tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61710382660849603792024-02-02T01:46:34.334-05:00Meet 'em Where They Are(how I do social work)psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-66258275710519847032014-09-29T23:51:00.000-04:002014-09-29T23:51:04.434-04:00Long Time No Post!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir55LvHGH45PYL8BZ1fgJ8OcTNGBgS9wuc1Q1-k-nsaE0RWUe3hgeNG998QAU2w_JQh_mFTS38Nq_RvvrO0cc7ZsMmLsxagoDnHa0z4BjDdGybIFyzPEX0TDEFkcj5OKjLIheS-j-Zaw0/s1600/ocean+sunset.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir55LvHGH45PYL8BZ1fgJ8OcTNGBgS9wuc1Q1-k-nsaE0RWUe3hgeNG998QAU2w_JQh_mFTS38Nq_RvvrO0cc7ZsMmLsxagoDnHa0z4BjDdGybIFyzPEX0TDEFkcj5OKjLIheS-j-Zaw0/s1600/ocean+sunset.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #e06666;"><b>I STUMBLED ACROSS MY BLOG TONIGHT,</b></span> and, aside from marveling at my prolific past, I pondered my disappearance from Blog-World! Yes, I have been extraordinarily busy working full-time as a renal social worker and part-time as a psychotherapist. And, I have so much MORE to share with little energy to do it!<br /><br />So I said to myself: "Self, just drop a note and say hello." Maybe some of my friends out there will say hello back. That would be really nice. When we are super busy, the things that suffer most are our connections. And mine are, well, currently kind of disconnected.<br />
<br />
I am reaching out in this cyber way and I hope you are well!<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">-psychotherapist in the south</span></b><br />
psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-13774828393001841132013-09-05T02:20:00.000-04:002013-09-05T02:20:05.794-04:00Clinical Examination Result<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35ttenydbdy_A7xuXYMnGi5pGMlId3-2eVR_4zs2I9FZMGKC0M2N7y6oerILZemv1JeCFeZC-pnI24U-POAg-0shxP3f4oRS-eJHMZXZUnD6hzQ1wjb3KnFoQNIL-Xvn-bXL6o0JQmaw/s1600/happy-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35ttenydbdy_A7xuXYMnGi5pGMlId3-2eVR_4zs2I9FZMGKC0M2N7y6oerILZemv1JeCFeZC-pnI24U-POAg-0shxP3f4oRS-eJHMZXZUnD6hzQ1wjb3KnFoQNIL-Xvn-bXL6o0JQmaw/s320/happy-woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #e69138;">PASS.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">F</span></span><span style="color: #3d85c6;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">or those of you</span></span><span style="color: #0b5394;"> who have, or have not yet, taken the Clinical Social Work Examination,</span></b></i> I thought it might be helpful and/or interesting to share my test-taking experience with you, plus I would like to put it down in writing so I can remember this remarkable day, also. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I arrived at the testing center 45 minutes early, I was given an instruction sheet to read and sign. Being somewhat anxious, I had to read and re-read it a few times. My photograph was taken. I was verbally told that test-takers may not take <i>anything</i> into the testing area. <i>Nothing. Nada.</i> Nary a watch, scarf, or even a shawl (which I'd brought in case it got chilly in the testing room). <i>Nothing</i> was allowed to remain in my pockets at all, no gum, or candy, or brain food. No water! No lip balm! I was asked to pat down my blue jeans. My palms were scanned several times. I was required to carry my ID with me at all times. I remember saying: "this is an important test," several times. The "test prep people" were kind and supportive. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I went to the restroom, came back and was asked to choose a locker into which I placed <i>ALL</i> of my belongings. I wistfully removed my shawl and reluctantly packed away my lip balm, water bottle and good luck charms (yep, I admit I had a key chain of items that represented good energy for me plus an angel card that I'd slipped into my back pocket!) into the generously sized locker #7. Passing this exam was very important; it was something I'd been working diligently toward for the past five years.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My palms were scanned (again!), and I was offered ear plugs which were poured from their hermetically sealed package into my just-scanned palm. Seriously! I had my ID and locker key #5 and nothing else but the clothes on my back as I was led to computer station #7. It was at the end of a row and I was grateful for that. I was nicely spaced away from other test-takers which made me feel a bit calm. There was a pair of large headphones provided at the station which were covered in protective netting for sanitary reasons.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I had taken a practice exam at home (and passed!) three weeks prior and I was familiar with the computer program so I opted out of reading all the directions/sample instructions. I was ready to dive in.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
What I remember about the four-hour examination is that I prayed a lot, often felt certain I wasn't going to pass, took many deep belly breaths, and had lots of anxiety which forced me to stop, close my eyes and re-group. I also marked several questions, especially at the beginning of the exam, so I could return to re-check them after I finished answering all the questions on the test. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I felt like I was failing the test, which was truly more often than I felt "I've got this," I thought of how hard it would be to tell people I failed since I had shared with family, friends, former classmates, and work-mates. I suddenly decided that had been a really stupid thing to have done. [In retrospect, I am glad I shared because it helped me to have support <i>before</i> I sat for the examination.]</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Since I signed on the dotted line that I would not give away any information that was on the test, I will only speak in generalities about my experience. What I found to be true was that most of the questions on the Clinical exam were scenario-based. On the LMSW, there were questions about theories and meds and ethics and textbook stuff. The LCSW seemed to test my experience-based knowledge as it would happen in a best-practice, best-case scenario.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
