An Open Letter 

I was nineteen years old when I walked into my first care job. I can still picture myself then: quiet, nervous, unsure, and completely unaware of the responsibility I was stepping into. I didn’t have the polished confidence I have today. I didn’t yet have clinical knowledge, emotional depth, or resilience. I had no idea that this wasn’t just a job — it was the beginning of a career that would shape my identity, my future, and the way I see the world.

Back then, I didn’t understand what responsibility really meant.
I didn’t understand the weight of being the person someone depends on at their most vulnerable.
I didn’t understand the privilege of being trusted with someone’s home, someone’s routine, someone’s final moments.

I thought I was simply “helping people.”

I didn’t realise I was stepping into one of the most complex, demanding, and emotionally profound professions that exists.

And life had another layer waiting for me.

Alongside becoming a professional carer, I also became an unpaid carer for my own disabled adult children. That changes you. It puts you on the other side of the door — the parent waiting for support, hoping the right person walks in, fighting for stability, safety and dignity for those you love most.

It shows you exactly how vital good care is.
And how devastating poor care can be.

It also exposes how little the world understands about what home care really involves.

Now, at forty‑two, after more than twenty years in the sector — working every role from frontline carer to senior, coordinator, Registered Manager, and now director — I can say this honestly and without hesitation:

People have absolutely no idea what home care really is.

Not the public.
Not policymakers.
And certainly not the people who have the audacity to call it “low‑skilled.”

I am tired.

Tired of the sugar‑coated portrayal of care in adverts, TV campaigns, recruitment videos and political speeches.

Tired of watching skilled, compassionate, clinically‑minded professionals dismissed simply because their work happens behind closed doors, unseen.

Tired of the narrative that paints care as “simple,” “basic,” or “unskilled” — when it is anything but.

And perhaps most of all, I am tired of trying to build a strong, capable, compassionate workforce while the nation still refuses to recognise care as a real, skilled, regulated and respected profession.

I’ve lived this job.
I’ve breathed this job.
I’ve cried because of this job.
I’ve grown because of this job.
I’ve balanced it while caring for my own children’s complex needs.

I’ve watched carers save lives quietly, without applause.

I’ve seen managers burn out under impossible pressure.
I’ve seen brilliant staff walk away because public ignorance makes their job harder than it should ever be.
I’ve listened to policymakers treat social care as optional, when the NHS would collapse within days without it.

So it’s time.

Long overdue.

To tell the truth.

Not the polished truth.
Not the PR truth.
Not the “please apply for our jobs” truth.

The real truth.

Home care is skilled.
Home care is complex.
Home care is essential.
Home care is a profession — one that holds families together, keeps people safe, and quietly sustains the very foundations of the health and social care system.

And it’s time it was finally recognised as such.

Yours sincerely,
Alexandra