Hope for change: A reflective journey of social work practice,domestic homicide and doctoral research

I was a team manager in a front-line child protection team in England. We managed all the referrals that came into children’s services and were often overwhelmed with the referrals related to domestic abuse, typically from the police. I did not like having to make decisions about families where domestic abuse was suspected, as I often felt decisions were either risk averse or did not address the level of risk appropriately due to the structural, systemic, and legal constraints. As a social worker, when I was allocated a family I typically only spoke with the mother/victim, who I felt often minimised what was happening and failed to see how this could be impacting on their children. Mothers would say things about her partner being a good father and that he gets stressed because he cannot find work, or how the children were sleeping so they did not hear what had taken place and how it has only happened the one time. I feel embarrassed to admit this. The fathers were often unavailable when I arranged to visit, and when I did speak or meet with them, they tended to cast blame to the mother and sometimes they would present as charming and try to manipulate me into believing their side of the story. I remember meeting with a father, who was a perpetrator of domestic abuse, in our office and when I returned to my desk, I felt unsettled, disturbed, and nauseous as it felt that he had been trying to control and manipulate me to be on his side. I remember thinking I hope I never had to see him again. I never once heard a father take any responsibility or recognised that their behaviour was a form of violence or coercive control. Instead, he was blaming the mother, saying things like: she’s always nagging me, she was out and came home late, she’s at home all day and should have dinner ready, she lets the kids do whatever they want. I reflect on why fathers avoid accountability, particularly when speaking with someone in a position of power, since admitting they have caused harm and fear can provoke feelings of shame and guilt, threaten their sense of masculinity, and risk punitive consequences.

As the duty manager, I was responsible for deciding whether a referral warranted an assessment, or whether a more minimal intervention would be sufficient. In cases involving domestic abuse, where the risk was assessed by the police to be low, it was common practice to send information about local domestic abuse services to the mother by post, followed by case closure. In hindsight, I recognise the shortcomings of this approach; it placed responsibility on the mother for someone else’s abusive behaviour. The response reflected the local authority’s standard approach to what was considered ‘low risk’ domestic abuse, an approach that often went unchallenged. At the time, I did not have information as to whether the mother could read or if she understood English. There was also not much thought given to whether the perpetrator might intercept the letter, which he could use as a threat to the mother and potentially increase the risk to both the mother and children. This practice minimised both the severity of the abuse and the level of danger posed by perpetrators. It also highlights the systemic failures and lack of accountability.

In my management role, I attended various meetings regarding high profile offenders due for release from prison. My involvement focused on situations where these individuals had children living in the local area. I recall one case where an offender, who had been in prison for domestic abuse, was due for release, and the police strongly advised that the mother and her children relocate, as the risk to her remained extremely high. However, the mother refused to move. This refusal escalated into a social services concern, with pressure placed on us to facilitate her relocation. I remember feeling deeply uncomfortable with the injustice of the situation. The woman and her children had done nothing wrong, yet they were expected to bear the consequences of this man’s actions, because of his violence and lack of control.

It raised important questions for me: Had the perpetrator received any meaningful intervention whilst in prison to address his behaviour? Did he accept any responsibility for what he had done? What support had the mother, or her children received while he was in prison? In cases where fathers were convicted and served prison sentences, which was rare, children’s services often closed the case as the risk was deemed to no longer be present. What should have happened was a collaborative approach involving various agencies providing ongoing work to the mother and children due to the trauma they had been subjected to (Humphreys et al., 2000; Pattabhiraman et al., 2021). The perpetrator should also engage in intervention to address his abusive behaviour (Cantos & O’Leary, 2014; Featherstone and Fraser, 2012). However, I recognise that some perpetrators may be mandated to attend programmes, and when participation is not voluntary, there is often little accountability for their actions (Moulding et al., 2015; Smith and Humphreys, 2019).

While I understood the safety concerns pushing for the family to relocate, I also empathised with the mother’s decision to stay in the area. Her resistance was rooted in a desire for stability and normalcy for her children. Feelings of frustration and worry were common for me; frustration at the system’s shortcomings and the worry for families left to navigate these situations with minimal support from statutory services.

My experience working with the police was generally very positive. We had a strong professional relationship and often socialised together. One Friday afternoon, the detective sergeant from the child abuse unit called and asked to speak to me directly, something unusual, as calls typically went to the assistant manager covering referrals that day. Naively, I assumed she was calling about meeting up after work. Instead, it was a call that would change my life forever.