For me, when I looked at the stem, the client in question, and the capitalized words such as MOST and BEST and FIRST, I was better poised to get the answers right. I tried to rule out at least two answers that weren't necessarily wrong, but weren't the BEST, MOST, or FIRST choices, and then I dissected the remaining two and re-read the stem.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There were questions that I absolutely knew I had answered correctly, some I had no clue how to answer, and the rest of them felt like a crap-shoot at times. Remember there are 170 questions, but 20 are not scored, so we are really being tested on 150 questions. There are a certain amount you must answer correctly out of the 150 in order to PASS.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I took a rest-room break, not so much for the intended reason, but because I was so filled with anxiety that I believed a little movement and stretching would be beneficial. I was also able to get a drink of water from a public water fountain, and it was good to wet my whistle. I did have to sign back in, but they left my palms alone this time! The staff was very efficient, and, because the clock continues to tick during any breaks, they move you quickly in and out of the testing room.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Once back in, I believe some test-fog lifted. Remember it is a four-hour exam and, for me at least, it's intense, so if you wouldn't be negatively impacted by a break, I recommend it. Your choice, of course. I may have more anxiety than the average bear, and I know what works for me. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
At the 3-hour and 32-minute mark, I had answered all the questions. I immediately clicked Review and then went to the Marked-Only questions. I did change some of my answers, <i>but only the ones I absolutely felt certain were wrong.</i> How did I know? I re-read the stems and discovered words or things I didn't see the first time. <i>If I was uncertain,</i> I stayed with my first answer because I had been told so many times to do that. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I ran out of time. I was unable to check all my Marked questions. This did not stress me out. I was ready to be finished! And I felt way more confident than during the first couple of hours. Once the clock was stopped, I was asked if I was finished. Of course I didn't have a choice so I steeled myself for my result! Then, I was instructed to take a survey. This was excruciating! After the survey, I once again steeled myself for the exam result. <i>What the what?</i> More questions and more info! My brain felt like it might explode! I could feel my heartbeat banging against my chest. I closed my eyes, said a quick prayer asking to be able to handle whatever happened next...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>PASS </b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Congratulations! You have passed the Clinical ASWB Examination.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My arms shot up into the air almost of their own volition! Tears of joy, stress, and release fell out of my eyes. Soon a staff member was rushing toward me. I was shaking from the anxiety! He helped me gather my ID, ear plugs and he grabbed the headphones, which I had used intermittently when the clock near my station "tick-tocked" too loudly!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
After letting the staff check my palms (yep), print out an unofficial score report for me and congratulate me, I gathered my belongings from #5 and headed to the restroom where I promptly whipped out my smart phone and snapped a photograph of the part of the report that said PASS, and sent it to my husband, son and other supportive folks. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I wish for you a successful test-taking experience. The Clinical ASWB examination is definitely NOT for the fainthearted, but <b>you can do it!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="color: #e69138;">~SSW</span></b></div>
psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-763181228234610772013-04-05T22:45:00.001-04:002013-04-05T22:45:30.589-04:00Getting ready to sit for LCSW<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QVODKhhX1lkNEBJcRMo2djDQystYdIDonM-R_oarJ8a_ApjgW_dsYWb5NTU_ED9IJgL2zqMShXsTldum3leW-lspZQSNviDEzD9YGQrZHc9t0rZPthlNaYvEEFp5DnmEEzgY7EkjgJM/s1600/pass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7QVODKhhX1lkNEBJcRMo2djDQystYdIDonM-R_oarJ8a_ApjgW_dsYWb5NTU_ED9IJgL2zqMShXsTldum3leW-lspZQSNviDEzD9YGQrZHc9t0rZPthlNaYvEEFp5DnmEEzgY7EkjgJM/s1600/pass.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;"><span style="color: #38761d;">GETTING CLOSER ALL THE TIME!</span> </span></b>Come May I will have fulfilled all my obligations to sit for my clinical license! Am I excited? Yes. Am I scared? Absolutely. Am I going to pass? <b><span style="color: #45818e;"><i>YES! With flying colors!</i></span></b> That's my mantra and I am sticking to it!<br />
<br />
So, here's my call to all LCSWs out there. Please send your tips, stories, guideposts and any and all LCSW-related soundbites for me and all who are preparing to sit for the exam!<br />
<br />
Muchas Gracias!<br />
<span style="color: #38761d;"><i><b>~SSW</b></i></span>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-63915050050829454772013-01-29T22:03:00.000-05:002013-01-29T22:03:00.136-05:00Time for Introspection<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBp7HDrw54Xx6bHjGiw-GZ99cOxP1Gpxs3zr41k0JgZ3j0QvTJqq0T4SpZ5QdlJd5Q0sq0iyhIHvxzxFCjnbvoFCjvhNivK5yGVdk5Rg-LvuazWLpxYZ0w1q4swXwxokZgp6P2j-5BIRw/s1600/workaholic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBp7HDrw54Xx6bHjGiw-GZ99cOxP1Gpxs3zr41k0JgZ3j0QvTJqq0T4SpZ5QdlJd5Q0sq0iyhIHvxzxFCjnbvoFCjvhNivK5yGVdk5Rg-LvuazWLpxYZ0w1q4swXwxokZgp6P2j-5BIRw/s1600/workaholic.jpg" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #e69138;">I AM DOING IT AGAIN.</span></b> Staying late at the office. Getting stuff done that I can't get to during the business of the day ...<i> but wait just one minute</i>. That <i>is</i> the work. And we do what we can do in the hours we have agreed upon. And then we go home, or to the gym, or the grocery, or the family event.<br />
