“We’re never going to see Maddie again,” Julie says, her voice cracking.
Julie works at a children’s home in the south where Maddie has lived since she was 13. Julie has just returned from the final transition visit to Maddie’s next home.
Maddie, who has severe learning disabilities and autism, has lived in the same home and attended the same school for six years. She has been surrounded by all those who know her best.
But at 19, she is moving from children’s to adult social care and her new home – new staff, new peers – is two hours away.
Alongside Julie’s understandable grief is an assumption that Maddie will neither return to nor remain connected with the home or people she has grown up with and who have loved her.
I met Julie and Maddie in my role as a specialist consultant supporting individuals with learning disabilities and the people caring for them.
Around 20,000 young people with learning disabilities will finish education this year and some, like Maddie, will continue into adult social care.
In 2023, the government issued a report, Children’s Social Care: Stable Homes, Built on Love.
Its opening statement reads: “Our aim is to create a children’s social care system which prioritises love and stability for children and families relentlessly.”
But it was not relentless; Maddie’s transition into adulthood has been the all too common scrabble for a good enough placement – wherever it could be found and, crucially, whoever it is with. For Maddie, love and stability have relented. Abruptly.
Shortly after Maddie moved, the transition cogs began whirring around another young person, Adam. The 18-year-old, who is severely autistic and has a learning disability, had also lived in a children’s home since his early teens. His distress had escalated in recent years but he was supported almost exclusively by three specialist staff who grew to know, trust and love him.
They described him in an ordinary, familial way, with great fondness. “He’s changed me,” one said. “He’s helped me understand things, including myself, differently.” Another simply said: “We love him.”
These relationships, built on love and stability, helped Adam heal from his distress. One option for Adam’s adult home was to continue to be cared for by these three staff.
It was not the cheapest option but the best one. Yet this was not obvious to everyone.
So those around Adam – family, team, managers, specialists – fought for what seemed obvious. The strain of moving to a new home in a new area would be eased if Adam retained the support of those he trusted.
If he moved to a new place and simultaneously lost those who loved and cared for him, how would he fare? How would anyone?
In the end, we could reach only a compromise with local adult social care commissioners: those who loved Adam would phase him into his new home without any guarantee they could stay in his life.
This isn’t good enough.
Trauma risk
Love, relationships and stability are not yet at the heart of transition. Instead, moving home for young people like Maddie and Adam is recognised as a challenging life event, which can lead to a trauma response.
The “relentless” pursuit of love and stability should not have an age limit.
For young people with learning disabilities – who have much higher rates of trauma than others – love and relationships need to be at the heart of transitions.
This does not feel radical – it is simply what Adam and Maddie wanted, and what any of us would want.
Names have been changed
Beverley Samways is founder of consultancy Unique Connections
