I feel that working alongside people with learning disabilities is such a privilege.

The first few times someone remembers your name can feel like a huge win. Building trust, developing a rapport, sharing inside jokes and knowing that someone feels safe with you can be genuinely wonderful and fulfilling.

So, when I hear people who support adults with learning disabilities talk about having a “special bond”, I understand what they mean.

I also understand the instinct to protect. You care about someone, so you try to make their world wonderful and safe. You find free tickets, organise parties, bring treats, buy the cake and try to make sure they never miss out on anything.

It comes from kindness. But there is an uncomfortable question I think everyone working in this field needs to ask:

If you were no longer there tomorrow, has the support you provided made it easier or harder for that person to carry on without you?

Because that is where our responsibility really lies.

A world of free gifts, special events, treats and exceptions might feel wonderful while you are there to provide it. But what happens if you become ill? Change jobs? Retire? Move away?

What have you supported the person you cared for to expect from the next person? What if they don’t give so freely? How might that make the person you care for feel?

The wider world does not give adults things for free simply because they are disabled — nor should disability mean someone is expected to live permanently as the recipient of other people’s generosity.

The way you choose to support someone either actively encourages their independence or risks encouraging them to expect to be reliant on others.

I get it: the joy of dancing, singing and eating together. The fun times they can be such precious memories.

But what if, instead of always buying the cake, we help someone learn how to budget for the cake, choose it, order it and proudly pay for it themselves?

That might not look as generous from the outside, but it can be far more empowering.

At People First Keighley and Craven, we have supported people who arrived expecting trips to be free, constant treats to be provided and other people to organise experiences for them.

Well-intentioned “special treatment” can shape expectations and unintentionally deny someone opportunities to experience adult life that includes: making choices, managing money, saving for something they want, dealing with disappointment, taking responsibility and experiencing the enormous satisfaction of doing something for themselves.

There is another point we need to question.

Is paid support friendship?

It can contain warmth, affection, laughter, trust and genuine care. But if you are being paid to be there, there is a power difference and a professional responsibility that we should never pretend isn’t there.

Every time we automatically sit beside the person we support at a social event, we should ask ourselves whether we are supporting their needs — or unintentionally occupying the space where a friendship could develop.

Could we step back?

Good support shouldn’t make us indispensable.

I believe good support should help the person need us less.

That means supporting people to understand money, make decisions, build genuine friendships, advocate for themselves, take reasonable risks, experience disappointment, solve problems and know when and how to ask for help.

It means resisting the temptation to work in a way that promotes dependency simply because being needed can feel good.

Our job isn’t to create a perfect little world around somebody.

Our job is to help remove the barriers preventing them from participating in the real world.

So cherish the bond. Enjoy the jokes. Celebrate the trust someone has placed in you. It is a very special dynamic and should be respected as such. You can show that you care deeply without becoming the centre of their world.

Don’t become a barrier disguised as kindness.

At PFKC, we encourage staff to provide the support that is wanted and genuinely needed. Step forward when someone needs you — and have the confidence to step back when they don’t.

Because perhaps one of the greatest measures of good support isn’t how much somebody needs us today.

It’s how much more confident, connected and independent they can be tomorrow.

I keep coming back to the notion that, at the end of a person’s life, you don’t want to mourn the additional loss of the potential adulthood they could have had, if only they had received the right support.

Be the right support now.

By Catrina Farnell