Funny, as I read through this, I feel the anxiety that came with all of it.
My girl has done amazingly well, for herself and her little family, of 3 moko now. She knows how to manage herself and ask for help when she needs it … she knows what her babies need and what she needs to be working on next. She has put in some fucking hard yards and they are slowly paying off. I am forever grateful for the steps she’s taken for herself and the mokos .. . it could have worked out so much worse .. but it hasn’t ❤
And the work scene … well … I feel the tension as I think about that place … I feel sorrow for all the kids that went through that place and didn’t get what they needed. It took a long while to realise that our country (as a whole) is not interested in true rehabilitation and prevention – we will forever be the ambulance at the bottom of the cliff in these sorts of situations.
And as far as feeling safe – our truly fucked up government has just changed the laws / legislation around how a child / young person should be treated – and I’m not against that at all … but moving a pile of shit from one box to another doesn’t make it a cupcake … it’s still shit! If you ‘lock’ kids up you get a certain result. Whether you ‘unlock the doors’, or give them a ‘naughty corner’ instead of a time out room … these things are not the real issues … the real issues start long before they come into ‘care’ or a facility like Youth Justice. And we end up adding to those issues with our systemic incompetence and ignorance.
It was always a ‘passion’ of mine – still is, the social justice side – but in reality, for a person like me … it is thoroughly soul-destroying watching a tragedy unfold and not being able to adequately assist in the prevention of further tragedy!
She was having trouble with the inlaws…and domestic violence…she felt trapped…shit those were the killer, kicker words for me…feeling trapped. I booked her and moko a plane ticket and brought them home. In hindsight…oh great hindsight…it may not have been the most appropriate thing to do; but I would die trying to protect her…and moko. What it took a long time to realise though, was I couldn’t die trying to protect her from herself. My girl had demons of her own…and they were rearing their heads…and she was in pain. It took a few years for her to start grappling with them…like me…she turned to the alcohol and tried to drown herself in the protection that it gave.
Her partner followed her down…and they ‘reconciled’ and moko number two was on her way.
Life was…hard…fucking hard…with all of us under the one roof again. All the things that had been…
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