Amir Wilson and Nina Sosanya as Will Parry and his mother, Elaine, in His Dark Materials, BBC One. Photo: Simon Ridgway/Bad Wolf Productions.
Taking care: Lessons from His Dark Materials by Lois Gallagher
‘It can feel like an internal battle of epic proportions.’
As Christmas approaches amid a long Covid-19 winter, some of us are looking forward to the culmination of the BBC’s second series of His Dark Materials. Watching this adaptation of Philip Pullman’s novels, I was interested in the storyline of Will, a young carer, because I work with young adult carers aged eighteen to twenty-five in a supportive housing project called Move on Up, part of the work of charity Quaker Social Action, with the support of Commonweal Housing.
Will is in his early teens, living with his mother, who has anxiety, obsessive thoughts and psychotic symptoms. Will is deeply devoted to his mother, but his life is limited by the need to care for her and protect her from harm.
In many ways Will leads a rather mundane life, but is caught up in an epic battle in his search for his missing father. This could be seen as a metaphor for what many of our young adult carers go through in their struggle to establish an independent sense of self in the midst of their caring. It’s an adventure beset with barriers, and one we are constantly exploring.
Take Yvonne (not her real name). Her mother has mental health problems and a history of substance misuse. Her father has diabetes and is in very poor health. Yvonne has cared for her father since she was twelve. She has also been key in the care of her two youngest siblings.
Yvonne comes in to see me on a grey November afternoon. I have been mostly working from home and have had to keep in contact with our tenants by phone, but go in once a week to provide face-to-face support for our most vulnerable young adults. I use the word ‘vulnerable’ as if it is a problem, but actually one of Yvonne’s strengths is this ability to be vulnerable and make connections with people who can help her. It’s a new feeling and she likes it, but it’s like flexing an underused muscle, receiving help rather than giving it.
We sit two metres apart near an open window; Yvonne keeps her coat on.
Yvonne tells me how things are going. She spends a few days at a time at her Dad’s, helping to do his shopping, picking up his medication, cooking for him and supporting him emotionally. He has huge swellings in his feet and is in a lot of pain. She watches how much pain medication he takes, as he can sometimes overdose and go into a heavy sleep from which she cannot wake him for hours. He is thin and struggles to walk. She hates to see him declining in health and having to wait for hospital appointments, which are delayed because of Covid. A nurse comes in for an hour or so once a week, but this year there isn’t much in-person care available.
When Yvonne comes back to the Move on Up flat, she exhales. She sleeps, does yoga, cooks for herself and chats to her flatmate. She also comes to see me. We explore her feeling of being strongly pulled in two different directions: ‘I want so badly to be by myself,’ she says, ‘and I want so badly to help my Dad. I worry all the time about whether he is OK. Then when I’m with him for a while I get so fed up and feel I’m at breaking point.’ It can feel like an internal battle of epic proportions.
We think together about how much you can take on of other people’s problems. Young carers can often get merged, in their minds, with the person or people they care for and find it hard to establish an autonomous self. Yvonne tells me her Dad is stubborn, and can’t talk about how he feels, and gets depressed, and this frustrates her. But she knows that she can’t make everything better for him. At times, as the eldest of five siblings, she feels the whole world is on her shoulders. She knows she has a tendency to hold it all in and not ask for help.
It’s hard for young people in general, and for our young adult carers in particular, to find the tools they need to be independent. Separating psychologically and physically from their family can be very painful. The roles have often been confused during the years of caring: who is playing the parental role, and who is the child? How do they combine a continuing relationship with the family with moving forward into an independent life? This task is fraught with risks. Perhaps their parent will become more ill without so much care from them. Perhaps the burden will fall more heavily on a younger sibling. Perhaps everyone will feel the pain of change. Will has to leave his beloved mother behind for a while in order to find his destiny, and to a certain extent our tenants have to do the same.
Yvonne has just started an apprenticeship, managing to carve out time to do some learning for her future. Her sister, who is at sixth-form college, has to care for their Dad while Yvonne is studying. She has her own classes and coursework to complete. They are just about managing to juggle it between themselves. It’s really important that their teachers and other adults around them understand that caring is not just time-consuming but emotionally demanding. Without understanding and support, many young carers drop out of education and struggle to establish a professional life. An important part of Move on Up’s work is helping the tenant build their confidence to push through into personal, professional and financial achievements. There are big ups and downs on this journey, but especially this year, with multiple furloughing and rising youth unemployment.
The second series of the BBC adaptation has come at a salient point: in 2020, we have faced a crisis different from that of the bears, witches and scholars of Pullman’s story, but no less frightening and destabilising. At least we have the stories that help us make meaning of it all. As we pull wearily into 2021, we must protect the artistic and compassionate parts of our society found in writers, actors, creatives, charity projects and public services so that young people like Yvonne have the chances they deserve and the opportunities to make sense of it all.
Yvonne and I talk about how important it is that young carers get their voices heard. She says she would like to tell her story more widely. We finish our meeting. ‘I’m not even sure if it’s helpful for you to hear this,’ I say, ‘but I do think you’re amazing. I think you are going to look back in twenty years and have so much understanding and empathy for others going through what you went through.’
She looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I think I am amazing. I am a strong young woman.’ She manages to escape the typical adolescent leanings towards either false modesty or grandiosity, but states it simply, as fact.
I smile. ‘I’m glad you think so,’ I say.
Lois is from Quaker Social Action. Find out more about Move on Up at moveonup.org.uk.
