I've spent eight years working alongside teenagers in Manchester: youth clubs, school mentoring programmes, and now one-to-one work under my own name. Before any of that I was a teenager in Levenshulme myself, a British-Indian kid with decent grades, a loud group of mates and no real idea who I was allowed to become. What changed it was a youth worker at the club on the corner who took me seriously about four years before I did. True North Mentoring is that debt, paid forward, a few streets from where it happened.
I work with 13 to 18 year olds who have gone quiet, gone spiky, or gone through the motions. The ones school reports describe as capable but. The ones who are carrying something and have decided the adults can't be trusted with it yet. I like teenagers enormously, which sounds obvious for the job but isn't universal in it, and I hold one working assumption that has never once been wrong: they are more capable than they currently believe.
No lectures, on principle
Every teenager alive is already fluent in what adults think they should be doing. A lecture just delivers information they already own, at a volume that guarantees it bounces off. So sessions don't work like that. We start from what they actually care about, we build from there, and my job is to ask real questions, take the answers seriously, and stay steady while they work things out. Being taken seriously turns out to be the thing teenagers can't get enough of, and the thing that shifts behaviour when pressure has failed.
Safe by design
I hold an enhanced DBS check, the highest level of criminal-record check for people who work with children, current, on the update service, and yours to see whenever you ask. I'm safeguarding trained and I work to a written safeguarding policy, which in practice means: sessions happen in public or bookable community spaces, parents always know where and when, I never transport young people, and if I am ever worried about a young person's safety I act on it and involve the right people, every time. I'm fully insured for one-to-one youth work. None of this is small print. It's the floor the whole practice stands on.
Confidentiality, and exactly where it ends
Both of my audiences deserve the plain version, so here it is. To the teenager: what you tell me stays between us. I'm not reporting your sessions back to your parents, and I'm not gathering evidence for the adults. To the parent: you'll get regular check-ins with themes and progress, so you're never in the dark, but never transcripts, because a session that gets reported home stops being honest within a fortnight. The one exception, which I won't soften for either of you: if I'm ever worried about a young person's safety or someone else's, I will act, and I will share what's needed with the right people, parents among them, involving the young person first wherever possible. Everyone hears this from me in plain words before we begin, so nobody is ever surprised by it.
You'll find me at the Beacon Community Rooms on Stockport Road, weekday afternoons and early evenings, usually with two drinks on the table and no lecture prepared.