<br />
So, on Sunday night I made a pact that I would leave the office daily at 5 PM, or no later than 5:15. Monday was a success. But it's only Tuesday and I stayed until 6:45 PM. Granted I went in a little later this morn, but still...<br />
<br />
<b>Observation:</b> It is not unusual for there to be absolutely nobody left at the clinic when I leave if it's much after 5 PM. There is sometimes an RN who is preparing the center's machines for the next day until 6 PM a couple of nights during the week. They are the normal people!<br />
<br />
I have got to stop this! I am putting this bad habit into writing so I can tell on myself and hopefully change my ways. There is no reward for this overworking. And my boss has not asked me to do this. In fact, she wants me to work my assigned work hours only. <br />
<br />
I am a workaholic. And I want to be a recovering workaholic.<br />
<br />
I will take it one day at a time, starting tomorrow. I will set my phone alarm for 5 PM, and walk out the door when it rings. I will make plans with friends and family members for after work. I will get into the habit of walking my dogs right after work on the days I don't go to the gym. I will go home when the work day is over!<br />
<br />
<i>Any tips from cyberspace are greatly appreciated.</i><br />
~SSW <br />
<br />
<br />psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-37449314802252535142013-01-11T00:31:00.003-05:002013-01-11T00:31:54.280-05:00It is what it is<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWzPgL1KdfUExrFwABnZWl45S-bu18l6Dd0_6KJ3c_zvLthF7NQFLVS8qJ5kFeiUL1kQn_KKocVETL08lyJBizZuXmHzVNChjDNKKPZRtP9YLTwBl0JOreB_5tqfiHuADoBflzL_TcI8/s1600/river_32808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWzPgL1KdfUExrFwABnZWl45S-bu18l6Dd0_6KJ3c_zvLthF7NQFLVS8qJ5kFeiUL1kQn_KKocVETL08lyJBizZuXmHzVNChjDNKKPZRtP9YLTwBl0JOreB_5tqfiHuADoBflzL_TcI8/s320/river_32808.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I KIND OF DISLIKE THE SAYING:</span></b> <i>It is what it is. </i>Yet, at this particular time in my life, it has become a mantra for me. In the midst of a situation where I want to judge and complain, I am resisting. And, saying, <i>"It is what it is,"</i> is one way out.<br />
<br />
You might say I am practicing a cognitive behavioral technique with myself. Each time I feel the stress coming on regarding this situation, I try to stop myself from verbalizing judgmental, negative thoughts. It's different from "stuffing feelings." It's more like diverting painful thoughts. I am choosing to not be consumed by something I cannot change. Hmm...almost sounds like the Serenity Prayer. <i>Accept the things I cannot change...</i><br />
<br />
So far it is helping. Don't get me wrong: I share on an as-needed basis with those I trust. My goal is to not publicly rant about stuff I can't change. <i>It is what it is!</i><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-26028553199116339552013-01-06T22:45:00.002-05:002013-01-06T22:49:05.711-05:00New Year, New Job!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAr8cV4sXgy4mS0mMQTfS5dfYPFi6YXaORPPXVa6zOAzQD9Tucn64hLjIXOLz7hXb53jEBybDEJ_X0QXWR2lLInBHy0o9nj8KKs0BPZuuSKxen_Sih7gEU-lvDQ7YyB_6kb6JsmEiYQ_w/s1600/new-beginnings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAr8cV4sXgy4mS0mMQTfS5dfYPFi6YXaORPPXVa6zOAzQD9Tucn64hLjIXOLz7hXb53jEBybDEJ_X0QXWR2lLInBHy0o9nj8KKs0BPZuuSKxen_Sih7gEU-lvDQ7YyB_6kb6JsmEiYQ_w/s320/new-beginnings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #45818e;"><span style="color: #38761d;"><b>I HAVE WRITTEN THIS POST A FEW TIMES IN MY HEAD</b></span><span style="color: black;"><b>,</b> and each time I start to put a post on my blog, I am either too tired to finish or I am not in the mood. So, in an effort to share the news, I am just going to tell it: I left child protective services in November 2012, and I started a new career as a renal social worker in December 2012.</span></span><br />
<br />
Can I just say leaving CPS was one of the best career decisions I have made? I felt like I was racing in place. I was on call <i>at least</i> one week per month, and I was commuting an hour each way to get to work. I had a great director and my staff were excellent, but I was becoming increasing unhappy in the area of social work I was in. There are many reasons why it was too much, and it boils down to this: I did not want to do it anymore.<br />
<br />
I had several interviews, and some were in areas where I was not interested at this time. One place required 24/7 on-call. Another was just not the right fit. And then one day, a friend sent an e-mail asking if I would send my resume to her so she could pass it along (she knew I was looking), and the rest is history.<br />
<br />
I have been on the job three weeks and so far, so GREAT! I have to say that not having to commute and not being on-call are almost enough to make this the best job ever. Add the better pay and reasonable workload, and I am IN!<br />
<br />
So, there it is, my friends. I guess from here on out, I will be sharing about what it's like to work with individuals who are living with dialysis.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year! I wish for you a prosperous, healthy 2013 filled with love and light!<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-39814402565972479152012-11-03T00:41:00.001-04:002012-11-10T10:13:51.506-05:00when my child protective peeps go into overwhelm<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_EHSJ6miHL6fYfcKSlbCwTNi9tYfbLYCKAfmP9z2ggqoO6UWxVa6fCjizElEKUzMgtZQW2xqvAr3F3PeshDtGKgp-W2gmc0OH3xPX3fS_02KBpWJfsByQwhpi-4CgF_KF9Hfviioif8/s1600/pooh+piglet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-_EHSJ6miHL6fYfcKSlbCwTNi9tYfbLYCKAfmP9z2ggqoO6UWxVa6fCjizElEKUzMgtZQW2xqvAr3F3PeshDtGKgp-W2gmc0OH3xPX3fS_02KBpWJfsByQwhpi-4CgF_KF9Hfviioif8/s400/pooh+piglet.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzupnUOgG08dOq-wKZHHVC2rGnxBZax__VzHGufQ-M3DvZTAVWVOVcQfDkv1nXyBFrLJab2qHwWKSXCg5CwHF8RZJyjTWz8VWmAhPjG1uhyphenhyphenTgqQsa20hWpTeS4dn3nswtI1lo0JXLv8u8/s1600/beautiful+warrior+lady1445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">The truth is, I totally get it.</span> </b><br />
