I adore my children. I'm also scared that one day my son will kill me
I am staring at the faces of women on my screen, transfixed by emotions too complex to disentangle; discernible, though, are grief, rage... and fear.
For the women pictured are some of the more than 170 who have been killed by their sons in the UK in the past 15 years. Their appalling tragedy – being killed by the person to whom they gave life – has a chilling resonance. Like many of those whose deaths have been highlighted in the 2,000 Women report by the Femicide Census, I am a professional with adored adult children and a close circle of friends. I am also frightened of my son.
The women's backstories are all too familiar – that is, an adult son with mental health and social problems, drug misuse, neurological diagnoses and a history of controlling and violent behaviour. Invariably, the perpetrators have fallen through every net designed to safeguard them. Often such a net never existed.
It is a peculiar place to inhabit, to be simultaneously scared of your son while desperately wanting to hold and support him. It is hard enough to walk away from an abusive partner, let alone your child, whose vulnerabilities and misery claw at the heart. My son lives in a state of deep unhappiness, prey to stimuli he can't filter, fraught social encounters, chronic anxiety and physical discomfort. Life is bewildering, painful, hard.
At 24, he is a young man with learning disabilities and no hope of any of the aspirations of neurotypical peers: no career ladder, no partner, no festivals or functional friendships. Life is something to be battled and endured. I would not spend a minute in his shoes. He needs me for support, advocacy and protection. He still sleeps with his security blanket. I can't and won't walk away.
But I often wish I could. On my phone is a recent text, the words 'fucking cunt' written repeatedly. It was sent because I had blocked his calls after being asked the same question for 20 minutes. I was at work. He rang a further 76 times. Such messages are common, as is driving somewhere while he violently elbows the seat close to me – the list of challenging behaviours is exhaustive and exhausting. It is not just autistic meltdowns caused by an inability to regulate emotions but an expression of deep-seated mental health problems.
In the photographs, I see resilient, smart, smiling women – doing their best to live normally against a backdrop of abnormality few can relate to. I am paralysed with sorrow for them, as I am for the mainly young men who killed the one person who loved and supported them the most.
In many instances the women sought help. The inquest into the death of Sally Poynton, 44, stabbed repeatedly by her 22-year-old son Jacob Poynton-Whiting during a severe psychotic episode in June 2021, found that her death could have been avoided if her son's mental health condition had been diagnosed sooner. She had tried more than 20 times to get help for him.
That matricide is largely linked to mental health is borne out by research that is soon to be published. It was reported last week that academics Prof Rachel Condry and Dr Caroline Miles, from the universities of Oxford and Manchester, in collaboration with the Femicide Census, have found that in cases of women being killed by their sons and grandsons from 2009-2021, 70% involved perpetrators with mental health problems.
Yet help is too often either not forthcoming or ineffectual because, in the words of the British Medical Association, our mental health and social care systems are 'broken'.
In its Mental Health Report 2024, the BMA pointed to key areas it said needed 'urgent action' including underfunding; lack of trained staff in health and social care; and support systems operating in silos.
In our case, my son does not merit a dedicated social worker because he isn't perceived to be in crisis. That he isn't thriving physically or emotionally is not reason enough to intervene. The social care system is reactively predicated – action happens when a crisis presents, not when it might have been prevented. As for mental health, like many adults on the autistic spectrum, he falls through the gaps. There have been no mental health interventions since he turned 18 and ceased to be eligible for the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service.
Yet my son desperately needs therapeutic input to help manage his anxiety, depression and emotions, alongside medications prescribed by an expert in his diagnoses, which include autism, pathological demand avoidance, ADHD and OCD. Medication is managed by a GP who, while competent, is not trained specifically in mental health and neurodivergent conditions.
Crucially, he needs help navigating his complex feelings towards me. A misfiring mother-son relationship isn't, of course, confined to the neurodivergent, nor is it new. The Orestes complex, in which a son harbours the unconscious desire to kill his mother, is a parable dating back to ancient Greece. Friends complain of walking on eggshells around sullen adult neurotypical sons. But during flashpoints, their sons roll their eyes or behave peevishly. With a son who is hostage to unregulated emotions, flashpoints can be tragically fatal.
