understanding (n.)

(Back on the soap box again ... I've written about this before ... I'd stop, but it keeps popping up ...)

As a social worker / therapist, it's easy to develop pet peeves.  As in, really easy.  As in, it's probably a good thing to watch those immediate reactions you start having to people - OR - you might lose sight as to what's really important:  empathy / respect / appreciation for the journey most of my clients have been on.  (Most people don't just wake up one day and think, Man, today would be a GREAT day to (fill in the blank) ....)

I'm an in home family therapist for families who are at immediate risk of losing their children to foster care.  When Children's Administration (meaning, CPS, or Child Welfare, or the Department of Children and Family Services, or whatever variation your state has) calls me, things have gotten pretty hairy.  That's a euphemism.  I don't really want to detail right now what kinds of things happen in homes that help facilitate my presence, mostly because when I do that, the back story as to why families are going through the hardships they are gets lost.  Most people are not psychopaths.  Most people do not want to hurt their children.  That might be hard to believe, but people's stories are so widely varied and complex.

I mean, really, really complex.  Do I get frustrated?  Sure.  Do I have to call in new CPS reports?   Sometimes.  Do I still have hope?  Absolutely.  Do some families make it?

Do some families make it?  (Not a typo.  I asked that twice.)

Some families stay together, and people have widely varying definitions of success.  I've had to really, really examine my class issues in defining success and have had to really, really examine how comfortable I am with the concept of minimum sufficient level of care.

Oh, my word.  I digress all over the place.  The job is complex, much like many jobs!, and I find myself re-explaining what I do again and again out of habit.

Back to the point.  I have worked with children and families for 12 years.  Not always as a therapist.  Not always at the Master's level.  But I have a lot of experience with kids.  I've seen a lot of kids heal.  I've seen a lot of kids go through some earth shattering,  heart breaking experiences.  I've been around kids.

I've been around kids who have been physically or sexually abused.  I've helped take injury photos of bruises and I've listened to kids disclose physical torture.  I've advocated for them in court.  I've worked with kids in therapy who have PTSD because they've witnessed family members die in gang shootings. I've detained some of them involuntarily to psych beds for their own safety.  In one season of my life, I was a Detention Officer and I physically restrained them for their own safety.  In that same season, I stayed up all night with them when they had nightmares, wet the bed, needed someone to talk to.    I have chosen a life of public service (long hours, terrible pay, etc) because my heart is wrapped up in kid healing.  This is a choice I have made.

(Loop back to the beginning of the post ...)

So I do not take it well when people tell me, "You'll know when you're a mom" - or - "You don't understand because you don't have children."

I was in a training today on cognitive interventions and REBT when a training participant purposefully ignored a statement I made, turned to my co worker and said, "Well, you know about kids, because you're a mom."

Sweetheart, I have been to more dark places with kids than most moms will ever go.  I do not know what it is like to be a mom, but I know about kids, and what I know is that giving birth does not make you an expert on all things child.  (I didn't say that.  I took a drink of water and doodled on my handout.)

Strangely, none of my clients have ever had a problem with me not having kids.  Some of them, in our closing work together, have stated that they had initial concerns that I would not be able to relate because I do not have my own kids, but that those concerns dissipated quickly.  I have only ever received the cold shoulder from some colleagues (not most), conservative Evangelical moms (not all) and some acquaintances (my good friends are generally supportive).  I do not have to have schizophrenia to treat schizophrenia.  I do not have to be suicidal to treat suicide ideation / depression.  I do not have to have kids to be a good kid / family therapist.

Also, strangely, Shoes and I are having long, complicated discussions about when to start our own family, (if we start our own family), with no clear answers as to when, in part  because I am so busy taking care of other people's children.  (Calm. That's not the only reason the discussions are complicated).

So.  In sum.  My uterus is empty.  It might be empty for a good long while. And me and my empty uterus?  We're still a good family therapist.  I can still jump rope, shoot baskets, make a worry box, and depersonalize an issue like nobody's business.  I haven't stayed up all night with a colicky baby, but I've stayed up all night with a suicidal teenager.  I haven't dropped my 5 year old off for his first day of kindergarten, but I've worked hours and hours and hours to get a child the special education service he desperately needs.

Not a mom.

Still an advocate for all things child.

Funny how that works.

Shoes and I are turning 35 this year.  I don't mind telling you that at all.  Shoes' birthday is today, and we've had a lovely weekend of dinners, golf and spending time together.  Due to not being in the city, this birthday was much harder to plan.  You see, we make a big deal out of birthdays around here.  We don't make a big deal out of presents (we both prefer not to - with any celebration - but that's a story of a different post), but we make a big deal out of the celebration.  The connection.  The ritual.

The ritual ended kind of early last night and we were in bed by 10.

That might have been worth it because I feel pretty fantastic this morning, which is, no doubt, another sign of being another year older.

Last night, when we were out at fancy dinner (kind of - the nicest dinner we could have in this rural town),  I asked Shoes what he had learned over the course of the last year.  He sighed and said, "I've learned to not let Rosie have any more fabric toys."  (Really.  She consumes all of them and then there's Big Trouble in Little Rosie's Stomach later.)

