way—as though what they were doing was quite all right. Their feet were literally black with dirt, the filth coming up the sides of the feet from the soles. The children aren’t spoken to. They don't speak much. They have no idea how to interact with other people. For the most part, they are either silent or spend their time running, continually, from one end of the room to the other. They had bare mattresses on the floor for beds. The children are 4 and 2.

My daughter wanted to take those children out of the home and place them somewhere else, but she is bound by laws and red tape that prevent her from doing so. She has a young child of her own, so naturally she is devastated, knowing how important it is to nurture your children and raise them into stable, well-loved adults. The British system goes by this main rule: So long as there is no hardcore abuse, the children must remain with the parent to maintain the mother/child bond.

Ponder this: If there is no bond, if the mother doesn’t speak to these children, doesn’t play with them, basically feeds them as though they were just a hamster in a cage and nothing more than a blight on her existence, why are they still with her? Why did she have them? Can she be "taught" to care for them properly? To give them a clean and safe environment?

Evidently not. A team of workers cleaned the woman’s house from top to bottom. Just from the living room alone, they filled 4 large refuse sacks with debris from the floor. They bought the children new beds, some other new furniture for the rest of the house, and left the house sparkling and bright. While the team worked, two police officers gave their time to play with the children in the garden all day. They didn’t know how to play. They just stood there staring. Heartbreaking.

Three days later, the team went back to check the mother hadn’t sold the new furniture. And found the house just as filthy as before. The children just as filthy. Yet the mother/child bond must be maintained, and those children will not see a brighter future with adoptive/foster parents who adore them unless the mother harms them or they suffer sexual abuse—and even then, the mother/child bond is so “important” that the team will persevere in keeping the family unit together and only step in to take the children if the abuse escalates to horrific.

I think them living in those conditions is already horrific, let alone leaving them there until their abuse reaches the top of the scale before anything is done.

I don't know about you, but knowing I'm sitting here, happy, well-balanced, well-fed, my children safe and adored, a clean home, while children like the ones above are sitting in filth and don't even know what love is, what it feels like to be hugged every day and kissed on the cheek, makes me want to cry and DO something, you know? How can I sit here without at least trying to ease their pain?

My daughter has been subjected to filthy looks when parents she visits catch sight of her social worker tag. Like she's scum for wanting to help. She remains happy and upbeat, offering suggestions and help to these people, while inside her heart is breaking and she’s fighting off tears. She's determined to make a difference. What a woman. What an absolutely adorable woman to go out there and do the work I quite simply can’t. Because I wouldn’t be able to hold back the emotion. Just by her telling me about these children, among many others she’s been working with, I cried. I’m crying now while typing this. Those who work in this field have my complete admiration. It’s a damn tough job, sometimes thankless, and emotionally difficult.

I ask “Why?” a lot. What the hell is wrong with us that our governments create a structure that must be followed, allowing human beings to be subjected to a life of hell because they feel, if the mother/child bond is broken, it’s more traumatic for the children than the actual abuse? WTF? I know these kids don’t know anything different. I know what they are experiencing, to them, is “normal”, but for God’s sake, it isn’t, and them being left in homes like this absolutely kills me.

I had to get this off my chest and share with you the hidden secrets in our societies that we have no clue about until a child dies and a community cries out in uproar because the children weren’t removed from the home sooner. I knew things like this went on, but I didn’t realise how prevalent it is until yesterday. You would not believe the amount of people who act this way, right there in your village, town, or city. You would be shocked to know just how bad human beings are and can be, right on your doorstep.

The case above is the mildest she told me about.

If you have enough money to send even a pound/dollar to a charity for abused children, would you please do it today? That money helps to pay for day trips, food, clothing, whatever the children need. If everyone donated a pound or dollar, think how much that would add up to, how much joy and comfort the things bought with that money could give children all over the world who are suffering at the hands of those who are supposed to love them the most.

If you can’t afford to do this, then maybe send up a prayer for these kids. If collective prayer really works, then if we all do it, surely we can make a difference.