understanding (n.)

More than that, now.

And although it has only been one year, I am, quite literally, astounded by the goodness and the integrity and the sheer joy that is my husband.  This man is :  loving, patient, kind, witty beyond belief, an incredible debater re: all things politics, a humanitarian to his core, level headed.

He is also:  mine.  I have no idea how that happened.

And let's be honest.  The first year of marriage can teach you a lot about a lot.  I knew that Shoes and I would have some adjusting to do to real life.  The majority of our relationship had been long distance.  You know what happens on the weekends you see each other when you're doing long distance?  Fancy dinners, lovely cocktails, trips to the zoo ... when you see each other only on the weekends, it's a perpetual party.  Real life is not always a party.

I mean, sometimes it is.  Sometimes life is a party.  Sometimes, though, it's more like "I took the dog out at 5:30 this morning so I think it's your turn to take her to the dog park."  Sometimes it's more like, "I know we had sushi last week but we're having it again this week because I'm exhausted and I just can't bear to make one more decision."  Sometimes it's more like, "Babe.  Why is the light fixture still in the closet and not installed in the dining room?"

And, then, sometimes life is like, "Lisa, watch this.  I can totally make Dogs bark now."  And sometimes it's like, "Your nephew just said he has a lucky muscle."  And sometimes it's like, "My best friend's kid is running around town wearing a batman cape."

Our marriage is in the living and my living now happens side by side by a short, brown haired gem of a human being.

We've done life this year.  O, Lord.  Have we done life.  We got a dog.  I got a job.  We got married.  We bought a house.  I quit my job.  I got a different job.  Shoes adjusted to his job (contracts and public records and risk management aren't quite the same as being a deputy prosecuting attorney).  Shoes and I, we've had some moments.  Some misunderstandings.  I think Rosie and I have taken him to depths of his patience he didn't know existed.  But more than that ... more than the dialogues and the life that had to be lived and the dog that's eaten just about everything under the sun ... more than that, there is a deep well of commitment, respect, and complete and consuming love for each other.

See, here's the thing.  When Shoes and I said our vows last year, we didn't commit to just a marriage.  We committed to a lifelong endeavor of supporting the other person and growing with the other person.  We didn't commit to "husband and wife."  Moreso, we committed to "human being and human being."

We committed to the entire sum of the other person:  the love, the strength, the humor, the fears, the insecurities.  We committed also to the commitment.

To celebrate one year of marriage, we headed north to a mountain lake and rented jet skis.  We chased each other around and raced each other and got deliciously sun burned.   We drank wine in the mountain town and ate delicious Italian food.  We took naps.  We laughed.  We hugged.  We talked about our wedding.  We talked about our upcoming year.

On the Sunday of our anniversary weekend, we took a walk in a large, nearby city park, where, on our actual anniversary, we watched from a distance another couple saying their vows.  And we saw how happy their loved ones were.  And we watched them celebrate.  And I cried.  Because that's what I do: Professional Crier.  And Shoes said, "Wife, stop."  Because that's what he does.  And I hoped for this couple what I hope for Shoes and I:  that even when life is hard and circumstances are terrible, you can still celebrate the union and the relationship and the other person.

Man.  A year goes by so quickly...

I have not been here much, on understanding (n.).  I have been working 60 hour weeks and celebrating a year of marriage and keeping up with dogs, who has decided she is entirely co-dependent and unable to be by herself.

Ever.  At all.

I am flexing today off.  I am flexing today off because I worked 55 hours last week, being with families, coming together with them in an effort to prevent placement of their children.  I am the live in therapist.  Only, I don't live there.  It just feels like I do.

I have had yay moments and oh no moments and this isn't safe at all moments.  I have had healing moments and scary moments and I have witnessed, in the last week alone, four drug deals.  I have called the Vet School, where we take our darling Rosie, to make sure I cannot bring home the Parvo virus because one of the apartment complexes I am in so often is infested and dogs are dying left and right.  It is truly heart breaking.

{It is highly unlikely I will bring home the Parvo virus.  I knew that, but I had to make sure.  This might be the reason my darling Rosie is co-dependent.  In any case, the Public Information Officer I spoke with gently suggested euthanizing the dogs that are there.  It is so very sad.  And more than that, this is the environment in which young children live.}

In flexing today off, I get to turn off my work phone.  I get to not read my work email.  I get to have lunch with my mother in law.  I do have to catch up on paperwork, maybe an hour's worth?, but that's it.

And tomorrow I will be up bright and early for another 13 hour day.  And I will work Saturday morning.  Part of the issue here is that we're still working on generating local referrals.  Until that happens, I have to take families in a town an hour and a half away.  That's a lot of driving.  That's 15 extra hours to my work week right there.

It's a juggling act.  But, in the end, when one counts all the benefits and costs, this is still a better deal than the last agency I was in.

It's amazing how much of a factor professionalism, professional growth and clinical support mean to a social worker / therapist.

So, onward.  On to catch up on this paperwork and go drink wine at the golf course with MIL.  On to an afternoon nap.  On to a mission to find clearance patio furniture for the deck.