<br />
I can see the stress and overwhelm on their faces. Their caseloads are growing and, because they are conscientious workers, they are feeling like it's all too much. Instead of getting tough to try to push them to work harder, I slow down to acknowledge and validate their feelings. Rather than deny they are feeling overloaded, I tell them I get it. And, unlike those who might tell them their caseloads aren't as large as those in other counties, I become their advocate and their sounding board.<br />
<br />
And then ... we break it down together. I ask them what's the most important thing they have to do today? What can and cannot wait? And, most importantly: what are the safety issues for the children on their caseloads?<br />
<br />
I can see the tension lessening as we discuss it. When they see I am on their side and they aren't going to "get in trouble." When they get that <i>they don't have to do everything right now.</i><br />
<br />
Here's the real deal: they are an amazing staff of workers who really seem to want to do quality work. They want to keep children safe. And, they also get overwhelmed sometimes. It goes with the territory. And my part in this as their supervisor is to hear their words, and to take it up another level if necessary. Or, since that may not be the viable solution, to reassure them that I see them and <i>I get it</i>. I have been in their shoes as a case manager, and now I am working hard to manage their workload as their leader.<br />
<br />
It is my belief that they are demonstrating to me how much they care when they get overwhelmed. Not that they can't handle it or that they are weak. I believe the weak don't ask for help, don't stress out, and don't cry because, frankly, they don't care. They are likely burned out and just punching the clock.<br />
<br />
The workers who share their frustration are still in the game and are dedicated to the cause of protecting children. I know. I am right there with them, trudging that road toward a happy destiny...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-49227860106173577072012-10-13T00:33:00.001-04:002012-10-13T00:38:26.306-04:00getting better all the time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-em7GAymY4HydoSZGQrUDQ25K33ItT7_2m7vG3wdWrdfhdDtjY4pci8vHRfcIdjChNP8cBEbSNmehIYzB6wVzaS_LCEALDJJnakLD3lIlW-oy-RxioJ9c3B43Te5dx5HOBPdfnhZepPY/s1600/wildflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-em7GAymY4HydoSZGQrUDQ25K33ItT7_2m7vG3wdWrdfhdDtjY4pci8vHRfcIdjChNP8cBEbSNmehIYzB6wVzaS_LCEALDJJnakLD3lIlW-oy-RxioJ9c3B43Te5dx5HOBPdfnhZepPY/s1600/wildflowers.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">sometimes when I look back at my posts, </span></b>especially the ones where I was struggling (which, as most writers know, is when you are likely to feel like writing), I think: holy crap; what a downer! then I remember that part of my childhood junk is about always having to be cheerful and not show any other emotion than "happy."<br />
<br />
how do I know when I am in a healthy place? when I feel my feelings without judgement. when I remember that feelings are NOT actions. that feelings are not good or bad; they just ARE...<br />
<br />
so I am considering a position elsewhere. yikes! even typing that is scary. like I'm jinxing things or something. here's the deal: it HAS to be a healthier move. it has to be good for me, too. not just the agency. because I know I do quality work. I know I am ethically sound and try to "do no harm" from moment to moment. <br />
<br />
i get to pick. i can stay where I am if it doesn't feel right. and i can jump into the new place if it feels good. i am doing lots of praying and turning it over (then taking it back and mulling it over again). mostly I am trusting that I am being led to the right places. because I believe that.<br />
<br />
I am here to serve, to help. and in the end, I too will be helped by the lessons and experiences and people I meet along the way. yup. it's getting better all the time.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #b45f06;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-24821397782241724232012-09-16T01:47:00.002-04:002012-09-16T01:47:34.546-04:00an empty boat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy4EYFjI29H44dMjL5B5CTCvj5DlOXUbl3w2LOEaq4sUNywRIjlAFYQ8D4-cRXBhul6IF5D_al6FkTB8q-luooFOLqrGzwdlOWzZhVeOFqu0Q3GQlRxRHiglTL3kshHI77lRkEiK9Ko4/s1600/empty+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy4EYFjI29H44dMjL5B5CTCvj5DlOXUbl3w2LOEaq4sUNywRIjlAFYQ8D4-cRXBhul6IF5D_al6FkTB8q-luooFOLqrGzwdlOWzZhVeOFqu0Q3GQlRxRHiglTL3kshHI77lRkEiK9Ko4/s320/empty+boat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><b>MY BRAIN FEELS SO OVERLOADED</b> <span style="color: black;">with thoughts, worries, plans<span style="color: #073763;"> </span>and desires and I long to empty all of it and start fresh. </span></span>My wish to dump it here may not be possible but I will do some stream of consciousness writing and see where I land. My loved ones are concerned about me. I am too stressed for their liking. I know they love and care for me and I listen and respect their comments. I walked for an hour with a good friend today and she shared her concerns. She thinks my job is "killing me." I don't think it's literal but I do feel some "spirit" death. My heart is full of pain due to the constant reports of child abuse and neglect and the daily grind of working with families who do not necessarily want help nor do they appreciate our efforts. I have never had a client call me names before and I don't like it -- even if it was behind my back. Even if I know I've hit a nerve and she is fighting the truth of her addiction. It still hurts. I am a human being.<br />
<br />
I am looking for jobs in other areas of social work right now. My goal is to get my clinical license, which I will sit for in May. Until then I am willing to try another area of social work just to change my focus for awhile.<br />
<br />
So what's eating me? What is causing the stress? Here are the Top 10:<br />
<ol>
<li>The nature of the work (child abuse and neglect)</li>
