understanding (n.)

... it hits like a hurricane.  We'll call this one hurricane Christina (only because Christina begins with a C and this is the 3rd metaphor hurricane of this year for Shoes and I.  Christina is also the name of one of the therapists I grew closest to while I was at Community Outpatient Mental Health; Christina the person is not the same as Christina the hurricane.  I just spent a solid 3 minutes explaining that to you, when it doesn't matter at all, because none of you have met Christina the person.  But, there it is.)

I went to Day 1 of training at new Social Work Agency and it was lovely.  I left town at a decent hour. I was home at 5:00.  Shoes and I visited and had dinner.  The people at Social Work Agency are talented, top notch therapists and social workers who are also extremely empathetic.  They told me I could take Friday off since I'll be out all next week at training.  It was calm, and peaceful and healthy.  Not all days will be like that, I know.

I am a social worker, after all.  Sometimes it just gets crazy.  Like, crazy.  O, the stories I could tell, of fights and cops and emergency rooms.

But I digress.

I went to bed last night and couldn't wake up this morning.  As in, begged Shoes to take Rose downstairs to her Puppy Palace (we keep her in our unfinished basement during the day - it's huge) so I could keep sleeping.   And I slept and slept and slept.

Sometimes when you get out of a situation that's not the right fit for you, you see things with more clarity.  Sometimes you see how unhealthy things really were.  That's the spot I'm in.  And I'm a little freaked out by it.  Sometimes when you're in the middle of trying to work and survive and live, you let a lot of things go, because you just have to.  You have to to be able to make a living and try to serve the needs of high risk clients who deserve your absolute best.

I still don't know how to talk about the bad place I was in with this other job.  Not in a way that I would be proud of or comfortable with.  I'm sitting here staring at my exit interview packet thinking how in the world am I going to answer these questions when I know it doesn't matter and my feedback (which has always been gentle and empathetic and constructive) will be taken personally.  How can I fill this out when I know that at least 4 other therapists, in the last 12 months, have tried to share the same feedback .. and there have been very few efforts to address what's there.

You know what was good about the old agency?

The therapists I grew close to.  There are a handful I trust implicitly, and was always so grateful to see their faces at the Emergency Room as we supported each other in detainments that lasted hours and hours and hours.  We've hung out.  We've met spouses.  Our dogs have made friends with each other.

It was one of the therapists that quit earlier this year that told the new Social Work Agency that would be crazy not to hire me.  We're now working together as satellite therapists in our Very Rural County.  I don't have to miss her; she's right here.  But I am so very grateful for the people who are still holding it down at the Old Agency.  And I'm looking forward to camping trips and summer bbqs and deck parties with them.  When you're dealing with untenable situations, there are few things that are more dear to your heart than colleagues who drop everything to  back you up.

Oh, the things I continue to learn in my 35th year of life.

I don't feel as tired this afternoon, but the feeling of being wiped out still lingers a little.  The weather is gorgeous, and I'm about to take Rose over to Shoes' mother's house to hang out with her and her new Terrier puppy, Maggie.  Rose is having "Grandma's weekend" while Shoes and I go up North to the mountains for a night away on a crystal clear mountain lake.  I feel different already.  I feel like a human.  I feel like I still want to do social work.

Self care, dear hearts.  Self care.

I've majorly violated my one big New Years' Resolution for this year, which was to live 12 months with no major life changes.  In this case, though, I think a major life change was needed for my health (see previous post) and the health of my family.  (A husband and a dog is a family.)

I've resigned from my job as a child and family therapist with the community outpatient mental health clinic.  Hearing Shoes say (over and over and over and over), "We can sell the house, babe.  We'll move back to Portland.  It will be ok." made me realize how much sadness and grief and stress this job was bringing into my home.

It hit me really hard about a month ago when Shoes said quietly, "You can't go on like this.  This depression is eating you alive."

