Residential care isn’t full of “bad” kids. It’s full of young people who’ve been through some seriously tough stuff. Trauma, loss, abuse, neglect – you name it. They’ve been moved around, let down, written off. So yeah, sometimes the behaviours are big. Sometimes they come in swinging, literally or emotionally. But there’s always a reason. And once you actually see that – once you know their stories – you stop being mad at them, and you start being mad for them.

There’s one young person I’ll never forget – let’s call him Josh. When I first met him, he was a closed book. His file was thick with incident reports. Angry. Violent. Unmanageable. That’s how people described him. But that’s not the kid I got to know.

The first few weeks were rough, no doubt. Josh kept to himself, barely made eye contact, and was quick to blow up. But we stuck with him. We showed up, day in and day out, even when he pushed back. And slowly, things started to shift.

One afternoon, I saw him sketching on the back of an old envelope. Just quietly, while pretending he wasn’t. I said nothing at first. Then, a few days later, I left a sketchbook on the kitchen table with a note that just said, “In case you feel like drawing.” He didn’t say anything – but he used it. And from that point on, a whole new side of Josh started to show.

Turns out, Josh is an incredible artist. Like, genuinely talented. As he got more comfortable with us, he started to share more of his art. He’d come up and shyly ask if I wanted to see something he’d been working on. And every time, I was blown away.

His art became his voice. It was how he processed his feelings, his memories, his hopes. Things he couldn’t say out loud, he’d put on paper. And through that, he started to open up more – not just with his art, but with his story. That’s when I realised how much pain he was carrying. And how strong he really was, just to keep going.

That’s what people don’t see when they talk about residential care. They see the outbursts, the damage, the behaviours. They don’t see the heart. They don’t see the creativity, the humour, the resilience. They don’t see the Josh who can sketch a portrait that tells a whole story without a single word.

It’s not an easy job, I’ll be honest. There are days that completely knock the wind out of you. But there are also moments that remind you why you’re here. Like watching a young person laugh for the first time in weeks. Or seeing a kid walk into a school they swore they’d never go back to. Or having a young person trust you enough to share a piece of their art – and a piece of themselves – with you.

This job teaches you not to give up on people. Especially not the ones the world has already given up on. Because underneath all the hurt, there’s always something good. Sometimes you just need to give it space to grow.

So no, residential care isn’t what people think. It’s not full of bad kids. It’s full of brave ones. And if you’re lucky enough to really know them – to support them, stand up for them, and see them shine – there’s honestly nothing more fulfilling than that.