The police informed me that a woman had been killed, and her ex-partner had admitted to killing her. They had gone to the house and found the woman strangled to death. He was now in custody, and they needed someone to care for the baby while extended family were informed. The baby had several older siblings who were at school, soon to be told by the police that their mother had been killed. The family had been receiving support and interventions from the team I managed. I cannot explain the various emotions I was experiencing upon hearing this. I was shocked and stunned that this had happened to a mother we knew. I was scared that we would be blamed and that we had not done enough. I was devastated for my colleagues who had been working with her, and I was immensely angry and sad that her children had lost their mother because of their father.

I sat at my desk, fighting back tears as I looked out at my team. I was always so proud of how hard they worked and how committed they were to the children and families. I looked at the colleague who had been working closely with the mother and her children, as well as her supervisor. More than colleagues, but friends. How was I going to tell them that the woman they had been supporting had been killed? This is the kind of moment social work education does not prepare you for.

I called my manager, who was in a meeting, and insisted to the administrator that I needed to speak to her immediately. A friend and colleague approached my desk to ask a question and immediately sensed something was wrong. I told her what had happened and asked her to go to the police station, which was next door to our building, to collect the baby and bring him back to the office. While she did this, I would speak to the two colleagues who had been working with the family.

As I shared the news, we all broke down in tears.

We cried for the woman who had lost her life at the hands of someone who was meant to care about her.

We cried for the children, who had lost their mother at the hands of their father. Who had been subjected to his abuse and would forever be impacted by the trauma and loss.

We cried for the baby who had been present when his father killed his mother.

We cried out of concern and self-doubt—had we done everything we could to protect them?

We cried because we knew that our involvement with this family would now be under intense scrutiny. What would that mean for us, both professionally and personally? I am ashamed to say that this was a concern at the time, but I had witnessed what happened to social workers who the media, and the public, blamed when things went wrong. I now understand that when women are killed by their partners, these tragedies often fail to receive the media attention they should. In this case, the woman’s death was reported the following day in local media, and again when the trial was held. In my view, it did not receive the attention it should have. Although violence against women and girls is a significant public health issue (WHO, 2024), it is rarely given the attention it deserves. Its prevalence has become so normalised that is frequently overlooked.

The mother had engaged with the social workers within the local authority children’s services team and a domestic abuse organisation. As far as we were concerned, she had been doing what we had asked her to do. In statutory social work, this can create a false sense of security and that the risk had been reduced. The mother and children had left the partner and were staying with relatives. I had been a social worker for over 12 years at this point. How did I not know the statistics of the number of women who are killed by their partners/ex-partners every year? How did I not know that when women leave abusive relationships, they are at higher risk as the abuse tends to escalate or change, and they are at a higher risk of being killed by the perpetrator. As I have since learned, this has been established through research (Humphreys et al., 2018; Richards, 2003; Wilson and Daly, 2002; etc) for many years. However, the typical response from statutory social work was that mothers needed to leave the relationship and stop contact with their partner. Yet, at the same time there was a view that children should have contact with their father, even if he was a perpetrator of domestic abuse. There was often minimal contact between the social worker and the father using violence, which gives a view that the abuse is not a concern but how the mother is responding to it is. Best practice within children and family social work would be that the social worker, along with other professionals, is working with all family members, not just the mother and the children. Social workers need to engage with the person perpetrating the harm to address family violence in a meaningful way and to acknowledge the complex issue of domestic abuse.

So why is this the typical response from children’s services, as well as the view of many other professionals, and society? Why were social workers rarely speaking to the fathers? Why were we placing the responsibility of the abuse on the mother, like she can somehow stop him? If she could stop the abuse, she would. What happened to this mother changed my view about domestic abuse and how we should manage these complex situations. I believe it changed the view about domestic abuse for everyone in the team. In situations where women and children are being subjected to domestic abuse, I would ensure there was a strong collaborative approach to supporting them to minimise the risk to both. I would ensure that social workers and relevant professionals prioritised speaking with fathers who had used violence. Collaborative decision making and ensuring professionals who are experts in domestic abuse are involved is key. I would never say again that we need to tell a mother she needs to leave the perpetrator/father, or we may need to open a child protection investigation or even worse, remove the children from her care as she is not keeping them safe. I will always ask social workers what the perpetrator/father has said, and that it needs to be a priority to speak with him.

Although the mother had told social workers she was not in contact with the children’s father, this turned out to be untrue. It is perhaps unsurprising; like many mothers in similar situations, she likely understood that disclosing contact with the children’s father would prompt children’s services to consider a child protection investigation and question her ability to keep the children safe. This view, which was the typical response to domestic abuse, placed the responsibility of the abuse onto the victim and not where it should have been placed, with the perpetrator.