Depression?  Well.  Not really.  I mean, sad and stressed out and trying to rely on God's promises, but I know that I didn't match the clinical criteria for depression.  You gotta watch how you label mental health around a therapist. But the fact that Shoes was experiencing my situation as depression was a bit of a shake up.   I have more to say about the job I'm resigning from, but I'm looking for a graceful, diplomatic way to own my truth and not slander the agency.  And I will probably wait until I've fully left to write that post.

Before I resigned, though, I accepted an employment offer from a parent agency in a town a couple hours away who was looking to expand services in my county.  So.  I am still a child and family therapist.  Now, I am a child and family therapist who will be providing intense, in home therapy to families who are either:  1) At imminent risk of losing their children to Child Welfare; or 2) Having their children returned to them out of foster care.  This is gloves off kind of stuff.  The kind of therapy that happens as a last chance resort to try to keep families together.

I'm going from one intense agency to another, I know.  Here's the thing though.  With the new agency, my maximum caseload is 2.  2 families.  Now, each family gets 10 hours of in home therapy a week, but I will never be assigned more than 2 families.  And paperwork is written into my work agreement.  And here's the thing that my heart is the most grateful for:

I will be working from home.  I will not be away from the house 12-14 hours a day.  The implications this has for Shoes and I is huge. We might actually have space to start thinking about human children.  We'll see.

I have 3 more client days at the clinic.  This has been tough.  Due to the very high turnover at the clinic, I am the 3rd or 4th therapist these kids and families have had in the last 12 months.  These families are upset, and understandably so.  It has taken all of my professional energy and clinical skills to be able to hold their disappointment, irritation, frustration, fury ... and grief and loss ... while experiencing my own.  I have never ascribed to the school of thought that I, as a therapist, should be a blank slate.  Especially not when working with kids and families with a history of trauma and attachment issues.  (No worries, I'm not letting myself fall apart.  It's been several days of lots of emotion, though.)  It's also been incredibly difficult to professionally, yet with empathy, respond to statements such as, "That agency must be a really terrible place to work if they can't keep any of their therapists"; or; "I don't know where you're going after this, but it has to be better than (my agency)."  (That last one was from a professional I respect and admire.)

I've been working almost every day, many hours a day.  My last day with the current agency is Wednesday, and on Thursday and Friday, I'll drive up to the parent agency for initial training.

If anything, the past 9 months has taught me how important the health of the agency is in social work / social services.  That's obvious, right?  Maybe, but it's really difficult to assess that in an interview.  I know to ask more questions early on now.  I know to ask for what I need.  I know to ask, "What makes a person a good fit for this agency?".  Maybe I won't always get straight answers, but I can only do what I can do.

It's beautiful outside right now.  I went into the agency this morning and worked on cleaning up client files.  And then Rosie and I went to the dog park.  It's time to start putting this behind me.  It's time to start remembering why I wanted to become a therapist.

Oh, social work.

I have about 3 different posts in draft form.  I write.  Edit.  Leave.  Come back.  They're still not ready.

It's been awhile since my last post.

I'm in that crazy space right now of evaluating where you are.  Not you, reader, personally.  I don't know you and don't want  to evaluate YOU.  I need to evaluate ME.   The move to rural E WA.  How the job is going.  My own personal development.

Did you know I work 50 hour weeks?  Sometimes more.  Sometimes I work 36 hours straight.  Sure, you get a nap in at night in between crisis calls during those 36 hour shifts, but it's:  Do 10 hours of individual therapy, cover overnight crisis (which might be stone silent, or it might be a full moon/end of the month combo), and then do another 10 hours of individual therapy.

Do I like this?  Is it getting me where I need to be professionally?  Are there perks to doing this?  How is affecting my time with my family?   I am beyond beyond beyond lucky to have a partner that is wholly supportive of everything I do, so I'm not worried about the relationship between the two of us ... but I am mindful of how this might be affecting him.

