Different is not less

I didn’t have an easy start in life. I was the youngest of 10 children, and we were all taken into care when I was 8 months old.  I stayed in a nursery, and my earliest memory is standing in my cot and nobody coming. I was fostered when I was two and then when I was 10 I was adopted.

My adoptive mother was cold to me but my father was my world, and I loved spending time with my grandparents. I wasn’t expected to achieve much, and my records show I was given an IQ of 87.  I surprised everyone when I passed the 11 plus – and now I’m a member of MENSA.  The people who put me down did me a favour: I’ve worked my socks off and achieved so much.

I became an unpaid carer at a young age, because my first husband had mental health problems. We met through volunteering with young people.  I was happy because I was in love, so it came as a shock to realise he had mental health difficulties. Sometimes he couldn’t go to work, and I didn’t understand. Sadly he struggled to form a relationship with our son.

My second partner and I had another baby, and we thought our family was complete. But our lives were shattered when Emil died of meningitis, just before his second birthday. I worked with Lippy People to make a video about our journey with Emil.  At the end of the video I recite a poem that I wrote in Martin House Children’s Hospice where we were after he’d passed away. I feel they were his words, telling me that he was okay.

My third child is a much-wanted daughter, Amali, and she’s such a delight.  When she was very young I noticed she was neurodivergent – I’ve worked as a health visitor assistant and in a children’s centre so I understood what that meant.  However, she wasn’t diagnosed with Aspergers until she was 8.

At school she was seen as being wilful and disobedient. In reality, she was struggling because of sensitivity and feeling overwhelmed.

I was working in the same school, and sometimes it was hard to know which hat to wear. The other children saw Amali as different and didn’t include her in games or invite her to parties. That was hard for me, but I’ve learned she’s not bothered. Some of the other staff weren’t understanding; some just said ‘it must be so hard’. But I celebrate her uniqueness.

We chose her secondary school carefully, and they gave her wings to fly. Now, she’s 25. She travels independently and loves meeting up with her friends for coffee. She’s done internships and volunteering and she’s passed the interview to start as a trainee with Paperworks, which has the potential to lead to a job.

Life isn’t not always straightforward. Amali would get so anxious if the school bus was late. We had to learn we can’t meet emotion with emotion – we worked out how to calm things down. The next step is to see her settled independently – I’m 65 and her father’s 75, so we’re just starting to think about what might work for her in future.

I do a lot with other carers. We’re stronger together. I’m part of Better Action for Families, and we organise some great activities.

Writing is my safe place.  I’m an environmental poet; I’ve performed across Yorkshire and on radio, I’ve been published, and my words have been set to music. I love words and using them to express how I’m feeling.

The hardest thing about being a carer is other people’s assumptions.

The best thing about being her carer is her. My motto is: Different is not less.

If you’re a carer, my message is: stand your ground! Don’t let anybody rain on your parade, and be proud of the person you care for.