My LiA at a Child and Youth Care Centre (CYCC) in Cape Town was a genuinely formative experience. It was a project that challenged me emotionally, culturally, and professionally, and is an experience that I will carry with me long after leaving Cape Town. Even though my intended LiA ended abruptly because of safeguarding issues, the time that I spent with the children and the intensity of what unfolded, has shaped my understanding of myself, my values, and the kind of practitioner I hope to become in the future.

Cultural Awareness and Positionality

One of the earliest reflections I had after arriving in Cape Town was around my positionality as a white, British individual working in a country still shaped by apartheid. Before beginning work at the CYCC, we learnt about the country's turbulent history; the legacy of apartheid, the forced removals, the intergenerational trauma, and the ongoing socioeconomic inequalities that continue to shame the lives of many families. Many of the children at the CYCC come from township communities heavily affected by crime, gangsterism, poverty, and systemic disadvantage. Being confronted with this reality made me acutely aware of my own privilege and the cultural distance between my life and theirs.

This awareness brought with it a sense of guilt and apprehension. I worried about unintentionally imposing my own cultural lens, or appearing preachy or patronising whilst running my programme for the children. I did not want to position myself as someone who "knew better", because the truth is that I will never truly understand what it is like to grow up in their circumstances. I tried to approach everything with humility by listening more than I spoke, asking rather than assuming, and I had to let their words and experiences guide me in understanding what was helpful for them. Over time, as as trust developed and I developed a deeper social and cultural understanding of Cape Town, navigating this began to feel more natural. It was a reminded that cultural humility is not about approaching everything perfectly, but about being aware, respectful, curious, and being willing to learn.

Connection and Joy

Despite the dysfunction and hardship surrounding the CYCC, the children themselves were full of joy, humour, and personality. Some of my favourite memories are of the seemingly small, joyful moments - running dance sessions where the younger girls eventually stopped dancing altogether and turned it into a karaoke session; sitting in the playing field with my speaker and suddenly being surrounded by a swarm of kids wanting to dance; laughing at their jokes (the kids found themselves hilarious once they realised the only word that rhymes with my name Lexie is 'sexy'); joining in with the older girls and their TikTok dances; some of the kids strutting around the site in full glam after they held a fashion show; and one kid who followed everything seemingly impactful thing I said during workshops with a 'clock itttt'. These moments of joy and chaos were reminders that, even in difficult environments, kids still find ways to be kids, and that connection can be built quickly when an adult is able to provide safety and trust. 

There were also moments of deeper significance, particularly within my mental health programme. After a workshop on appearance pressures and not taking what we see online at face value, one girl was taking a selfie using a filter, when another came up to her and said "We literally just talked about this, girl you don't need no filter, you're beautiful just the way that God made you". Another girl made a note of telling my colleague that she had filmed a video of herself without the use of a filter, explicitly linking her actions to what we had discussed. Those moments may seem small, but they were powerful indicators to me that something had resonated.

One of the most meaningful interactions came from a girl I had been supporting in 1:1 sessions around managing intense emotions. She approached me one afternoon and told me about an incident earlier in the day where she had managed to stay calm instead of acting on impulse. When I asked if she was proud of herself, she gave a shy grin and bashfully said yes. Her expression in that moment revealed a moment of self-realisation about what she was capable of and what she had achieved. It also meant a lot that she had wanted to share that experience with me, as it felt like evidence that I had become someone she trusted and someone she knew would be proud of her, and that is not something I take for granted. It also demonstrated the impact of having consistent, supportive adults who listen and encourage.

Safeguarding and the Weight of Responsibility

The hardest part of the placement was the safeguarding disclosures. As the kids began to trust us, they opened up about experiences of abuse, neglect, and poor staff behaviour. Hearing these disclosures was emotionally heavy in a way that was different to anything I have experienced before. I am used to supporting people through difficult mental health experiences in my volunteer and support work, and admittedly through the stereotypical eldest-daughter role of carrying others' burdens, but hearing these disclosures from children I was spending so much time with and had begun to care about so deeply was different. It definitely activated an instinctive urge to protect, to fix, and to make everything better, even though rationally I knew that was not possible.

This is where I pleasantly surprised myself; I learnt that I am capable of caring deeply while still maintaining emotional boundaries. I allowed myself to feel the weight of the situation and the grief of leaving behind the children - there were definitely tears shed and deep anger at the injustice - but I did not become consumed by these or fall apart. I realised I was able to compartmentalise, not by shutting down entirely, but through acknowledging the emotional impact without becoming consumed by it. I could recognise what was mine to carry and what was not, and what was in my control and what wasn't. Plus, I could step back to see the bigger picture: that reporting these disclosures, even though it meant leaving abruptly, resulted in unsafe staff being removed or challenged, and the organisation being held accountable. The primary consequence of these actions was a safer environment for the kids, which is a change that will hopefully last long term. I know that change mattered more than my personal desire to stay, and that our impact was far greater than anything I could have achieved alone through my mental health workshops.

