She Was Admitted for Her Safety and Still Got Hurt!
Chaos to Calm to Chaos…
When my daughter was admitted to a psychiatric unit in October 2024, I clung to the hope that this might be the turning point, the moment someone, somewhere, would finally help her. Friends and family reassured me: “It’s for the best.” I wanted to believe them. I needed to. But what followed wasn’t healing, it was devastation. This wasn’t a lifeline ,it was a holding bay, and she unravelled in ways I couldn’t imagine.
This was the day I thought things would get better. I was wrong. But it’s where this blog begins…
I’ll never forget the date: 7th October 2024
We walked into the unit voluntarily…
Well, as voluntarily as you can when you’re told:
“If you don’t, we’ll have to section her.”
She was dissociating badly. Fading in and out. I couldn’t reach her. And even though I was terrified, I thought maybe, just maybe , this would be the turning point.
My friends thought it. Family said it too.
“At least now she’ll get the therapy.”
“They’ll sort her meds out.”
“This is what she needs.
But here’s the truth I didn’t expect:
Psychiatric units, especially the ones you get on the NHS in a crisis, aren’t a repair shop.
They’re a holding bay. Respite. A locked door with nurses.
And while she was safe from ending her life… she was far from safe from hurting herself.
Her arms, her legs, even her head, were stripped raw from relentless scratching. Like she’d come off a motorbike and skidded through gravel.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even present. She just needed to feel something or nothing.
And I?
I sat in the car outside that place, and I sobbed.
I’d handed over my child to a place I thought would help. And all I could think was: “Where the hell do we go now?”
Looking back now…
That was one of the lowest points.
It wasn’t the beginning of our story, that came long before, but it was the day the tiny thread of hope I was clinging to… snapped.
But if I could tell that version of me one thing, it would be this:
You didn’t fail.
You didn’t make the wrong call.
You made the only one you could at the time, with the information you had.
It’s the system that’s broken, not you.
And certainly not her.
If you’ve been there, if you’re in it now, just know,
you’re not alone. And you’re not crazy for expecting more than a holding bay.
Sometimes “safe” is a very low bar.
And when you’re watching your child unravel, it’s nowhere near enough.
I left that chapter shaken, angry, and more lost than ever. What I thought would be the beginning of calm turned into another layer of chaos, which scarred us both, quite literally. But this is just part of our story. I’m writing it now, not because it’s easy, but because someone else might be sitting where I was, silently screaming into the void. You’re not alone and I know I am not!
If this resonates, or if you’re sitting in your car crying outside a unit like I did , you’re not alone. This blog is for you.
Chaos to Calm
Navigating the chaos of emotional dysregulation, trauma, and finding our version of calm, one storm at a time.