Onward.

I mean, working in forensics would probably feel more strange to me.  Being a ghost hunter might also be more strange. Still, this is strange.

I wrapped up the last of 60+ days of training yesterday for the new job I took in May.  {Disclaimer:  all identifying details about this family have been changed.}  After following in another therapist's footsteps for 30 days, and having my supervisor watch every move I make with a client for 30 days, I am feeling more than ready to be out on my own.

I have been working with families for a long time.

So yesterday was the closing of 30 days of services with a family.  Brief reminder:  I provide time limited, very intense, in home therapy to families at risk of the kids going into foster care.  It's definitely present with me that it's either my therapy or bust.  And while that doesn't, to me, feel like much of a choice to the families, I'm also constantly reminded that it's the better choice.

Our data's good, by the way.  (I'm trying to keep this pretty informal, but, honestly, when I write sentences like that, as a former Research Assistant, I cringe a little.)  But, anyway.  It's pretty good.  2 years after our therapeutic services, 80% of these families who were at immediate risk of placement still have their kids.  And what we know about bonding, attachment and long term overall goodness is that, if safe and if possible, it's better for kids to stay with their families.

O, what was my point, anyway?  O, yes.  So.  I wrap up 30 days of intense in home family therapy.  We've done a tad bit of narrative therapy, a tad bit of solution focused therapy, a whole lotta' cognitive behavioral therapy, attachment work, parent education and a whole lotta' old fashioned social work advocacy.  Not enough food in the house?  In the car with you!  We get to learn about food benefits!  Monthly budgets?  They're awesome.  Let's work on one.

And with that, of course, is the gentle confrontation that comes in therapy regarding inconsistency, how actions don't mirror stated values, etc.  And when you're working  with PARENTS about their KIDS, you're treading on pretty sacred ground.   I wasn't sure how this would go.  I mean.  Although this service has a lot of the same elements of mental health therapy, it feels significantly different to ME.

But here's what happened on the last day, after 30 days of ups, downs, middles, and kiddos singing crazy songs in the car:  this family gently thanked me for coming into their home (even though *I* didn't feel like it was much of a choice for them) and said, "You helped all of us learn how to be better with each other."  And one of the parents choked up, tears welling, and said, "There are better ways to be a parent.  I understand my kids a little better now."

It's not always going to go this well.  I've been in the field for 12 years.  I know that.  What I'm left with today, though, as I'm writing my closing reports, is that this might be one of the more strange social work jobs I've had.  I've never really worked with NEAR mandated clients before.  Wait, no.  That's a total lie.  The kids in juvie were absolutely mandated, but that was a little different.

And what I can already tell is that this job is going to be a humbling lesson for me, as a therapist, in the art of asking for change, challenging to greatness, and celebrating any victory that comes along.  I'm also reminded that, even though I provide almost the same amount of therapy hours in 30 days that I provided in almost a year in mental health, change takes time.  I'm asking parents for a significant paradigm shift in a very short amount of time:  to very quickly explore how they were raised, what children know, what has worked for them and why. This process is going to be what it will be.

Hopefully, in the middle ground of asking for change and therapy, I'll continue to have these moments of connection with parents and their kids.  That's why I'm in it.  That moment where a person understands that I'm seeing them as a human being and I'm honoring them as a human being, no matter what the circumstances, is critical.  It'll be on me to offer these services in a manner that's empowering, honoring and authentic.

O, social work.  My strange, sometimes undecipherable, constant, familiar companion.  What AM I going to do with you?  Today you're my dear friend.  Next week, you might be my biggest headache.    You are what you are.  I guess we're in this for the long haul.

Shoes does not understand my work schedule.  (I don't understand my work schedule either).  I've done all I can do in scheduling this summer - and somehow we scheduled out until the middle of September.

Amazing.  Summer slips away.
It's a sweet slipping, though.  We are so very much enjoying our life together.
Rosie is enjoying it, too.

But it's busy.  Yes.  And I've written everything down on our family calendar, which Shoes forgets to check. I've verbally repeated our summer schedule so many times I can tell you exactly what we're doing, without thinking, for the next 10 weekends.

What a talent.

Shoes and I were talking about the next two weeks, and he said, "Why can't I get your schedule down?  Why is it so confusing?"  And I said, "Because I work when my clients need me.  Some weekends, some evenings, some early mornings, and then maybe 4 days off."

Then Shoes asked what this next week was like for me and I said, "You know, normal.  This is a normal week."  And Shoes said,

"So you're going to work at 2 am on Monday and then you'll work to 7 pm and then go to work again at 8 pm and then you have to drive a client out to Tukwila  for a jumping jack contest and then you have to deliver a baby  and then you have to clean up dog feces and then you have to write a report that you have to present all formally to your team and then you have to create a feelings thermometer with a 6 year old and then you have like all week off."

That is sometimes how it feels.
By the way, I do not cover Tukwila, but Tukwila is very fun to say.
I do sometimes help clients clean up after pets.