It was overall a crash course in courage, judgement and accountability, all of which strengthened my confidence in my emotional maturity and resilience - qualities that will be essential for any future work I do with children and young people, vulnerable individuals, or in the mental health sector. It showed me that I can hold space for difficult emotions, make ethically sound decisions, and maintain integrity even in challenging circumstances.

Whilst there is no right way to go through these experiences - we all cope with grief, anger and change in different ways - I feel proud of how I responded and coped with the situation we were facing.

The Pain of Leaving

Leaving the kids the way we did is something that I am still processing. One day we were with the children, and the next day we were told we could not return. There was no real warning, no chance to prepare the kids, no opportunity to say goodbye properly. That sadness hurt me more than I expected.

It hurt knowing that some of the children had been waiting all week for their 1:1 sessions with me, sessions they had asked for because they had things they wanted to talk about, and I never got to follow through on those promises. It hurt knowing that some of the kids had been really excited to decorate their exercise books on the Friday, something they'd been looking forward to all week, and again I had left them hanging. It hurt leaving my programme unfinished, knowing the content we hadn't yet covered had the potential to be genuinely helpful to them, plus I had already invested lots of time and effort into creating the content we never got to use. Whilst all these things might sound trivial on paper, they didn't feel it in the moment.

The part that was most painful, however, was knowing that many of these children already carried abandonment and attachment wounds. The last thing I ever wanted was to contribute to that. Even though the decision to leave was out of my control, I still worry that our sudden disappearance may have reinforced these wounds. We did get to say goodbye to about half the kids on a Teams call, and I desperately hope that offered them some closure, but it still didn't feel like enough.

Returning home to my privileged life - my family, my education, my autonomy, my safety - was jarring. My usual stressors, like deadlines and finances, feel trivial every time I think about the kids. Whilst I know my own day-to-day stressors and struggles are still valid, I now carry a deeper awareness and broader perspective of how lucky I am. That conscience is both grounding and guilt-inducing, and it is something I'm still learning to navigate and meaningfully utilise.

What I Learned About Myself

This placement taught me that I'm more emotionally resilient than I realised. I learned that I can hold space for others' pain without collapsing under the weight, and that I can care deeply while still maintaining boundaries. I learned that I can act with courage and integrity even when situations are complex and emotionally charged. I learned that I can be humble in my approach, recognising the limits of my understanding while still offering meaningful support.

I also learned that I'm capable of stepping back and seeing the bigger picture. Even though leaving hurt, I can recognise the safeguarding impact, in that the removal of unsafe staff and the empowerment of children was far more important than my personal feelings.

Teamwork and Collective Strength

I cannot reflect on this experience without acknowledging the role of my fellow volunteers and our coordinator. None of us properly knew each other before beginning this LiA, but the intensity of the experience bonded us quickly. We supported each other emotionally, talked through hard moments, shared the weight of the situation, lifted each others' spirits, worked collaboratively, and very quickly learned more about each other's cultures, backgrounds, and quirks. Both tears and a lot of laughter were shared, and I feel very lucky to have navigated my Cape Town experience alongside these individuals. It was definitely a reminder of how important it is to have trust, community, and shared humanity. Plus we were able to have a far greater impact together than any of us could have had individually. I am now lucky to have finished my LiA with friendships that will travel beyond the bounds of Cape Town.

Trying to leave something behind

One thing that gives me peace of mind is knowing I did everything I could. In the final days of the LiA, even though weren't allowed to go back on site, I spent my time creating a presentation for the organisation's head office outlining suggestions for how they could improve emotional and psychological support for the children at the CYCC. I offered immediate, medium-term, and long-term ideas which seemed to be received positively. I don't know if my suggestions will be implemented, but I find it reassuring to know that I tried. That effort helps me reconcile the abrupt ending, as I know that I didn't leave passively, but left still trying to create something that might last.

Closing reflection

Overall, this placement was one of the most impactful experiences of my life. It challenged me, changed me, and taught me more than I expected. There were very high highs and some painful lows, but I feel privileged to have been even a small part of the children's lives, and I'm grateful they became a part of mine. I hope the organisation continues to change, that the children receive the support they deserve, and that their futures are brighter than their circumstances suggest.

This experience strengthened my commitment to working in mental health, as well as being able to understand first hand the major role poverty, inequality, and childhood experiences have to play in determining mental health and wellbeing. It also deepened my understanding of global inequality, and reminded me of the importance of humanity, courage, humility, and justice.

This is a project I'll never forget, and one that will continue to shape how I move through the world, how I practise as a future clinician, and how I understand my responsibility to others. Though I am very angry that these children have had to go through what no child should experience, I am grateful for all that I've learned from this experience and the memories that were formed.