Growing up, I didn’t fully understand what my dad did for work. I remember family fun days at the Children’s Home,  where he worked in the 1980s before qualifying as a social worker. I’d join in the games like tug-of-war, and while I didn’t grasp the significance of his role, I knew he was helping people. That’s where my understanding of social work first began.

It wasn’t until my teenage years, when my dad worked at the Conquest Hospital in adult social care, that I started to see the full picture. He wasn’t just helping people get better like my mum, who was a nurse—he was helping people improve their lives. Watching him work made me realise the depth of social work, going beyond the immediate need to focus on long-term change and support.

As I grew older, I learned more about the challenges he faced. My dad was the first Black social worker in East Sussex, and he had to push against countless barriers to succeed. He constantly had to work harder to prove himself in a system that wasn’t always welcoming. But he never let that stop him. His resilience was incredible, and that perseverance is something I’ve carried with me throughout my own career.

When I was doing agency work at a residential home during my A-levels, I was torn between nursing and social work. But I found myself drawn to the idea of making sure people received the rights and care they deserved. That’s when I decided to pursue social work.

Now, in my new role as an Operational Manager, I’ve surpassed my dad’s achievements in terms of seniority, and he couldn’t be prouder. His book, Reflections on the Glass Ceiling, captures his struggles and his legacy, one that I’m proud to continue.

My own children are starting to show interest in following in our footsteps. My 13-year-old is keen on becoming a lawyer, while my 11-year-old says he might want to be a social worker like me. It’s wonderful to see that the family tradition of helping others continues with the next generation.