<li>Taking on the work of another unit due to a co-worker leaving</li>
<li>Glad the co-worker left but not so happy about the added work</li>
<li>A recent health issue that has required several invasive needle procedures</li>
<li>A daily commute of an hour each way which exacerbates my health issue</li>
<li>Going on job interviews </li>
<li>Stress eating, primarily sugar, which is horrible for me! (Thank goodness I am NOT gaining weight!)</li>
<li>Intermittent insomnia (it's 1:34 AM right now)</li>
<li>A lack of exercise due to the health issue (I am walking a 5K next Saturday so I am praying for continued healing)</li>
<li>Working in a dysfunctional system </li>
</ol>
So, what am I doing to take care of myself?<br />
<ul>
<li>planning a vacation in the mountains with my loved one for next month</li>
<li>walking and bicycling as much as possible </li>
<li>hugging our new dog</li>
<li>helping others (getting out of self)</li>
<li>drinking lots of water</li>
<li>doing my best to chill out and rest</li>
<li>journaling...</li>
</ul>
If you can relate at all, feel free to jump on in the empty boat! I will gladly accept any experience, strength and hope.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #0c343d;">~SSW </span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-45116956654833521732012-07-04T01:14:00.002-04:002012-07-04T01:15:08.999-04:00rough patches, or life, so to speak<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPoQHa0AKO98WCMvqWWoXw1FpZg82dtThS_aqnHHRnx4FbgHuF9EmXWS1bj7DCi37HLbnnX_SPOTAHh2fYHPXaIdTqGmcq1hDYTPG7U4VAJvEsX0jMfHEXLiB_YCckQu4jvsE25LxQnI/s1600/bird+eggs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPoQHa0AKO98WCMvqWWoXw1FpZg82dtThS_aqnHHRnx4FbgHuF9EmXWS1bj7DCi37HLbnnX_SPOTAHh2fYHPXaIdTqGmcq1hDYTPG7U4VAJvEsX0jMfHEXLiB_YCckQu4jvsE25LxQnI/s320/bird+eggs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">Nobody ever said it was going to be easy,</span></b> this lot called life, now did they? Or, did they? And, if they did, or didn't, is it true? <br />
<br />
As clinicians we learn a lot about theory, and using it to conquer our demons, or to help others manage theirs. Tonight as I got ready to shut down the computer, I thought to myself: I've been through a rough patch as of late.<br />
<br />
But have I really? Not to get too existential, but is it really "rough" or "hard," or is it just life, after all? <br />
<br />
I've decided, just for today, that it's just life. Our dogs die, we get food poisoning, people don't like us, our parents are aging, we fight with our partners, the car breaks down, the power goes out, we run out of *gasp* milk, bread, toilet paper.<br />
<br />
That's life, right?<br />
<br />
Then one day we notice a big, beautiful birds nest in the backyard filled to it's scrappy edges with a momma, poppa, and babies chirping and squawking. We see with new eyes the neighbor's blossoming pear tree. We gaze into a lover's face, and are reminded why we fell for them in those first moments. And, we can even imagine looking for a new rescue dog one day to add to the family.<br />
<br />
And, isn't that life, too?<br />
<div style="color: #3d85c6;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #3d85c6;">
<b>~SSW</b></div>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-51938054040258770782012-06-24T11:12:00.000-04:002012-06-24T11:12:01.410-04:00When your heart is breaking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #6fa8dc; text-align: center;">
<b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O_aV8213sYceVgB-CQwvrZiMV5iOBWfrd9MmIjTzZfsgKhxvuteZcHA9I0YGTls63iyCGo0IX3XvTN6tGcVAnlyhtdOVNXpG9Z0RH25Miz2Q7seqhxIh9cHRLG-QgC_GmAf1w8KR9iE/s1600/2+resized+Smokey+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O_aV8213sYceVgB-CQwvrZiMV5iOBWfrd9MmIjTzZfsgKhxvuteZcHA9I0YGTls63iyCGo0IX3XvTN6tGcVAnlyhtdOVNXpG9Z0RH25Miz2Q7seqhxIh9cHRLG-QgC_GmAf1w8KR9iE/s320/2+resized+Smokey+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div>
<div style="color: #6fa8dc;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<b style="color: #6fa8dc;">WHO KNEW</b> I could love a dog so much?<br />
<br />
My husband and I had to make the difficult decision to put our beloved family dog of 13 years to rest a week ago today. Even as I type these words, my heart breaks a little more.<br />
<br />
In my line of work, where I work with families who neglect and abuse their children, I am regularly tasked with the impossible: Trying to understand how someone could hurt the children who depend upon them for life, love, safety, and well-being. <br />
<br />
As we said good-bye to our dog, I found myself beating myself up for not doing more, not hugging her more, not giving her more treats. Although I was instructed by the vet NOT to walk her often or long due to her heart condition, I even felt bad for not walking her enough. My guilt, I know, is normal. It's part of the grieving process. I have worked with families who display very few signs of having an iota of remorse after harming their children or putting them in harm's way. And yet here I sit in a puddle of tears thinking I could have been a better guardian to my pet.<br />
<br />
My husband copes in other ways. I catch him on pet rescue and pet-finder web sites. Sometimes I join him and we look at furry faces from separate computers. In the end I announce: "I am not ready yet."<br />
<br />
I write this post to help myself. To get the emotions out and let the tears fall. To try to move an inch forward in the grieving process.<br />
<br />
I also write to any readers who may be going through the same experience, or who may still be missing their once constant canine or feline companions who went on to the rainbow bridge or where ever they go when they leave the planet. I held my baby in my arms while she was dying, and all I know is she looked into my eyes before she went, seemingly peacefully, to the other "place."<br />
<br />