This is where societal structures should save lives. Mental health support that offers tools to manage emotions, joined up with a social care system that enables those with behavioural and social challenges to thrive. And residential and supported living that offers community, activities and cohesion, rather than simply warehousing vulnerable people.
Yet such a picture seems depressingly far off, and I fear this year won't have been the last International Women's Day marked by reports of failings that led to deaths and shattered families. It is inevitably parents, particularly mothers, who bear the brunt of systemic failures and step in to support volatile, troubled sons. That they may be in danger is often overlooked; Condry points to a case where a man's medical notes said he shouldn't be left alone with female staff, 'but nobody had questioned whether he should live on his own with his mother'.
My son was removed from the house in 2018, not because he was attacking me but because there were minors present. I remain very involved in his care, but at times I feel unsafe. Sitting in the quiet of my house, it seems dramatic to write these next words, but had he remained living with me, I believe my picture could have been among those women. I can't say it never will be.
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Wales Online
02-06-2025
- Wales Online
DWP to give evidence at new inquest for woman who died after benefits cut
DWP to give evidence at new inquest for woman who died after benefits cut The 42-year-old woman killed herself two weeks after her disability benefits were stopped Joy Dove (PA) The mother of a housebound disabled woman who killed herself after a benefits cut has described the 'long wait' for justice, ahead of a second inquest into her daughter's death today, following years of legal fights. Jodey Whiting, 42, from Stockton-on-Tees, died in February 2017 about two weeks after her disability benefit was stopped, when she did not attend a work capability assessment. Her mother, Joy Dove, fought for a new inquest to investigate the impact of the Department for Work and Pensions (DWP) ending Ms Whiting's benefits, after the first lasted only 37 minutes and heard no evidence relating to the DWP. Ms Dove told the BBC: 'It's been such a long wait. It's now come back to where it all began. 'The coroner has said it will be a full and thorough inquest and I'm hoping for the best, not just for Jodey's sake but for the whole family, especially the young ones, who don't really know what the past few years have been like. Hopefully, they'll understand it more.' She will give evidence at the hearing, and told the broadcaster: 'I'm anxious, but I just want justice for Jodey.' The fresh inquest will open at Teesside Magistrates' Court on Monday and will hear evidence from a DWP representative. The coroner at the original inquest in May 2017 recorded a verdict of suicide. In 2020, Ms Dove was given permission by the attorney general to apply to the High Court for a new inquest, an application that was eventually refused. Ms Dove took her fight to the Court of Appeal, where in 2023 her lawyers said the first inquest did not investigate 'whether any acts or omissions of the DWP caused or contributed to Ms Whiting's death', and argued that the High Court judges reached the wrong conclusions. They said another inquest was necessary to consider fresh evidence of 'multiple, significant failings' by the DWP when it terminated Ms Whiting's employment and support allowance (ESA), which was not before the coroner at the time of the first inquest. Judges ruled there should be a new inquest, heard by a different coroner, saying the public have a 'legitimate interest' in knowing whether Ms Whiting's death was connected to the abrupt stopping of her benefits. Ms Whiting had received benefits for more than a decade because of serious, long-term physical and mental health issues, including severe pain and a history of self-harm. In late 2016, the DWP started to reassess Ms Whiting, who said she needed a house visit as she was housebound, had severe anxiety and was unable to walk more than a few steps. Ms Dove's lawyers argued at the High Court in 2021 that a house visit was not properly considered before the DWP terminated her disability benefit, which led to Ms Whiting's housing benefit and council tax benefit also being terminated. Ms Dove told the BBC about a letter her daughter received from the DWP before her death, asking 'why she hadn't attended a medical assessment, because it could affect her money'. 'But she'd been in hospital,' she said. 'We waited for another letter and I couldn't believe it. It said 'you're fit to work'. 'She looked at me and said 'Mam, what am I going to do? I can't walk out the door, I can't breathe, I can't sign on'.' Article continues below The decision to terminate Ms Whiting's benefit was overturned on March 31, weeks after her death. The independent case examiner, which investigates complaints about the DWP, later found multiple breaches of department policy, significant errors by staff, and several 'missed opportunities' for the DWP to reconsider the claim.