I have never been to a jumping jack contest.
I wonder  if there is such a thing.

Two thumbs up for social work.
And summer.  Two thumbs up for summer.

This is the last post about listening. Mostly because I've lost steam.  This happens a lot with me and "creative" ideas.

So.  Please remember, again, that nothing in this blog is intended to diagnose or treat.  But, I thought I'd share some tips on what it really means to listen - what might help to get into a place where you really hear somebody else.  I know, I know.  It should be easy.

Sigh.

Too bad it's not.

Also, this is not advice on how to counsel somebody.  Therapists do some of the following, but add a little bit extra.  Hey.  A magician never reveals her tricks (she said, completely tongue in cheek).  This is just a tiny snackling of advice on how you might put yourself in a spot to be a warm, empathetic, listening friend.

Here's my first piece of advice:

It can't be about you.  Really.  Truly.  If we're going to put ourselves in a place where we are truly trying to understand another person, our agendas, what we want to say, our own stories ... they have to be put aside. At least momentarily.  What might this take?  Maybe becoming mindful in the moment and reminding yourself silently that it's not time to talk.  Becoming mindful might also mean listening to yourself as you listen and monitoring your thoughts.  Are you focusing on what the other person is saying - or - are your thoughts immediately wandering to how what the other person is saying relates to you.  Let it not relate to you.  Give yourself permission to let go of your own story (for just a moment!) and realize that your job, in that moment, is to receive the other person's story.  We can train our thoughts.  Absolutely.  And we can train our speech.  Absolutely.  If you find yourself automatically jumping in with your own story, talking about your own feelings, etc., that's ok.  Name it to yourself, be present in the moment and then steer it back.  Things take practice.  It's ok.

Here's my second piece of advice:

This is so basic I feel like I'm going to offend everybody.  But, it's still true:  make eye contact.  Focus.  Get that connection with your speaker.

Third piece of advice:

As you're being mindful and focusing on the other person, check your empathy.   Can you guess what the other person might be feeling?  Would it be ok to gently reflect that back?  It's ok if you're not entirely accurate.  Really.  It's ok if your guess at their feeling isn't entirely accurate because if you're listening gently and you're in that space of being truly present with someone else, they'll probably be gentle back with you.  Sometimes when we guess wrong, it gives the other person permission to correct you and keep talking.

Fourth:

Ask open ended questions, but ask them at appropriate times.  Pauses are good.  Don't interrupt.  Wait for a break.  If you've been following closely, there should be something to ask about.  But don't ask things like, "Why did you think THAT was a good idea?"  Maybe something like,  "That sounds tough.  How have you been doing with all of that?" Or.  "What happened next?"

Fifth:

Try summarizing and paraphrasing.  It might sound hokey as you're doing it.  Eh.  That's ok.  You're not trying to therapize somebody.  Prefacing your summary with, "That's a lot.  Just to make sure I understand, it sounds like ....."

And, that's all I have.
You might have more, though, and if so, I'd invite you to please feel free to share your thoughts.
I don't everything.
I don't even know a lot.
I just really love people and their stories.
And I firmly believe that listening to each other with acceptance, compassion and authentic love frees us to be our true selves.

So, here's to your true self, friend.  May your journey in listening and being listened to be blessed.  May  you know love and be validated.

It's a good place to be.

{Note - I was cleaning out my draft folder of posts I have started and never finished and found this.  I wish I would have published this one when it was written.  This was about a year and a half ago, when I was still in school, still living in my beloved Portland, and getting ready to marry Shoes.  What a sweet time that was.}

i gave four miniature neighbors ....

and two adult-sized neighbors.

in one house.  there are more, of course, elsewhere, but i don't know them.

two of the four minis are Sophie (5) and Annabelle (3).
the two others are dog #1 and dog#2.

Sophie has told me the dogs' names several times, but i never remember.  they're corgies. or terriers.  or something.  i'm not sure.  they're small and bark-y and usually muddy and i love them.

but this is about Sophie and Annabelle, who race into the backyard to tell me hello and ask me to get the ball they kicked over the fence and ask me where i'm going and tell me about their rock collections and tell me about the afternoon's play dates.  their Mom and Dad usually ask them to stop pestering me, but really, it's ok.

i need to be around kids who don't have traumatic pasts because i need to re-set my definition of normal.  on a regular basis.

the other day i was in the backyard reading article after article for class and their parental units (also therapists) were asking me about school, the job market, etc.  Sophie, who is too smart for her own good, had climbed up the chain link fence and was half hanging off it, listening to the conversation.

she listened about as long as she could and then she sighed impatiently, threw up her hands and said,

"you GUYS?  what about the important stuff??  like ... the WEDDING!  duh!"

i didn't realize children still said "duh."  i haven't heard it from a kid (and i'm a kid therapist!) for a long time.  also, this ranked pretty high on the cute-meter.  just a little below when she and Annabelle told me they made a snowman, in  a rare moment of scant Portland snow, to celebrate Father Christmas' and Jack Frost's birthday.

i'll miss these two if i move away after school.