If you are grieving, I invite you to cry, to call a friend, to write--to do whatever it takes. Because that is all we can do. Like Helen Keller said: "The only way out is through."<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #3d85c6;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-82893569837694796272012-06-08T00:03:00.001-04:002012-06-08T00:05:50.888-04:00I wish people would just love and care for their kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2ekh4s_u-COsc6kL5KJxIJ_iOe6jpXsAFe-pxF05wPah-z9l0P-pmCk9FC1V8f2CLVSw61zmz_oF47wMGQOWowiZE7U2ZZybJn0dMUhmqzxZ8FZaV9rjLNsWy782Gqrrd7z51f0XNzo/s1600/selfcare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq2ekh4s_u-COsc6kL5KJxIJ_iOe6jpXsAFe-pxF05wPah-z9l0P-pmCk9FC1V8f2CLVSw61zmz_oF47wMGQOWowiZE7U2ZZybJn0dMUhmqzxZ8FZaV9rjLNsWy782Gqrrd7z51f0XNzo/s1600/selfcare.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">YEP. IT'S BEEN ONE OF THOSE WEEKS</span></b> in child protective services.<br />
<br />
Too many abuse cases can really take the wind out of your sails. As a supervisor, I am most concerned with my worker. She's on call with me, and she's the one who goes out into the trenches. She's missed her son's award ceremony at school (not a milestone event, but I hated that she missed it just the same). I loaded her up with peanut butter crackers last night when she headed out after 5 PM from the office (she didn't even make it home). Tonight she almost made it, but had to turn the car around halfway there.<br />
<br />
It's funny how you bond in the wee hours of the night when you are trying to figure out what to do with a family. Remove the kids? Place them with family members? Keep them in the home?<br />
<br />
She tells me she feels like crying every time the phone rings. Her son is mad at her today for missing the ceremony. Like my Dad used to say: "He'll forget about it by the time he gets married." She is a really wonderful mom. She puts her two sons above all else the majority of the time. But for now, and for at least a couple weeks in the year, she is on call, and her husband steps up to the plate to care for the kids.<br />
<br />
So, it's at times like this when my worldview gets shattered. After the third sexual abuse report, my energy is zapped and my head is not too clear. Making decisions about such matters prior to a police investigation is hard enough, but then the hospital fails to call until 24 hours after the initial incident. Sheesh.<br />
<br />
This work will wear you out if you don't take care of yourself. I remind my workers regularly to do just that. Now it's time for me to remind myself. Sleep, healthy food, exercise, support systems, water, and, for me, prayers: For the children, my workers, and me.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #8e7cc3;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-84104326105328138362012-04-07T11:58:00.001-04:002012-04-07T11:58:27.081-04:00Bringing Children Into Care: Not for the faint-hearted (like me)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXyiiD3vA06d7iBVaEb3aXtttCNYNnRzuQ_EdIOg9B3lWijrKGp3Dph29QSWgogEZOQzmeVwjjEsP5IULXLgMJ-5LfWlQof8CgJGjaplP8Jdz0vG3qJZtlg0sBNwbnTu1dVWlEE_MF0I/s1600/CryingFather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXyiiD3vA06d7iBVaEb3aXtttCNYNnRzuQ_EdIOg9B3lWijrKGp3Dph29QSWgogEZOQzmeVwjjEsP5IULXLgMJ-5LfWlQof8CgJGjaplP8Jdz0vG3qJZtlg0sBNwbnTu1dVWlEE_MF0I/s320/CryingFather.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<b><span style="color: #e69138;">AT A RECENT STATUS REVIEW</span></b> in court, our county judge ordered into state custody the child of a family we have been working with for months. While there have been several times that our agency has felt this was the only viable solution, the court order took my staff and me by surprise. <br />
<br />
We then witnessed the painful reactions of the parents. The father sobbed for more than 20 minutes. The Mother, who is an addict, went into a convulsive-type state and was barely able to stand on her feet. In both instances, I leaped into supportive social-worker mode and held, soothed, patted, and literally held-up the parents. No matter that their behaviors were the cause of the removal of their child, they are human beings in need of respect and care at a moment that was incredibly difficult. And, while I pray this action by the court will be a turning point in the Mother's recovery from addiction, I also had empathy for the parents in the moment, as they processed what was happening.<br />
<br />
I have never been in that situation before, where I have watched the parents as they tried to make sense of having their children removed from their care. My unit, Family Preservation, works hard - sometimes harder than the family, it seems - to keep the children in the home. Our last resort is to take the family to court. Even then, it is usually to ask for legal conditions to be put in place to help them stop abusing and/or neglecting their kids.<br />
<br />
<i style="color: #e69138;"><b>It's all about safety.</b></i> We need to believe that the children are safe in the care of their guardians, their parents. That doesn't mean there are no risks. All of us face risks every day upon awakening. While in our homes, on the streets, in the workplace ~ no one is exempt from life's dangers, known and unknown. But, we need to know that a parent is able and willing to care for their children.<br />
<br />
I understand secondary trauma better, because I have experienced it again. I am attached to this family. We have worked long hours trying to ensure the child is safe to enable the family to stay together. I have had sleepless nights this week, and I have tried to let it all go and trust that the parents will collaborate with the Foster Care Unit workers and be reunified with their child.<br />
<br />
I guess this is when I need to recite all the prayers and cliches ... "But for the grace of God go I;" "Let Go and Let God," and one of my faves: "There is no hole so deep that He is not deeper still."<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #e69138;">~SSW</span></b><b><span style="color: #e69138;"><br /></span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-40130379101345396822012-02-28T22:29:00.002-05:002012-02-28T22:35:43.322-05:00Loving the people you don't really like<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbFv0jn60aU54YvrXnLzFyIuK74jAi7cu88sdZY4BDFnGX2pThGYyU874rDiB-oYiq0k2Zy7CpzGEIY2XjLJDebN8HqmZX4bdu923woJOcK0MBt9SX3D5ZyS49mdYUShYtdyT-hTao1M/s1600/hp+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbFv0jn60aU54YvrXnLzFyIuK74jAi7cu88sdZY4BDFnGX2pThGYyU874rDiB-oYiq0k2Zy7CpzGEIY2XjLJDebN8HqmZX4bdu923woJOcK0MBt9SX3D5ZyS49mdYUShYtdyT-hTao1M/s1600/hp+1.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: red;">...and I'm not talking about clients.</span> For some reason, I can love them somewhat unconditionally. Not because I am paid to do so, but rather because it's my calling. I choose to work with this population, and often when I see the brokenness, I am filled with empathy and love for the parents and children in our CPS cases.<br />