I have some silly personal goals.  Wait.  Hold on.  See?  There I go again.  They're not SILLY.  They are balanced, but I feel like I should apologize when I name them.  I'm doing a 5K Mud Run in July.  I'm doing a 5K Obstacle Run in September.  I want to learn how to play the violin.  Where I am right now?  I come home, make dinner, and fall into bed.  Somewhere the living is not being lived.  I do not want to have my entire life center around my work.  I want that balance of bringing my personal best to the job, feeling spiritually connected to the work, and then having my time with my family be my time with my family.

I have time to write this right now because I have been stopped dead in my tracks by a terrible Monster of an Upper Respiratory Infection.  The temporary slow down has been good for me.

Taking stock.
Writing out some Pro and Con lists.
Thinking.
Allowing some dreaming to happen.
Getting ready to take some risks, possibly.

That's healthy.

Feeling guilty because I'm not at work, even though I can't breathe or talk?
Not healthy.

I have a dear, dear friend from graduate school  I remain very close to.  (That sounds more committed than it is - I've only been out of grad school for 9 months).  We chat, he tells me about social services in Portland, I try not to get too homesick.

Lives will be saved, literally and figuratively.
Lives will be lost, literally and figuratively.
Social workers will stumble upon creative solutions to impossible situations.
Social workers will be stumped and will have no idea what to do next.
Clients will show up on time for their appointments and be motivated to work to change.
Clients will no show.  Maybe it isn't time for their season of change yet.
There will be slow afternoons.
There will be afternoons where you don't get a bathroom break.
Social workers might get hugs from little ones.
Social workers might get kicked by little ones.

This week in social work, I will be officially starting my new position in the agency as a child and family therapist.  That's new to the agency, but not necessarily new to me.  I've done this before.  I've loved this before.

I love it now.

I will go to work tomorrow, clean up my adult client's files, take a precursory look at my new kid files, and then head North for 3 days of training (a state required clinical training in how to work with sexual assault victims).  That's a lot of heavy stuff during the day.  It will get to be a little much, I'm sure.  It usually does.  But I will not be in the office.  Not be running around.  Not responding to the ER to evaluate people for involuntary detainment.  It's a break.  A break listening to the effects of sexual trauma, but a break none the less.

I will also miss Rosie's last day of puppy training, but Shoes will do a good job of holding down the fort.  He always does.

And then, another weekend.

And then, bring on the kid therapy.
I'm so ready.

(footnote:  I was in therapy for a year and a half after a very sad divorce.  truthfully, i don't remember much of those early days of therapy because i was just trying to get up, go to work, not react to people when they told me divorce was a major sin against God and not fall apart.  those are actually signs of emotional trauma - the not remembering.  however, i very clearly remember the day my therapist asked me, "where do you go from here, lisa?  what do you want to do?  where do you feel most alive?" and i said, "when i'm working with kids at my job and at church."  and it was like God put a firm foundation under my feet immediately and said, "start working on this kid, we've got work to do."  my head cleared and my heart actually started to feel a sense of light and purpose and direction.  so i applied to graduate school, moved away and specialized in kid therapy.    i am almost 5 years past that day in my therapist's office.  it is no small secret i adore the life i've been given now.)

Shoes and I.  An intervention, of sorts.  (Even though I'm not at all fond of that clinical model.)

We were talking about Rosie last night and I said (with my own mouth, and I don't think I was possessed), "Maybe we should get Rosie a friend."

We've talked about this before - getting a 2nd dog.  Shoes and I have jobs without flexibility; we're required to be away from home all day.  It's not lost on us that we have a big, slobbery Golden Retriever - the Lover of All Things Breathing.  We've never quite felt it's fair to this epitome of a pack animal to be home alone all day.

"But not a baby," I continued.  "I don't have any time to take off to coddle a baby (dog, people)."  (I do not have enough time.  I get 10 hours of PTO a month - that's vacation and sick altogether.  I've called in sick 2 times since I've been with the agency and have only managed to accrue 30 hours.  Self care?  Vacations?  Pffft.)

