This week, Caring and Sharing (CAS) strengthened community engagement in Rochdale through a new cancer care partnership, participation in the Rochdale Science Extravaganza 2026, and advocacy for migrant care workers. Discover how collaboration and inclusive initiatives are creating lasting impact across Greater Manchester.
Understanding the NRPF crisis, and why informed communities are the first step toward change.
Across the UK, an estimated 3.3 million people are living under the No Recourse to Public Funds (NRPF) condition, a policy that continues to push individuals and families into hardship, exclusion, and uncertainty.
At Caring and Sharing Rochdale, this is not just a statistic; it is a daily reality. Many people affected by NRPF are working, contributing, and actively part of their communities, yet are denied access to essential public support when they need it most.
What is No Recourse to Public Funds (NRPF)?
The No Recourse to Public Funds (NRPF) condition prevents many migrants from accessing welfare benefits, housing support, and other forms of public assistance in the UK.
This means that when life takes an unexpected turn, such as job loss, illness, or family breakdown, there is often no safety net.
NRPF is not just an immigration condition; it is a structural issue that:
Community advocacy for refugees plays a vital role in protecting dignity, safety, and inclusion in uncertain times. Discover how communities can support migrants and vulnerable families through compassion and collective action.
When people talk about “starting over”, it often sounds inspiring, like a clean slate, a fresh chapter, a moment of empowerment. But for many survivors of domestic abuse and exploitation, especially those with uncertain immigration status, starting over isn’t just difficult, it’s dangerous, confusing, and deeply isolating.
At Caring and Sharing, we see this reality every week in our Immigration Drop-In Support Sessions. Women (and men too) show up carrying invisible scars. Some have fled violent partners. Others have escaped forced labour or trafficking rings. And nearly all of them are navigating a system that, frankly, doesn’t always know how to care for them properly.
When Safety Comes at a Cost
One of the cruelest ironies for survivors with insecure immigration status is that seeking safety can actually put them at further risk. Imagine finally finding the strength to leave a harmful situation, only to realise that:
You might have no legal right to public funds.
You could be facing deportation because your visa is tied to your abuser.
You’re being told by authorities that your experience is “complicated” or “not urgent enough”.
You don’t know who to trust, or even what your rights are.
That’s not freedom. That’s fear in a new form. And let’s not forget language barriers, cultural stigma, and the very real threat of retribution from traffickers or abusive partners. Survivors often live in silence because speaking up feels like stepping into even more uncertainty.
“But why didn’t they leave sooner?”
We hear this question far too often. The truth? It’s not that simple. Many survivors we support have been strategically isolated — cut off from friends, family, finances, or even their passports. They’ve been told lies about what will happen if they reach out for help: “They’ll arrest you”, “They’ll take your children”, “You’ll be deported”. So when someone finally does walk through our doors, we don’t take that lightly. It takes unimaginable bravery to speak up, especially when you’ve been made to believe your voice doesn’t matter.
The Rochdale Reality
In Rochdale, the challenges faced by survivors are compounded by systemic barriers. The Rochdale Borough Domestic Abuse Needs Assessment highlights that domestic abuse is a gender-biased crime, with 91% of high-risk cases referred to the Independent Domestic Violence Advisor (IDVA) service being female. Additionally, 59% of these cases involved individuals under the age of 35 .
Furthermore, the Rochdale Borough Council’s Domestic Abuse Strategy acknowledges the disproportionate impact of domestic abuse on women from ethnic minority backgrounds, particularly those with insecure immigration status. These individuals often face additional hurdles in accessing support services due to language barriers, cultural stigmas, and fear of deportation .
What Freedom Actually Looks Like
Freedom, in our world, starts small. It looks like a confidential conversation with one of our trusted partners from Greater Manchester Immigration Aid Unit (GMIAU), where someone learns, often for the first time, that they have rights, not just needs. It looks like connecting a survivor to emergency housing that doesn’t ask invasive questions or make them feel “less than” for needing help.
It looks like walking someone through the Domestic Violence Rule or the National Referral Mechanism, explaining in plain language how to get the protection they deserve. And it looks like sitting side-by-side with someone, not across a desk, while they reclaim their power, their story, and their future.
