After growing up in poverty, I know the anger 4.5 million children must feel

When child poverty is covered in the media, it’s often shocking statistics and material deprivation that make the headlines: empty cupboards, cold homes and missed meals – the reality for many of the 4.5 million children living in poverty in the UK.

What’s often left unspoken is how profoundly inner lives are shaped by the quiet ‘rules’ of growing up poor.

That was me two decades ago and the experience rippled through my emotional development, shaping lessons and rules about how the world works and what my place in it might be; my sense of worth, my fears, worries and hopes (or, lack of) for my future. They stripped the joy and innocence of the small moments – a 13th birthday party, school disco, or summer holiday – that others recall with warmth. Instead, mine carry the weight of loneliness, guilt, shame and jealousy. 

It was the anger, though which became the drumbeat of my young life.

All kids ask the question: ‘Why?’ Why is the sky blue, or the grass green? For me, it was not just ‘why can’t I have those shoes’, but ‘why is my parent always snappy and tired?’ In my family bubble, I had no concept of the wider forces at play. I took it personally; it was my fault. I was the burden. I internalised my anger and took the blame. 

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My bubble grew bigger in my pre-teens. My first sleepovers with new friends offered a window into their lives and, with it, a revelation: they didn’t just have more than us, they lived differently. Throwing leftovers away without hesitation, taking a clean, warm bath, alone, with bubbles that smelled like strawberries. It felt so foreign, and brought a new ‘why’: ‘Why did we live so differently’? My anger turned outward, and my parent bore the brunt of it.

My bubble burst in my mid-teens. I became emotionally unwell, and while bouncing between hostels, the care system and mental health hospitals I met hundreds of others whose experiences resonated with mine. They were angry, too. Across late-night, teary-eyed heart-to-hearts, one common thread ran through all our entangled adversities: growing up in poverty. As we walked side by side, I watched helplessly as many fell through the cracks of a crumbling system.

I began learning new lessons. Childhood poverty is the strongest predictor of multiple disadvantage. It doesn’t exist in isolation. It’s perpetuated by political choices and institutional failures: austerity, ruthless welfare cuts, widening inequality and the steady erosion of public services.

Read more:

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• How many children would be lifted out of poverty if the two-child limit was scrapped where you live?

I began to understand that the ‘why’ isn’t to be filled with a personal answer. It’s not the child, parent, social worker, police officer or asylum seeker to blame for our hardships. It’s political choices.

Child poverty is at a record high. Recent policy announcements – investment in social housing, expanded free school meals and family hubs – are a step in the right direction and can alleviate harm. But piecemeal fixes, slow implementation and barriers to access risk reaching too few families, too late.

There’s an overwhelming consensus across the charity sector of the most immediate, measurable cost-effective solutions: lifting the two-child limit and scrapping the benefit cap. Doing so could lift over 400,000 children out of poverty overnight and reduce the depth of poverty for a further 950,000.

There is speculation that the caps will be scrapped, but there are also suggestions from inside the government that there will only be a partial lifting, perhaps tapered or applied to working parents only, in a bid to incentivise work. Yet, nearly two-thirds of families affected by these limits already include at least one working parent.

For those of us who grew up in families facing complex challenges, the reasons a parent might not work are seldom simple. If you were to ask these parents why, you’d likely hear heart-wrenchingly painful circumstances filled with nuance and shaped by impossible choices, like my family’s.

So, I’ve finally found the answers to my ‘whys’. I held no responsibility for our circumstances. My parent’s snappiness was a symptom of the impossible suppression of guilt, shame, fear and perpetual exhaustion of keeping their vulnerable young family afloat. And my anger has now turned on a system that is continuing to breed generations of other lonely, guilty, shameful, angry children.

That’s why I campaign for Action for Children. Earlier this month, I joined their protest in Parliament Square where, in the pouring rain, 30 children stood silently. Nine wore dark coats, the others bright – each a living symbol of the nine children in every class of 30 who are living in poverty.

The ask is simple: lift the two-child limit and benefit cap, in full, as a bare minimum. Anything less would mean that the number of children living in poverty by the end of this parliament will actually rise.

The children sitting in classrooms now will be the adults asking ‘why’ tomorrow. If the government’s self-declared ‘ambitious’ child poverty strategy is not bold and unambiguous, we risk another angry, disillusioned generation seeking someone to blame. Child poverty is not inevitable; it is a series of political choices. For the sake of our future, let’s hope the government makes the right ones.

Georgia Sullivan is a campaigner for Action for Children.

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