September is a time of change. 

Transition.

We all experience the shift in the seasons. The days getting shorter. Darker evenings. The raw heat of the long hot summer replaced by fresher air. Rain! Autumn colours spreading through the trees in our gardens and streets and parks and woods. Conkers shiny and enticing. The crunch of leaves beneath our feet.

And lots of us, regardless of how immediately connected we are to the new term, experience that ‘back to school’ feeling. The start of a new academic year. New pencil case. New notebook. New routine. New opportunities. New aspirations.

A shared sense of time passing.

A new start.

For some of us, this time is welcomed and longed for. For others it’s something we dread.

Such is life.

For all our lives are full of change. Some changes are tiny. Imperceptible. Others come crashing in unannounced, bringing joy or devastation. Celebration or despair.

Change is natural. Universal. Human. But when services get involved, change is rebranded as ‘transition’, and the universal, human experience of growing up and moving on turns into something that requires a process and a pathway and an assessment and a plan.

Turns into something that makes me go hmmm…

Multiple meanings

Over the years when I’ve talked about language, there have been times when people have defended the use of so called ‘professional language’ for various reasons – including that we all know what we mean. There are many examples of words that quickly counter that argument. Independent (having freedom and autonomy – or doing everything by yourself?). Prevention (what are we trying to prevent?) Community (a group of people with something in common – or a place to access or live in or be discharged to?) Complex needs? Challenging behaviour? Care?

Transition is another word with multiple meanings. It can refer to moving:

“from being at an early years setting (such as a childminder, pre-school or nursery), or being at home with parents, to starting school”

“from Year 6 in primary school to Year 7 in secondary school”

“from one stage of education to another”

“from childhood to becoming a young adult”

“from children’s to adult healthcare services”

“from children to adult NHS Continuing Healthcare”

“from Children’s services to Adult services when you turn 18 years old”

“from services for working-age adults to services for older people”

“from being independently mobile to needing assistance”

“from bed to chair”

“from chair to toilet”

“from lying down to sitting”

“from sitting to standing”

“from recovery support to ongoing support”

“from hospital to home”

“from home to a care home”

“from life to death”.

And of course, transition also refers to “changes, which may be social, legal, or medical, that lead to someone living their life as a person of a different gender to the one they were said to have at birth.” [1]

But we continue to talk about “people going through transition” and “people in transition” with no acknowledgment that this could mean any of the above. Because, well, we all know what we mean, don’t we?

It’s othering

Tricia Nicoll’s Test Two for Gloriously Ordinary Lives is, “Would I use that language in the kitchen with my family or in the café or pub with my mates?” [2] How many of us use the word transition in our everyday lives? Very few, I suspect, unless we’re talking about gender identity… or we’re tangled up in serviceland.

In many places there is a deliberate attempt to shift away from the term ‘transition’ and use ‘preparing for adulthood’ or ‘preparation for adulthood’ instead. But replacing one bit of jargon with another in theory slightly less awful bit of jargon is never what I’m advocating for.

In their local authority assurance framework, the Care Quality Commission (CQC) mention “people with experience of preparing for adulthood”. [3] Ummm. Isn’t that all of us, from the moment we’re born!? Observing. Learning. Adapting. Evolving.

Whether we use the term ‘transition’ or ‘preparation for adulthood’, it’s still something that – in serviceland – only applies, and happens, to ‘them’, not us.

“Most young people grow up and move into their adult lives. Disabled young people “transition” between services. These are not semantic issues they are cultural with consequences.”
– Martin Routledge [4] 

It’s a pathway

The ‘p words’ dominate in our sorting office approach to social care. 

Process. Procedure. Protocol. Pathway. Plan. Package. Placement.

The Care Quality Commission (CQC) expects that “pathways and protocols support all major transitions across physical and mental health, to prevent risks to continuity in people’s care. This includes preparing for adulthood, hospital referrals, admissions, discharge, and moves between services, including from out-of-area services or from self-funded care.”

As I’ve written before, the term ‘pathway’ makes me go hmmm. Pathways are designed to standardise and organise. To promote efficiency and improve flow. But real lives are messy, not linear. Plans evolve, and collapse. We try things out, make choices – and mistakes, change our minds, learn – and forget, feel lost – and found. We carve our own unique path, and we often require allies and advocates along the way. [5]

When things change in any of our lives, we often yearn for some form of clarity. Continuity. Consistency. Connection. Compassion. Care. The ‘c words’. In my opinion, and experience, this comes from connections and relationships, not processes and transactions.

