Monday
My first task is to review staffing levels and check in with everyone across the different refuges. Some staff are now working remotely or self-isolating but so far, so good. Those of us travelling into the offices are worried. No one wants to take this virus home to families, and whatever precautions we put in place there is still that thought in the back of our minds.
I check the post and see something that looks like a National Insurance number for a resident. She has been waiting several weeks and without it her first benefit payment won’t be released. I let the woman know – she is relieved.
I sign a food bank voucher for a family who arrived a week ago (thankfully they are still operating). Then we have our daily virtual check-in as a team. We talk about how difficult everyone is finding social distancing, especially with the toddlers who just want to run up and hug you.
It’s exhausting work at the best of times, but now even more so for those people who are physically in the refuge. Those off site feel guilty about not being there; they see how hard it is and really want to help, but their health has to come first. We talk through these feelings at our virtual staff meetings.
Tuesday
A colleague from a nearby refuge belonging to the charity I work for tells me a family has arrived with symptoms of coronavirus. The mother didn’t know if they would be accepted, but she was so pleased to be offered a self-contained unit for herself and her children to recover in away from other families.
A resident’s mental health has declined significantly since the lockdown. Without college, volunteering and face-to-face counselling, she is struggling. We are concerned she is getting caught up in the past and the emotions that go with the abuse she survived.
I get in touch with our local housing team to find out what their plans are. They confirm they are operating remotely using telephone interviews, and that viewings and temporary accommodation allocations will go ahead with appropriate precautions.
Wednesday
I dial into a meeting hosted by the local authority. Everyone is relieved to hear that refuges are still running, taking referrals and bringing in families in need.
A resident asks about an email she has received from her solicitor; she has been granted her leave to remain, but she can’t pick up her new biometric card until the solicitor’s office is open again.
A five-year-old comes into the office to make a call to a staff member who is shielding. I hear him say “I miss you so much, have you gone forever?”.
Thursday
We get a big delivery of craft resources to share between all the families in the service. The children and family worker was going to come in to sort them out but she has developed a cough so needs to self-isolate. The children are getting increasingly restless so I start dividing out resources into bags while taking other calls.
In the staff catch-up we talk about referrals and how many more women we are seeing. We all think this will increase in the weeks to come. As not all move-on options are available for women, we are getting full quickly.
Friday
I install a wifi booster. The teenager downstairs is very relieved; she has been struggling to upload her homework and as she is self-isolating she can’t use the desk in the main lounge anymore. I talk one mum through how to use the food voucher she has just received as part of the free school meals. English is not her first language and I have to stay a safe distance but we get there in the end.
My colleague tells me the family with coronavirus are starting to recover. It’s heartening to hear how all of the other women came together to make the family meals and left them at their door.
The department for work and pensions calls to update me on how they are changing their processes to deal with the 1m extra claims, and what the escalation process will be for agencies working with vulnerable people, including domestic violence survivors, to ensure they can access their benefits.
I’m emotionally drained but feel really proud of my staff and the residents. No one wants to take this virus home to their families, and whatever precautions you put in place there is still that thought that plays around in the back of your mind.
My final job before I head home is to check all the families have enough cleaning supplies for the weekend.
The author of this piece is a domestic abuse service manager for Hestia, a charity supporting adults and children in crisis. You can support women and children in domestic abuse refuges by donating to their emergency crisis appeal.
If you would like to contribute to our My working week series about your job in public services, get in touch by emailing sarah.johnson@theguardian.com