Research has shown that the threats made by children’s services in such situations can closely resemble the coercive tactics used by perpetrators themselves (Keeling and Van Wormer, 2012; Radford and Hester, 2006; Stewart, 2019). What this family needed was a supportive service that engaged with mothers subjected to domestic abuse in a non-judgmental, non-blaming way—one that fostered trust and assured them they would not be punished for having contact with the perpetrator. For many women, maintaining some form of contact may be a strategy they believe helps protect both themselves and their children, and can be a source of agency (Buchanan and Moulding, 2021).

This came through in my PhD research, as one mother said:

“They (children’s services) want me to change my number but if I don’t have contact with him, I don’t know what he’s thinking…getting texts helps me understand his thinking and I can react to keep us safe”. –Ann, mother

Ann’s social worker, Megan, understood this. “…I think the way Mum sees it is that she is managing the risk…she will say that if she doesn’t go to him, he’s going to come to her, so I believe that she is managing the risk and sees it as protecting her children”.

Although the domestic homicide I have discussed is a single case example, it highlights the potentially tragic dimensions of domestic abuse for so many women and children. Social workers within statutory child welfare services are in a useful position and could be an important resource to empower and support women and children; yet in statutory children’s services teams, they are often viewed as blaming and non-supportive by children and families (Witt and Diaz, 2019; Lapierre, 2008). I believe that many social workers have the skills needed to engage in challenging conversations, however, addressing abusive behaviour with perpetrators can evoke fear and discomfort. Given that most social workers are women, and that statistically, many may have personal experiences as victim-survivors of abuse, their fear and apprehension is understandable. I reflect feeling uneasy and fearful when meeting with fathers who used violence, especially outside of the office, even though we would often do this in pairs (Hunt et al., 2015; Littlechild, 2005; Smith et al., 2004).

Some social workers who were participants in my research, made strong statements about the perpetrators they had encountered. They spoke about their emotions when reflecting on their interactions with the men.

“Dad strongly dislikes me and he’s told me, ‘you’re fucking useless’ and I’d get extremely nervous because he did make threats and comments about me so that was kind of nerve-wracking”—Megan, social worker

“He is very manipulative. He comes across as someone you would not want to upset or say the wrong thing to. I can imagine how controlled she must have felt by him”—Alice, social worker

William, a male social worker, spoke about how the father tries to manipulate him but also get him on side since they are both men.

“When I speak to him, he tries to manipulate me…he’ll say, I know you understand because you are a man, and I’m thinking, hold on, we aren’t mates.”—William, social worker

These statements indicate a high level of fear and concern, yet these social workers are expected to work with fathers who use violence. This places social workers at real risk of being exposed to intimidation, threats to their personal safety, and significant emotional harm from vicarious trauma (Hunt et al., 2015; Littlechild, 2005; Smith et al., 2004).

It is essential that social workers are well-supported and receive training on the complexities of domestic abuse to safely and confidently engage fathers who use violence in conversations about their abusive behaviour. Mothers and children subjected to domestic abuse account for a significant number of referrals for statutory children’s services in England (DfE, 2024; Stanley et al., 2011). Although there is an abundance of research (Douglas and Walsh, 2010; Keeling and Van Wormer, 2012; Hughes et al., 2016; Stewart, 2019; Stewart and Arnull, 2022; etc) that suggests the approaches statutory social workers within children’s services use are coercive, controlling, threatening, and blaming, these practices continue. By placing the onus on the victim, mothers and children are often placed at higher risk as these practices are not addressing the domestic abuse (Humphreys et al., 2018; Richards, 2003; Wilson and Daly, 2002).

In my various social work roles, I am often supporting and supervising students and newly qualified social workers in England, and much of their work is with children and families where domestic abuse is taking place. In these roles, I am not in positions of decision making, but as someone to provide reflective supervision, offer support, and provide opportunities for teaching and learning. What I hope is that the students and social workers I am working with, reflect and give thought to our discussions around domestic abuse and feel able to question and push back when decisions are oppressive to mothers/victims. Many local authorities provide training for social workers based on a specific domestic abuse model developed outside the UK. While this model has many strengths, my conversations with social workers and managers reveal a persistent issue—mothers are still being blamed for the abuse. Without adequate resources and meaningful support for social workers, even the most effective training will have limited impact on practice. Social workers want to build trusting relationships with mothers, children and fathers, but the bureaucratic demands, such as strict timescales and performance indicators, continues to overshadow the importance of building supportive, trusting relationships (Broadhurst et al., 2010; Parton, 2008; White et al., 2010). My PhD research findings also highlighted that social workers want to spend more time with children and families to build relationships, but the impact of meeting timescales often meant that this took precedence over the time they could spend with families (Detjen, 2023).