The Guardian
09-03-2025
- The Guardian
The Observer view: This grim roll call of femicide will only end if we stop letting killers off lightly
It is the grimmest of roll calls: to mark International Women's Day, the names of women killed by men over the past year are read out in the House of Commons by Jess Phillips MP, now the minister for violence against women and girls. This year the number stood at 95. It was accompanied by a report by the charity Femicide Census setting out the characteristics of the 2,000 killings of women by men since 2009 where criminal justice proceedings have been completed. The charity compiles the list annually, and without this important work, based on freedom of information requests to the police and extensive media monitoring, we would have no national oversight of the number of women known to be killed by men in the UK. Since 2009, it has amounted to one every three days on average. And these are just the cases we know about; the campaign group Killed Women estimates that there could be as many as 130 'hidden homicides' a year where a woman is killed by a partner or family member but the death is recorded as accidental or suicide. Male violence against women and girls is the most toxic symptom of a patriarchal society that is riven with gender inequalities. In recent decades, despite some important changes, too little has been done to address the scourge of men physically and emotionally abusing women and children. The data shows that the most dangerous place for these women is behind closed doors: for seven out of 10 women killed by men, it happens in their own home. Six in 10 are killed by their partners; almost one in 10 by their son; just 9% are killed by a stranger. Work by the criminologist Dr Jane Monckton Smith has found that men do not kill women they know out of the blue: there is almost always a pattern to femicide that includes a pre-relationship history of stalking or abuse; a romance quickly developing into a serious relationship that becomes dominated by coercive control; a trigger that threatens the man's control, such as a threat to leave the relationship or the relationship ending; and a resulting escalation in his control, such as stalking or threatening suicide. These behaviour patterns mean that such killings should be preventable. Yet we still have a criminal justice system that – despite recent reforms – sometimes allows men who kill women to be treated lightly by pleading manslaughter on the basis of loss of control. Femicide Census argues that this appears to constitute 'a state-sanctioned means by which previously violent men can limit their liability for fatal violent acts'. In many of the cases reviewed in the report, the qualifying trigger for a loss of control was the victim leaving an abusive relationship or entering a new relationship. The most dangerous moment for a victim is the point at which she leaves her male partner, or indicates a desire to leave. It is perverse that this aspect of the law appears in practice to make allowances for men who kill women exercising their right to leave an abusive and violent relationship. And too little is spent on monitoring men with a known history of violence against women, including those known to be repeat offenders. Sign up to Observed Analysis and opinion on the week's news and culture brought to you by the best Observer writers after newsletter promotion The Labour government has an ambitious target to halve male violence against women and girls. But it has yet to define what would constitute success against this, let alone set out a properly resourced plan for keeping women and children safe from the dangerous men who kill. Only that can bring the rate of femicide down.