Shoes gets that.  Suggested maybe we look at the Shelter.  Go by ourselves, then take Rose, then see if we can foster a candidate for a bit before making a decision.

"You know," Shoes said, "That's great and I think it will be good for her, but I'll never love another dog like I do Rose."  He was kidding -- kind of.

But maybe he really wasn't.

Rosie got sick last night.  Big time puking.  Dietary indiscretion -- I guess that's what happens when  you consume 2 of your fabric toys in one day.  Still, it just broke our hearts to see her not feeling well.  She seemed under the weather for a few hours after that, which put us on edge.  She and I went to bed early and she kept curled up to me all night.  (Right.  She sleeps on the bed.  Right.  I know it was one of my cardinal rules to never let her do that.)  Even Shoes spoke very softly to her and gave her extra love.  We both turned in to big balls of mush ... even though not feeling well was *completely* her own doing.  (Shoes kept touching her nose to see if it was still dry.)

Rosie is a big pain in the tookus.  But she's learning.  And she's gentle.  And she's loving.  And I think that's what's endeared us to her the most:  she's never aggressive, never grumpy, and just gives and gives and gives and gives love.  There's an elderly couple who comes to our dog obedience class just to watch the dogs (it's really very sweet), and the man always says, "Oh Rosie, you're doing so much better sweetheart!"  And then the wife always tells us, "She always has such a huge smile on her face."  People stop us all the time when we're walking her to pet her and, even though her over abundant enthusiasm can be irritating, people always are so  pleased when she rushes them to love on them.    (I am always less than pleased.  Really, dog?  Show some decorum.)

We have a huge spot in our hearts for this animal that drives us nuts.  I don't know, maybe Shoes is right.  Maybe we might not be as fond of another dog as we are of Rosie.  Maybe it's nuts to want to get another dog just so she would have company during the day.

Any multiple dog owners out there have any advice?

We're listening.

Our dog did not behave like a rabid, demented animal during her 2nd puppy class (and because this post has been in draft form for a few weeks, she has actually had 4 total by now).   No barking.  Just a little whining. 

Sitting, laying down, walking on the leash?

Whatevs.  (I actually hate that word.  The only person I've ever really believed got away with saying that well is my 7 year old nephew, Michael.  He also says "totes."  As in, Rosie is "totes adorbs."  I sometimes have no idea what Michael is talking about, which makes me feel old.)

Anyway.  She had it down.  Still wanted to flirt and make googly eyes at the huge Malamute named Pufferbelly, but definitely improved.  Lots and lots of pats and loves for that.

She does love those pats and loves.

Want to know a secret?

This post isn't actually about Rosie.  But it was a good non sequitur.

I'm changing positions in my agency.  I had originally applied to be a child and family therapist at a time when the agency had openings for both the child & adult position.  The other top applicant stated she would only work with kids.  I was not in a place to be so picky.  I've enjoyed the last 6 months as an adult therapist.  I've appreciated the insight oriented conversations, witnessing change, and not having to keep sharp objects locked up in cabinets.

(Well ... the sharp objects one is context specific, I suppose ...)
And as much as I've appreciated working with the adults, I cannot wait (read:  canNOT WAIT) to get back to working with kids.  Because our agency is so small, I actually have a couple of kids on my caseload right now.  And you know what?

Right.  I love them.

The transition should happen mid February.   Very positive conversations with my clinical supervisor re: my role in the agency.  I've been unpacking my art supplies, my miniature toys for the sand tray I'm going to make, and hunting down used puppets.  (LOVE using puppets in therapy with kids.) 
To end this horribly written, random post, I'd like to tell you, as well, that one of my child clients has discovered a wormhole behind a dumpster near his home.  This is serious.  If you throw a rock into the wormhole, be careful.  It will come back to hit you in the back of your own head.

I know.  Creepy.  If you visit E. Washington, be sure to let me know so I can tell you which dumpster to steer clear from.

Kids.