Finding transitional hope, and daisies -Sara’s story

Helen had been working with Sara for some time now. She had known for a while, that there was more Sara hadn’t shared, something heavy, something that, if spoken aloud, would likely lead to a safeguarding concern. Using the Dixit cards had revealed glimpses of that weight - the sadness, the responsibility. Sara was meant to be a teenager, worrying about grades and friendships, but instead, she carried herself like a young mother, anxiously trying to keep the electric meter fed at home.

Last week had felt like a breakthrough. They had talked about 'fantasy Sara', the version of herself she dreamed of becoming. Future Sara lived in a small home on the outskirts of town, surrounded by countryside. She baked, had soft, pretty furniture, blankets, and candles. She had a creative job, splitting her time between working from home and a relaxed studio space in town. She didn’t drink or go clubbing; instead, she found joy in art and nature. Most importantly, she had fancy, matching pyjamas.

It was time to take the next step.

They sat comfortably, Sara had even tucked a leg up, a sign of the trust that had grown between them. Helen remembered the first session, when Sara had perched nervously on the edge of her seat, wary and guarded. Now, there was relaxed space between them, it felt safe. Helen wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing by not pushing harder. She could only hope that Sara and her brother, Owen, were safe, even if they weren’t loved.

Helen took a breath. “Sara, can I be honest with you?”

Sara nodded.

“I think we both know there are things you haven’t told me. And that your life is far from easy. Probably the opposite of easy. I have to respect that you’re not ready to go there, maybe because of the consequences.”

Sara shifted in her seat, but her gaze stayed steady. The trust held, just.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it, at least in terms of what would help.” Helen leaned forward slightly. “We’ve imagined your future, and it’s beautiful. It’s calm, full of life and freedom. You’re not in an office; you have safe, easy people around you. You’re busy but independent. I see you in a job where you make your own timetable, where you don’t have to answer to a boss but still feel part of a team. I imagine you with flowers in your hair.”

Helen grinned, and Sara’s lips twitched, her eyes sparkling at the picture being painted.

“It’s good to have that dream,” Helen continued. “But we both know that dream is years away. And I imagine on hard days, it feels impossible.”

Sara nodded gently, it wasn’t enough.

“Even a beautiful dream isn’t always enough to keep us going. So we need to find little snippets of that hope in the here and now.”

Helen tapped her nails on the arm of her chair, scanning the room. “It doesn’t need to be big. It just needs to be something that reminds you who you are... who we know you really are. Maybe you gather some daisies and put them in a glass on your windowsill. Maybe you make a daisy chain and tuck them into your ponytail for a day. Maybe you sit on the back step with a cup of tea and breathe in the fresh air. Maybe you pack a simple picnic -just some squash and a ham sandwich, and take Leo to the park. It doesn’t have to cost anything, but it does need to be something you prioritise. Something that keeps you connected to the real you.”

Helen exhaled as she finished, realising it was the longest she had spoken in any of their sessions. Sara looked misty-eyed.

“So small things,” Sara mused. “Things that are the real me. I like the picnic idea, I wouldn’t have even considered that. We live near a park. And my friend Tabi… she’s like a ray of sunshine. I can go to hers sometimes. She paints my nails, and then for the whole week, I look at my hands and feel… pretty.” She laughed softly. “And maybe I’ll pick some daisies.”

To finish up, Helen gave Sara a plain business card and, with a glitter pen, she drew some daisies on one side. On the other, Sara wrote just one word: ‘dream.’

She slid it inside her phone case and left with a little spring in her step.