The Guardian
08-03-2025
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I adore my children. I'm also scared that one day my son will kill me
I am staring at the faces of women on my screen, transfixed by emotions too complex to disentangle; discernible, though, are grief, rage... and fear. For the women pictured are some of the more than 170 who have been killed by their sons in the UK in the past 15 years. Their appalling tragedy – being killed by the person to whom they gave life – has a chilling resonance. Like many of those whose deaths have been highlighted in the 2,000 Women report by the Femicide Census, I am a professional with adored adult children and a close circle of friends. I am also frightened of my son. The women's backstories are all too familiar – that is, an adult son with mental health and social problems, drug misuse, neurological diagnoses and a history of controlling and violent behaviour. Invariably, the perpetrators have fallen through every net designed to safeguard them. Often such a net never existed. It is a peculiar place to inhabit, to be simultaneously scared of your son while desperately wanting to hold and support him. It is hard enough to walk away from an abusive partner, let alone your child, whose vulnerabilities and misery claw at the heart. My son lives in a state of deep unhappiness, prey to stimuli he can't filter, fraught social encounters, chronic anxiety and physical discomfort. Life is bewildering, painful, hard. At 24, he is a young man with learning disabilities and no hope of any of the aspirations of neurotypical peers: no career ladder, no partner, no festivals or functional friendships. Life is something to be battled and endured. I would not spend a minute in his shoes. He needs me for support, advocacy and protection. He still sleeps with his security blanket. I can't and won't walk away. But I often wish I could. On my phone is a recent text, the words 'fucking cunt' written repeatedly. It was sent because I had blocked his calls after being asked the same question for 20 minutes. I was at work. He rang a further 76 times. Such messages are common, as is driving somewhere while he violently elbows the seat close to me – the list of challenging behaviours is exhaustive and exhausting. It is not just autistic meltdowns caused by an inability to regulate emotions but an expression of deep-seated mental health problems. In the photographs, I see resilient, smart, smiling women – doing their best to live normally against a backdrop of abnormality few can relate to. I am paralysed with sorrow for them, as I am for the mainly young men who killed the one person who loved and supported them the most. In many instances the women sought help. The inquest into the death of Sally Poynton, 44, stabbed repeatedly by her 22-year-old son Jacob Poynton-Whiting during a severe psychotic episode in June 2021, found that her death could have been avoided if her son's mental health condition had been diagnosed sooner. She had tried more than 20 times to get help for him. That matricide is largely linked to mental health is borne out by research that is soon to be published. It was reported last week that academics Prof Rachel Condry and Dr Caroline Miles, from the universities of Oxford and Manchester, in collaboration with the Femicide Census, have found that in cases of women being killed by their sons and grandsons from 2009-2021, 70% involved perpetrators with mental health problems. Yet help is too often either not forthcoming or ineffectual because, in the words of the British Medical Association, our mental health and social care systems are 'broken'. In its Mental Health Report 2024, the BMA pointed to key areas it said needed 'urgent action' including underfunding; lack of trained staff in health and social care; and support systems operating in silos. In our case, my son does not merit a dedicated social worker because he isn't perceived to be in crisis. That he isn't thriving physically or emotionally is not reason enough to intervene. The social care system is reactively predicated – action happens when a crisis presents, not when it might have been prevented. As for mental health, like many adults on the autistic spectrum, he falls through the gaps. There have been no mental health interventions since he turned 18 and ceased to be eligible for the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. Yet my son desperately needs therapeutic input to help manage his anxiety, depression and emotions, alongside medications prescribed by an expert in his diagnoses, which include autism, pathological demand avoidance, ADHD and OCD. Medication is managed by a GP who, while competent, is not trained specifically in mental health and neurodivergent conditions. Crucially, he needs help navigating his complex feelings towards me. A misfiring mother-son relationship isn't, of course, confined to the neurodivergent, nor is it new. The Orestes complex, in which a son harbours the unconscious desire to kill his mother, is a parable dating back to ancient Greece. Friends complain of walking on eggshells around sullen adult neurotypical sons. But during flashpoints, their sons roll their eyes or behave peevishly. With a son who is hostage to unregulated emotions, flashpoints can be tragically fatal. This is where societal structures should save lives. Mental health support that offers tools to manage emotions, joined up with a social care system that enables those with behavioural and social challenges to thrive. And residential and supported living that offers community, activities and cohesion, rather than simply warehousing vulnerable people. Yet such a picture seems depressingly far off, and I fear this year won't have been the last International Women's Day marked by reports of failings that led to deaths and shattered families. It is inevitably parents, particularly mothers, who bear the brunt of systemic failures and step in to support volatile, troubled sons. That they may be in danger is often overlooked; Condry points to a case where a man's medical notes said he shouldn't be left alone with female staff, 'but nobody had questioned whether he should live on his own with his mother'. My son was removed from the house in 2018, not because he was attacking me but because there were minors present. I remain very involved in his care, but at times I feel unsafe. Sitting in the quiet of my house, it seems dramatic to write these next words, but had he remained living with me, I believe my picture could have been among those women. I can't say it never will be.