<br />
I'm referring to the co-worker, colleague, or pain-in-the-buttocks worker who seems to exist to annoy me and suck the life out of my hard-won serenity.<br />
<br />
My therapist (wise ol' woman who she is) said once that people are like foods, and we aren't going to like every one. Oh, but the ones we love are so satisfying and easy to digest, huh? And the bitter, tasteless ones can really sour the sweetness of our life, yes? <br />
<br />
I have a program in my life that teaches me I cannot afford the luxury of resentments, lest I act out in ways that do not serve me. So, what to do when "the next right thing" is elusive, and thoughts of retaliation are at the ready? For me, that's the time when I must turn to my Higher Power ~ that power who is NOT me, although I act "as if" at times! I've got to give it up, turn it over, pray ---whatever the heck you what to call it.<br />
<br />
Then what?<br />
<br />
I'm told I then have to seek where I might help another.<br />
<br />
Are you friggin' kidding me, I sometimes think (more often than I'd like to admit, actually)?! I expound, chest puffed up: "But, what about me? I'm the one who needs support!"<br />
<br />
After I allow myself a brief childish rant, which is generally carried out only in my head, I ask to be led to someone who may need my help (support, an ear to listen, a hand to hold, a door to open (literally, not figuratively!). If needed, I enlist a comrade on my path to listen to my woes, and hopefully offer words that comfort.<br />
<br />
And, miracle of all miracles, hours later when I review my day, I can see that my prayers and actions (and friends) have effectively walked me through another difficulty.<br />
<br />
I can't say I am able to "like" every one on this planet, but I do try to look for the good in others most of the time. And, when I allow them to get the best of me, I start the process all over again, keeping in mind that I may very well elicit the same feelings from them, or from someone else!<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">~SSW</span>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-17389716304686974762012-01-13T07:24:00.002-05:002012-01-13T07:24:10.555-05:00Re-igniting the Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytdIajlMCl5WsjLxFCWuAOM-Y8KTJiPqkFr_RzZV9ZbcYVsZnpsIKXAG_FIblO4CY54NMvWaodFbYLfENjIc39KzFTHoAD0BNcOpxXjZtSgHFycMOO29v0tgKPrwm9vVAlrUtY0tRxHk/s1600/blue+dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytdIajlMCl5WsjLxFCWuAOM-Y8KTJiPqkFr_RzZV9ZbcYVsZnpsIKXAG_FIblO4CY54NMvWaodFbYLfENjIc39KzFTHoAD0BNcOpxXjZtSgHFycMOO29v0tgKPrwm9vVAlrUtY0tRxHk/s1600/blue+dream.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<b><span style="color: #76a5af;">SOMETIMES it's important</span></b> to revisit and re-ignite the dreams that brought us to the field of Social Work. Did we want to eventually open a private practice, an agency, or stay in the direct service field? Lately, as I get closer to the time when I can sit for my LCSW, I am getting re-energized. I think knowing I must work in the field for three years has allowed me to dig in where I am right now, though it is not where I want to stay.<br />
<br />
So, I was driving down the road the other day, and my dreams and goals came flooding back to me, and I felt exhilarated! Just knowing I am on a path, and I am living the path, too, lets me trust that all those dreams are coming true!<br />
<br />
So, here's to all of us who are working in the field to learn how to be the best clinicians we can be before we sit for our clinical exam, and then head off into the sunlight of our aspirations!<br />
<br />
Happy Friday! Dream On.<br />
<br />
~SSWpsychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-10171732780018902582011-12-11T00:48:00.002-05:002011-12-11T00:49:26.458-05:00"I Don't Get Paid to Be Nice"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-SjwTt7OxRvdwDOZiuzoCKqcdv2VjmdHJbgVjktw0TPI2HAhZlWsG4PzDlnsz7GB58f0-9UTGZzuTGy8Oqud-ZCT5AxiYI-Sv4ywOW_p9a9b1XXKeZ77iF544afMpOCOj8_0bLsvd0/s1600/big_bad_judge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-SjwTt7OxRvdwDOZiuzoCKqcdv2VjmdHJbgVjktw0TPI2HAhZlWsG4PzDlnsz7GB58f0-9UTGZzuTGy8Oqud-ZCT5AxiYI-Sv4ywOW_p9a9b1XXKeZ77iF544afMpOCOj8_0bLsvd0/s320/big_bad_judge.jpg" width="268" /><br />
</a></div><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">I DON'T GET THE MENTALITY OF CPS</span></b> workers who believe they have to be tough, or who think they have the right to treat people with anything less than dignity.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong; I believe that there is a time for being firm, and serious. In fact, I believe child protection is a pretty serious career choice, and I am concerned when I see things being taken lightly.<br />
<br />
I do not agree that it's okay, and I will not stand idly by, when a worker engages in disrespectful behavior toward clients, regardless of the allegations against them.<br />
<br />
As CPS workers, it is not our role to blatantly pass judgement, and we are not judges or police officers. Our role is to secure safety for children in immediate danger, to work with families to help repair what is broken, and to sometimes remove children from unsafe environments -- both temporarily and permanently.<br />
<br />
As a supervisor, I have a keen ear for voices that ring out with "better than" tones, and I can see when a worker is being triggered into less than respectful behavior. My charge is to reign these attitudes back in, and to educate workers to be more humanistic.<br />
<br />