Mothers also spoke about how they viewed social work involvement and what they wanted from social workers. These quotes illustrate some of the frustrations mothers felt about their involvement with social workers.

“We need someone to support us to help us through these difficult situations, that’s what we need…not someone to make us feel guilty”—Julie, Mother

“She just comes and asks questions and then writes in her book” – Julie, Mother

“They’re foot soldiers, who come in and then run off to their managers to read through some papers and make decisions…and I just try to comply” –Alison, Mother

The aim of my PhD research was to begin to conceptualise and understand what takes place when social workers and women who have been subjected to domestic abuse interact with one another. Feeling infuriated and frustrated when situations of domestic abuse were spoken about by, not only professionals, but also by peers, colleagues and friends, encouraged me to want to explore the thoughts and emotions of social workers and mothers, through observations and interviews. I wanted to understand how mothers and social workers perceived these interactions whilst they were actively working with one another, which had been a gap in the literature. This was considered through a feminist theoretical lens, as well as a psychodynamic lens to assist in making sense of the emotional aspects.

My data collection consisted of observing social workers, traveling with them to and from home visits and meetings, engaging in powerful and reflective conversations during those journeys, and observing their interactions with mothers who had been subjected to domestic abuse. I witnessed moments of genuine compassion and care, which provoked a variety of emotions in me. I also spoke directly with mothers about their experiences of working with the social workers. While none of them had wanted social work involvement, most felt that the support they received was helpful. A key part of that support involved helping mothers understand the nature of domestic abuse. Many initially believed that abuse meant it had to be physical. However, through conversations with their social workers, they came to recognise that they had been subjected to abuse—emotional, psychological, financial and coercive—for far longer than they had previously realised. Coming to terms with this was not easy and often deeply painful for them.

Local authority social workers are not only constrained by systemic pressures, but they also function within socially constructed patriarchal societies that continue to oppress women. As Arnull and Stewart (2021) argue, drawing on feminist scholars such as Friedan (1963), De Beauvouir (1953), and Hartsock (1983), social workers, like all members of society, are influenced by patriarchal ideologies. These ideologies shape practice in ways that disproportionately blame mothers, overlook the role of fathers who use violence, and perpetuate harmful interventions such as ‘leave ultimatum’ and mother blaming. My research aligns with Arnull and Stewart (2021), highlighting how patriarchal systems contribute to oppressive social work practices that focus the blame and responsibility on mothers while perpetrators often remain invisible in assessments.

I did not set out to provide a negative narrative around social work practice. I want to believe that social workers want to support the mothers and the children to be safe from harm, and they said as much during my time with them. However, social workers work within a bureaucratic system that has become burdened by performance indicators, where the completion of assessments and meeting timescales seems to take priority over the relational aspects of the work (Broadhurst et al., 2010; White et al., 2010) even though research has consistently shown that strong, relationship based practice between social workers and families is more likely to result in positive outcomes (Megele, 2015; O’Connor, 2020; Ruch et al., 2018).

One mother said to me, “I don’t know what we would have done with social services, they have gone above and beyond for me and the children”. I became teary eyed when she said this. There is so much negative media attention towards children’s service social workers in England, and it was refreshing to hear a mother say something so positive about a profession I love. THIS is what I hope for! I hope for all mothers and children who have been subjected to domestic abuse and have statutory social work involvement to feel safer because social workers have the time and resources to provide comprehensive support. By listening to mothers and children, they are empowered to challenge decision making that is oppressive and blaming towards mothers which will support social workers to meet the complex needs of families. The blame and responsibility for the abuse must rest with the person who has used violence, not with victim/survivors. Social workers must also be aware of how patriarchal norms shape assumptions and decisions and routinely examine this within supervision. Social workers are change agents and are pivotal in changing the response mothers subjected to domestic abuse receive from child welfare services. As a woman, social worker, academic, and researcher, I remain committed, despite local authority bureaucracy and patriarchal systems, to challenging victim-blaming and patriarchal assumptions, centring mothers and children, promoting relationship-based compassionate practice, and holding those who use violence accountable so statutory social workers can protect and support families.