We also talked about 35 being kind of a difficult birthday.  For us, anyway.  We've both been very grateful to have been in the position of being "young professionals" after college and entering into our respective fields.  That part of our identity is slowly slipping away as we approach middle age.  We are no longer the bright, young people at the professional table.  And while that's a bit of an adjustment, there's also a reservoir of treasure that comes with that.  Namely, experience.  Patience.  Wisdom...

I've written many time about here about the long journey I took to find Shoes and be ok with marriage again.  We don't have to talk to about it again.  But it is worth mentioning that he still surprises me.  His wit, his patience, his kindness, his gentleness ... it is immense and all enveloping and there is still a piece of me that is astonished I get to help him celebrate any birthday with him.  He is an incredible partner, which is how I usually prefer to refer to him.  He truly partners with me in every sense of the word.

I do not know how to be more grateful for this human being in my life.
I do not know how I am so lucky to be able to help him celebrate another year of incredible living.
I think I can't love him more, and then, of course, I do.

Cheers to another year of a life very well lived, Shoes.  You're making the absolute most of your time on this earth, and it is humbling to see you not take anything for granted.  Cheers to this next year, too.  I have no doubt that you will find ways to live it even more fully.  Thanks for letting me celebrate with you.  There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

I don't know if you know this about me, but I come from a military family.  My father was career military and my hometown was "Any Military Base Anywhere."  We lived in Europe until I was 9.  Both of my grandfathers served, my uncles served, my cousins served, my sister served and is now in the Reserves....

It's an interesting thing:  to be able to hold a deep river of gratitude for those who choose to serve the country, and to balance that with an equally deep river of heartbreak around how shattering war is, how damaging it is to countries and human beings, and how much is spent on this country's military budget.  It's an interesting thing:  to deeply honor and truly respect the choices of your family members, and to zip it when we're all of having holiday dinners because we wouldn't want to have that discussion again, now, would we?

(I secretly do want to have that conversation, but, you know ... I wasn't always a trouble maker.  In fact, when I was a kid, I talked so little in class that one of my elementary schools sent me to speech therapy.  They were convinced that the reason I wasn't talking was because I was having trouble actually forming words.  I wasn't.  "Speech Therapy" didn't last long.  I don't have that problem anymore.)

Despite any deeply held political beliefs I have, this is still true:

In all of the US Conflicts,  more than 1,319,729 soldiers have lost their lives.  That, to me, is an absolutely staggering number.  (Of course, some of those conflicts included conflicts (including US military / American Indian conflict) that I just cannot support by any stretch of the imagination.)   I honor the loss of life and the millions of family members who have been affected by that loss.

Today is Memorial Day.  We honor those who lost their lives in combat.

Today is Memorial Day.  I also remember that a generation of Russians lost their lives in WWII.  I also remember that between 112,789 and 123,419 Iraqi civilians (civilians) have lost their lives in the most recent conflict.  I also remember the millions upon millions of Native Americans who were killed by foreign settlers.  I could go on.  And on.  And on.

Memorial Day is not simple for me.  It is not a 10% discount at Taco Time for veterans.  It is not American flags flying on Main Street.  It is not Lee Greenwood's "God Bless the USA."  It is a sticky situation, a terrible middle ground, where many of my own truths run headlong into each other.  I'm remembering.  I'm troubled.

And I'm hopeful, because, darn it.  That's part of who I am as well.

Am I really going to end this post by a quote by Fred Rogers?

I am, my friends.

“When I say it's you I like, I'm talking about that part of you that knows that life is far more than anything you can ever see or hear or touch. That deep part of you that allows you to stand for those things without which humankind cannot survive. Love that conquers hate, peace that rises triumphant over war, and justice that proves more powerful than greed.” 
― Fred Rogers

And our night away was perfect and lovely and warm. Unseasonably warm.  We played the resort's golf course, and while I normally just tee off and putt, I played several holes all the way through.

I am a terrible golfer.  Really.  Just terrible.  But I love it.  Every time I get to that ball, it feels like a brand new opportunity.  (To biff it, usually, but still a new opportunity).  We were so very lucky that the other two in the foursome were regular rural PNW guys who wanted to drink beer and have fun.

That meant they were able to cheer my very small successes and not be super serious about this expensive round of golf at the resort.

Now "vacation" (do you count one night away as vacation?)  is over.  And I'm at training in the city for the new job, missing Shoes and Rosie.

This new job is doing intense in home family therapy for families who are at immediate (read:  IMMEDIATE) risk of having their children placed in foster care.  It's either do this therapy or the kids will be removed. So we're back to child protection, and honestly, and please read my heart here as I am not, of course, saying I am ok with child abuse / neglect, it feels very much like my career "home".  I have worked with child protective services as a professional for years.  Years.

I think this is what I know.

I always wondered when therapists talked about their "specialty" areas (grief and loss, eating disorders, geriatric counseling, etc) how they got there.  I don't think it's that far fetched to say that one of my specialties is becoming working with families who have experienced trauma.

We're at this training and we're talking about referrals and engagement and motivation and hope and optimism and change and how the data shows that 90% of the families who make it to the end of the program stay together.

Hard to argue with those kind of numbers, right?

And I'm feeling all stirred up again, like this experience is speaking to the heart of who I am as a social worker.

Up with families. ;)

... 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.