Away from the noise of the corridors, where fights, raves and drug-dealing took place amongst residents (who ranged from 16-year-old girls to 25-year-old men), I was isolated in a small white room on the third floor.
When I looked out of the window, I could see people for miles across the long stretch of promenade. But no one could see me.
The feeling of being unseen and unheard was all-encompassing. I was seen in a tokenistic way through fortnightly meetings with my social worker, or occasional ‘room-tidy checks’ by staff who did not know my name.
But I wasn’t truly seen or held in mind.
Register Now to Continue Reading
Thank you for visiting Children & Young People Now and making use of our archive of more than 60,000 expert features, topics hubs, case studies and policy updates. Why not register today and enjoy the following great benefits:
What's Included
-
Free access to 4 subscriber-only articles per month
-
Email newsletter providing advice and guidance across the sector
Already have an account? Sign in here
