My Therapy Rollercoaster of Yellowstone

A relative suggested I watch Yellowstone. For those that don't know, it is an American neo-western drama series (I'd call it a ranch-based EastEnders). Throughout the first series, I watched with anger and frustration. It's well written, acted and shot, but the story presents one bad thing after bad luck, after bad choice, after another. The characters make patently bad decisions, and then we have to watch the excruciating consequences unfold. It took till the end of series 2 for me to understand why I was finding it so hard to watch but, more interestingly, why I was still watching.

Others might have already realised, that I find it hard to watch because it's a lot of trauma and trauma is often my day job. After a day of sitting and hearing stories of difficulty, sadness and stress from those who are working so hard, watching more stories of difficulty, sadness and stress is often too much. I should have known better.

So why then, am I still watching, numerous hours in?

As the story develops, we learn each of the characters' backstories - the trauma they endured and the reasons they are hardened or making those painful bad choices. Once you know their story, you are inevitably more forgiving, more understanding, more empathetic. What was once a ridiculously bad call becomes a natural consequence considering the circumstances, we are less frustrated and more sympathetic, even rooting for these often criminal characters.

This mirrors my experience of working with disaffected youth. I'd hear staff talking about how difficult, annoying, rude, aggressive, never-going-anywhere, good-for-nothing a young person might be. Due to confidentiality, I'd have to sit there quietly, biting my tongue, but I often knew their story, and it makes all the difference, not as an excuse, but to understand and change how we react.

Rowan was known as a cheeky shit, he'd talk back at every opportunity, and he spent more time propping up the wall outside classrooms than sitting inside. It had gotten to the stage where his allocated seat in every class was right in front of the teacher’s desk, each teacher gritting their teeth as he entered the room. He infuriated them because he was clever, but he didn't make any effort to balance equations, aiming only to get a laugh from his classmates. Mostly, teachers tried to talk positively about all students but Rowan was an exception, his name was usually followed by a scoff, eye roll or even expletives.

What I knew about Rowan was very different, I knew that his tears rolled off his teflon blazer and that he sometimes had to lift his Mum on and off the toilet when she got drunk. He lived with his Nan and saw his mum only occasionally when she was between boyfriends and short of cash. She wasn't there to see him but to see her mum and grab a bottle and a warm bed. He didn't know his Dad. He was mortified, endlessly embarrassed that he had no idea who his dad was, that according to his smug cousin, his mum 'opened her legs for money' and his Gran could barely keep the electric metre fed. Teenagers are great at finding a weak spot, especially when they have their own, so Rowan had become skilled at moving the spotlight, keeping the crowd laughing - focused on Rowan’s humour, not his life.

What's even more interesting is that when they know that I know their story, they change. I don't see the difficult or aggressive behaviour; there is no need to mask, defend, or protect, they can just be. Rowan never had to stand outside my room, and whilst he told a good story, often finding a slice of humour, he never cracked an inappropriate joke. He spoke with sincerity, and I knew if I'd needed to, I could have trusted him with something precious of mine, he'd look after it, just as I'd looked after his story.

When we know the story, the 'behaviour' melts away. Not always completely and not every time, but enough to make a significant difference. So what does that mean for schools, youth work, social services, and young offenders teams? What can we do to create safe spaces where stories can be told, heard and held?

I’d love to hear about the safe spaces others have created and what they look and feel like. Or what they would like to see available in communities.