When things change in any of our lives, do we want “pathways and protocols” to support us, or do we want people who know us and understand us to support us?

Am I alone in thinking it’s a little bit ironic that when ‘transition’ is, in theory, all about ensuring continuity, most councils have ‘Transitions Teams’ that sit separately from all the other children’s and adult social care teams?

Young people are referred to the ‘Transitions Team’ “when someone starts Year 9”, “when they are 14 years old”, “following their 16th birthday”, “as your loved one turns 17”, and out again when “they are not eligible under The Care Act 2014”, “the young person’s EHCP is ceased”, “they either reach stability or turn 25”.

Transitions teams are responsible for “establishing eligibility for adult social care services”, “completing Care Act assessments”, “supporting the move from children’s services to adult services”, “managing cases until they are settled and ready for handover to regular adult social care services” and – my favourite – “ensuring that transitions for those who are 17 ½ yrs. are transitioned in a seamless way” (!)

What about responsibilities for being present? Listening? Being curious? Understanding? Connecting? Caring?

It’s all about getting a service, not living your life

“If you are a young person receiving support from Children’s social care, we need to change the services we provide for you when you become an adult. This is called ‘transition’.”

“The Adult Transition Team work with eligible young people to prepare them for the transition into adult services.”

“A social care transition assessment will help us to see what support a young person will need as they approach adulthood and help them to make plans for their future care arrangements.”

This narrative is all about getting a service, not living your life.

“Once read in a council guide the line ‘it’s an exciting time transitioning from children’s to adults service.’ It did get changed after we pointed out how that really is the absolute definition of ‘not exciting’ and (shocker) young people want an actual life.”

– Mary Reed [6]

It’s largely a miserable narrative – reflecting (and anticipating) a miserable reality

Metaphors like ‘cliff edge’, ‘stepping into the abyss’ or ‘falling through the cracks’ are frequently adopted by people to describe their experience of ‘transition’ done to them or to people they love. They are also phrases adopted by councils in reports about what must be avoided.

Yet I’ve also observed how often the shift from childhood to adulthood is described by councils as “a confusing time”, “complicated”, “challenging”, “a difficult phase”, “distressing and disruptive”, “daunting”, “extremely challenging and stressful” and “a stressful time of change”.

There’s no sense in this narrative that this is a time of opportunity. Exploration. Liberation. It seems councils are pre-empting chaos while simultaneously failing to acknowledge that the chaos is mainly created by the silos, bureaucracy and stifled imagination of serviceland and is, as such, totally avoidable.

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When me and Tricia Nicoll talk about the ‘sorting office’ words in our Gloriously Ordinary Language programme sessions on practice, we always highlight the ‘from’ and the ‘to’. The words that expose the thinking and practice we’re keen to move away from, with the pervasive focus on process and transactions. And the thinking and practice we’re advocating instead, which has people and relationships at its heart. 

We always start the practice session by saying it’s where reality bites, as we highlight how the dominant language reflects the transactional nature of practice, and the fact that acknowledging and addressing this to create more relational ways of being requires a much more significant change than reaching for a different word. 

Gloriously Ordinary Language is all about challenging and changing the words that get in the way of all of us living Gloriously Ordinary Lives. It’s not really even just about language. It’s about getting to the heart of our humanity and keeping everything real, inclusive and human. 

While ever we treat exciting / liberating / messy / daunting / gloriously ordinary changes like growing up, moving out, moving on as a process and a pathway – and focus on eligibility and the handover between services – we’ll keep missing the point. And the person.

Our work is not to manage moves across the boundaries of our services. To make decisions about people without them, or to offer a ‘choice’ between something and nothing.

Our work is to stay curious, and compassionate, and connected as life changes. To understand what a good life – or even a good death – looks like, and then to work together to make that happen.

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References

[1] Transition, Cambridge Dictionary    

[2] The Five Tests, Tricia Nicoll, Gloriously Ordinary Lives

[3] Assessment framework for local authority assurance, Care Quality Commission, April 2026

[4] 30 years ago many of us stopped using terms like “respite” (relief from a burden) and “Transitions”…, Martin Routledge, LinkedIn, August 2026

[5] Words that make me go hmmm: Pathway, Bryony Shannon, Rewriting social care, 19 April 2025

[6] Massive hate for transitions…, Mary Reed, LinkedIn, August 2026