No One Should Have to Choose Between Safety and Status
Let’s be clear: surviving abuse or exploitation should not disqualify anyone from safety, dignity, or justice. But the system doesn’t always get that. That’s why community organisations like ours are essential. We show up in the gaps. We help people feel seen. And we work with partners who understand that legal advice is only one part of the healing process.
We Believe You. We’re With You.
If you’re someone reading this who is feeling trapped or unsure, please know this: you are not alone. There are people who will believe you. Who will advocate for you. Who will sit with you in the hard moments and walk with you toward something better. And if you’re someone with the power to help; as a volunteer, a donor, a professional, or just a compassionate neighbour, your role matters too. Because every voice raised in support of survivors chips away at a system that has too often failed them.
This work isn’t easy. But it’s necessary. And every time someone walks from fear into freedom, even just a few steps forward, we’re reminded why we do it. Let’s keep making space for freedom to be more than just a dream. Let’s make it real.
At Caring and Sharing, our mission is built on compassion, but compassion isn’t just something we extend outward. It’s something we practice inward, too.
Every day, we walk alongside asylum seekers, refugee seekers, the BAME community, seniors, carers, and others who need a place of safety, solidarity, and support. Through immigration drop-ins, women’swellness sessions, digital skills classes, ESOL, and the beloved Friends of Shamwari, we hold space for healing, empowerment, and growth.
But in doing this life giving work, we’ve learned a difficult but necessary truth: If we don’t take care of ourselves, we won’t be able to take care of anyone else.
When Compassion Becomes Too Heavy to Carry Alone
Let’s be real: the emotional weight of community work is no joke. It’s not just the hours or the paperwork, it’s the stories we carry, the systems we navigate, the urgency we feel when someone’s safety is at stake. Even the most passionate among us can hit a wall.
But at Caring and Sharing, we’ve decided: burnout is not the price of making a difference. We’ve put intentional strategies in place to help our team stay grounded, protected, and energised, so we can keep doing what we do best, without burning out in the process.
How We’re Protecting Our People While Serving Our Purpose
Here’s how we care for ourselves as we care for others:
1. We Talk About It – Openly, Honestly, Often
We’ve created safe internal spaces where team members can say, “I’m struggling,” without fear or shame. Whether it’s during team meetings, informal chats, or reflection sessions, we encourage real talk about emotional health. Vulnerability isn’t a weakness, it’s a strength that keeps us connected.
2. We Honour Boundaries
We respect that our team members are whole people, not just roles or job titles. We encourage clear working hours, proper breaks, and taking time off when needed. Nobody is expected to be “on” all the time. We don’t glorify burnout, we shut it down before it starts.
3. We Prioritise Peer Support
There’s healing in shared experience. That’s why we’ve created relaxed spaces, like our monthly tea and chat circles where volunteers and staff can talk, decompress, or just sit in solidarity with one another. It’s not always about problem-solving. Sometimes it’s about simply being seen.
4. We Say No to Martyr Culture
Doing good shouldn’t mean running yourself into the ground. We actively challenge the narrative that says “the more exhausted you are, the more committed you must be.” We celebrate sustainability, not sacrifice. This work is a marathon, not a sprint.
5. We Invest in Our Own Wellbeing
We’re intentional about putting care resources in-house. That means making room for things like mindfulness practices, reflective supervision, access to counselling, and designated wellness time. These aren’t extras, they’re essentials.
6. We Celebrate Ourselves, Loudly and Often
It’s easy to focus only on the crises, but we’ve learned to pause and celebrate the wins, big and small. Whether it’s someone mastering basic English, a successful referral, or a heartfelt “thank you,” we take time to honour those moments. They fuel us. They remind us why we’re here.
Why This Matters
Because at Caring and Sharing, we know that our people are the heartbeat of this mission. Our staff, our volunteers, our community leaders, are essential. And so, we protect that. When helping starts to hurt, we don’t ignore the pain. We listen to it. We slow down. We regroup. We support one another. Because healing communities begins with healing ourselves.
So here’s our invitation to everyone doing this work with us: Take care. Speak up. Rest without guilt. Because when we thrive, our community does too. And that’s the future we’re building, together.