Lee Trueman

Fuck me, watching your child struggle takes you somewhere dark. Not because you don't love them. Because you love them so much you would happily take every battle away from them if you could. My son is showing many of the same traits and struggles I recognise in myself. And it has made me think about the kid I was in the 90s. School was brutal. Being different wasn't understood. The reports were always the same. Try harder. Focus more. Apply yourself. But nobody ever stopped to ask the question: "Why is this so hard for you?" This week I watched my son struggle with something that looked simple from the outside. Rules around technology changed. To most people it was just a device. To him, it was a perceived injustice. A promise had been broken. The world suddenly didn't make sense. His little brain couldn't just flick a switch and move on. And that's the bit people don't always see. It's not about the thing. It's about how the world feels in that moment. As a dad, my job isn't to remove every obstacle. It's to stand next to him while he learns how to navigate them. To ask the questions nobody else thinks to ask. To be his advocate. Sometimes I wonder: Did I pass this down? Did I hand him my struggles? Then I remember something. Maybe what gets passed down isn't just the challenge. Maybe it's the understanding. Maybe it's the ability to see him in a way others might not. I want him to know what I wish I knew back then: I love you. Your path might look different, but different doesn't mean wrong. "It will all be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

‘Someone pour me up a double shot of whiskey They know me and Jack Daniel's got a history’ As the song goes that’s me tonight. Double poured, feet up, England kicking off at 10pm. The pubs will be doing Three Lions and Sweet Caroline. I’ll be shouting at my own telly. And it got me thinking about who else is up watching. In care homes, 10pm is two hours after most residents are “settled.” But the best homes won’t be settling anyone tonight. The lounge stays open. The telly goes loud. Someone who watched the ‘66 final tells a carer half their age why they’ve never trusted a quarter-final. Nobody writes “stayed up for the football” on a care plan. But that’s what living looks like. Enjoy the match. Come on England.

It's 4pm on a Friday. Someone's just asked me to "quickly" do something. My ADHD has looked at the request, looked at the clock, looked at the temperature in my office and simply replied... "Nah pal." Happy Friday to everyone whose brain clocked off before Outlook did. ☀️

If you're running acoustic monitoring at night, you made a good call. You proved something the rest of the sector is still arguing about. Responding to need beats checking on everyone. Residents sleep better. Unwitnessed falls drop. Council pilots are now publishing the same finding. So take the credit. You moved first. But acoustic was the toe in the water. It wasn't the swim. Listening has a limit. Sound reaches you after something has happened. A fall that ends quietly on carpet. A resident who slides from a chair without a cry. Silence is not the same as safe. What comes next reads the room instead of listening to it. Radar picks up the movement itself. It knows a fall as it happens, not after it lands. It knows a fall from a safe trip to the loo. It reads breathing and heart rate from across the room. No cameras. No microphones. Nothing worn. Night care has had three generations. Checking. Listening. Knowing. The homes that moved early on acoustic are exactly the homes I expect to move early again. If that's you, send me a DM. I'll put the next step beside what you already run and let you judge it. Spark Care

The world changes because of ordinary people doing small things with extraordinary kindness. Never underestimate your impact.