The Web of Care

We all exist in an ecosystem - we are surrounded by webs, whether we notice them or not. This keeps coming up when travelling to remote communities; people just know how they are connected to one another - everyone has a family, and mostly the family is the entire community. Kinship systems mean someone who might otherwise be 'sister of my father's cousin's wife' is instead identified as 'Aunty' or 'my niece'. While working in remote communities, my co-workers and I found it so important to recognise this; we used a 'Web of Care' approach to help us and the people we worked with recognise these webs and discover the ways they are helpful, supportive, and life-giving.

(Details disguised.) One nine-year-old boy began to have all sorts of trouble at school and at home. He was 'mucking up' a lot, running away from his family, doing things like breaking windows and smoking, and things just seemed to get worse over time. The teachers didn't know why, and his family didn't either. When we first met him, it felt like the problem was big - so big the little person the story is about just seemed lost.

People focussed on their worries: the way he had a fight at school and ran out the door when the teacher told him to sit away from his friend; the way he talked back to his mum and aunties; the way he roamed around town with older kids at night, getting into all sorts of trouble. And all this boy could hear from other people was blame; he couldn't face the shame of talking about it. No one knew his point of view, the reasons why he felt unsettled. He would respond by withdrawing, or, if confronted, he would become angry and ready for a fight. The problems would escalate, and the worry and upset from everyone else just got worse.

When we began to work with this young fella, we started with questions about his web of care, thinking: what or who could help us really begin to hold this young person 'in mind'? It turned out it really was his family - but we noticed that they were also feeling frightened and worried. They had a lot on their plate too. They were worried about Child Safety.

One day we went on a day trip with the family to a place they knew well. We spent time with the boy and some of the other children, roaming near the river while he showed me the places and plants he knew, a particular rock which had a name, and I learnt that he could run fast - much faster than me, to his delight.

Later we sat down with the kids, the mum and aunties and did the Web of Care activity - drawing on cardboard all the supporters in a circle around the boy, searching together for possibilities and ways for him to be seen as 'cared for' instead of as the problem. There was a change in the air that day - maybe this was the first time the family themselves felt 'seen'. They started to talk about all the ways they could think of to help the boy: creating spaces for him to interact positively, setting some boundaries, ensuring he had enough sleep before each day of school, and connecting with some helpers. We began to translate the story of worry into a story of care.

Drawing the web also showed some of the gaps. One family member, his nana, was probably carrying too much, and she needed the aunties to step up. The family and the school had lost ways to talk to each other without it feeling like blame - even though both were worried and wanted things to get better. This activity was less about fixing the young person and more about strengthening the care around him.

Long before counselling became a profession, families and communities were already doing much of this work: listening, remembering, making meaning, noticing strengths, and helping one another find the next step.

When we can see the web, we can begin to share the work. A young person does not have to be held by one thread. Care can become something we make together.