Rewriting my Story

Why I chose Social Work in my thirties

"Why social work?" is the question I get asked most often. It’s the first question when you start the degree, the first question you hear on placement, and the first thing people blurt out when they find out what you do. It’s a fair question. Social work doesn’t exactly scream glamour or glory. Overworked, underpaid, blamed for everything—it’s not the stuff of childhood dreams or dinner party flexes. So why? Why choose it? Why willingly walk into something that most people run away from? For me, the answer’s messy, like most things in life. But a few key moments stand out.

I was about five when I realized the world could be deeply unfair. That’s too young, by the way, to know what injustice feels like. But there I was, this small kid watching things unfold that didn’t make sense—people being overlooked, voices being ignored, pain going unnoticed. I didn’t have the vocabulary for it, but I had the feeling: powerless. It planted a seed in me. I wanted better, not just for me but for everyone.

When I was young, a boy—just 16—stole a car. He crashed it into me and my mum as we walked on the footpath. My mum never woke up. Thirty years in a coma. He came from a part of Belfast that had been chewed up and spat out by the Troubles. Back then, joyriding wasn’t just a thrill; it was a way of life. It’s all he knew. When he got out of jail, he went straight back to that same area, that same life, and did it all over again.

It’s not an excuse, but it is an explanation. How do you break those cycles when everything around someone pulls them back into it? That’s the question I keep coming back to. It’s not about excusing what he did. It’s about understanding it—and figuring out what could have been done to stop it. Could someone have stepped in earlier? Could someone have untangled the mess before it spiralled? Social work is about finding those interventions, those moments when things can shift, even just slightly.

Starting this career in my thirties wasn’t part of some grand plan. For years, I just… drifted. Life happened. But during COVID, something shifted. My youngest boy had just started school, and for the first time in years, I had approximately three hours a day to myself. I remember telling people, "I’m going to go to university to do social work," and getting eye-rolls or the polite, "Yeah, sure." Honestly, who could blame them? I had NO qualifications to get into uni.

But while my youngest was at school, I made it happen. I enrolled in an access course and worked day and night on assignments, completing it in just six months instead of the usual two years. When I finished, I had A-levels at AAB—the exact grades I needed to apply for the course. For the first time ever, I was in with a chance.

I applied, but I didn’t make the cut. It was gutting. But instead of giving up, I enrolled in another higher-level course that year and threw myself into voluntary work in the sector to build experience. I completed my HNC with distinction and applied again. This time, I got in. I did it. And here I am today, in my final year of university.

When I talk about a pull to this, I mean I’ve never felt anything like it before. Usually, I’d have been knocked back by the rejection and given up. But not this time. This didn’t feel like hard work, and it never felt like it wasn’t going to happen. It was more a question of when it would. Life happened. Other priorities took over. But somewhere along the way, the pull towards social work grew louder. It became impossible to ignore. It’s daunting going back to university when you’ve already lived a bit of life, but it’s also deeply rewarding. There’s something about coming to this work with a few miles on the clock. My lived experiences—the messy, complicated, heartbreaking ones—feel like they’re finally being put to use.

Social work isn’t easy. It’s systemic challenges, emotional exhaustion, and stigma all rolled into one. But it’s also about showing up for people when they feel invisible—meeting them where they are, in all their mess, and untangling it together. It’s about standing beside someone who feels stuck and helping them find a way forward. It’s about the quiet, relentless fight against injustice, big and small.

When people ask, “Why social work?” my answer isn’t flashy or polished. It’s this: I want to be the person I needed when I was young. I want to help break the cycles that keep people trapped. And I want to create spaces where people feel seen, heard, and valued. That’s why.

Just a little thing I do: I wear big, funky, colorful earrings. They’re silly and loud, but they always seem to make whoever I’m working with smile—and sometimes, that’s all it takes to break the ice or make someone’s day a tiny bit brighter. I’ve found they always make whoever I’m working with smile.

If there’s one thing I hope people take from this, it’s that no matter where you start or how many obstacles are in your way, it’s never too late to chase the thing that sets your soul on fire. Change is possible, and so is the life you’ve always imagined.

Love

Kathryn

(Joyful Sarcasm)