As the days go by, I continue to believe that you cannot help someone by beating them down. Our population, for the most part, has already been beaten up, and down, and I don't think we can be change agents by repeating the same behavior that people we work with are used to receiving. Modeling a different way to be in the world, and guiding others toward a kinder, healthier, and more loving path, is what I do for my paycheck. I will leave judging and punishing to those who carry the credentials to enforce such charges.<br />
<br />
~SSWpsychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-46271483534780910852011-11-01T21:25:00.001-04:002011-11-01T21:27:46.152-04:00The Hardest Words in Child Welfare<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnvLExxizYTHU_CXAK16fC33hQqcYweYmDTlbiB1iKyLoqTocoQbSQ4pH1l_QvJ1rcnv4m7czZiRiFIviXkxppqO5YCemBr5uX0veyaQsvh3xnPLDiZWzXzzYb0NUUhMdXDW7vKeHH_Q/s1600/gustav-klimt-mother-and-child-detail-from-the-three-ages-of-woman-c-1905.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWnvLExxizYTHU_CXAK16fC33hQqcYweYmDTlbiB1iKyLoqTocoQbSQ4pH1l_QvJ1rcnv4m7czZiRiFIviXkxppqO5YCemBr5uX0veyaQsvh3xnPLDiZWzXzzYb0NUUhMdXDW7vKeHH_Q/s320/gustav-klimt-mother-and-child-detail-from-the-three-ages-of-woman-c-1905.jpg" width="256" /></a><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c;">"We are petitioning the court to gain custody of your children."</span><br />
<br />
No matter that:<br />
<ul><li>her children (ages 3 and 7) have been found roaming the streets alone (together and separately) four (4) times since the case opened</li>
<li>we've had reports from the school, the police, the neighbors</li>
<li>the services we've put in place do not seem to be effective</li>
<li>she can't explain "why" she leaves her children alone</li>
</ul>... these are some of the most difficult words I have ever uttered to another human being, much less to a woman who is cradling her 3-year-old child while I speak.<br />
<br />
Later, I told my staff that if this ever becomes easy, we are in the wrong field. I supervise a Unit that works to keep families together, not place kids in foster care. Yet, sometimes we get cases are that are very risky, with lots of history in the "system." And, sometimes, the best choice is to "err on the side of safety for the children," and place the children into care.<br />
<br />
What I believe, as a social worker and a human being, is that most, if not all, people need help, support, love, respect, and kindness. What I see a lot in my field is that people misuse power, and treat people with way less than dignity. My daily prayer is to use my power wisely, and to not take it lightly nor wield it thoughtlessly.<br />
<br />
While the saying: "When we know better, we do better," is a bit simplistic, I do believe that most people can change. I know they cannot do it alone, without support, love and kindness.<br />
<br />
As I looked into this mother's eyes and told her we were petitioning the court for custody of her children, I made every effort to treat her with love and kindness. I tried to put myself in her place, although I do not believe I would leave my children unsupervised for a nano-second at those ages. I tried to explain what would happen next, and what she could expect. As the tears rolled down her cheeks (and I kept my emotions in check), she remained calm and contained, something I can't imagine I would do under the circumstances.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Today was a tough one. As I prepare for sleep, I am sending prayers and hopes for this family, because I believe people can change. I believe that this mother can reunite with her children as those changes begin to occur.<br />
<br />
~SSW psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-52067714336912330062011-10-25T21:57:00.002-04:002011-10-25T22:02:39.169-04:00Learning More About CSEC<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoRmxetuUJa548ioxt35jPWMVyz1JTy0tfzepWNiP4PlqQZnjXw1jwfvqRP28jilkhKJKQ5lAVKwodB7PfPDUyw_stAzZrv_pgr9eWb334bFYLv8-ETOYK_Pt_iLAXDs95VMomvOMmjU/s1600/teen+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoRmxetuUJa548ioxt35jPWMVyz1JTy0tfzepWNiP4PlqQZnjXw1jwfvqRP28jilkhKJKQ5lAVKwodB7PfPDUyw_stAzZrv_pgr9eWb334bFYLv8-ETOYK_Pt_iLAXDs95VMomvOMmjU/s1600/teen+girls.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #cc0000;">ON MONDAY AND TUESDAY</span></b>, the 11th Annual Child Abuse and Neglect Conference was held in Atlanta, Georgia. While there were an assortment of presentations on Child Abuse and Neglect, the focus of this year's conference was on <b><span style="color: #cc0000;">Commercial Sexual Exploitation of Children</span></b> (CSEC), or, the selling of children for sex. <br />
<br />
The keynote speakers included Sharon Cooper, M.D., F.A.A.P, and Rachel Lloyd, M.A. Dr. Cooper's presentations, "Eye of the Storm, Part I and II," were intense introductions to the issue of child sexual trafficking, and we learned that the very city we were staying in -- Atlanta -- is the No.1 hub for human trafficking among Hispanics, and in the top five for all other ethnic groups. With videos and compelling speech, Dr. Cooper took her participants into the lives of pimps, and child sex slaves, and shared the realities of the sophisticated Internet and other networking capabilities of those involved in the "children for sale" sex trade.<br />
<br />
Ms. Lloyd, a nationally recognized expert on the issue of CSEC, and a survivor, shared information about her center, Girls Educational and Mentoring Services (GEMS) in New York where she directs a three-prong program that includes drop in, residential and independent living centers. GEMS is now the nation's largest organization offering direct service to American victims of CES and domestic trafficking. Her outreach program, which was started by her with a computer and $30, today reaches more than 1,000 youths per year with direct services, leadership programs, and education.<br />
<br />
Her passionate message drove home the importance of the victim-survivor-leader model, as well as the "Stages of Change" model. Not defining survivors by their pain, and focusing on the work, as well as connecting at the "heart level" with the girls, is what makes her program so successful.<br />
<br />
Some takeaways for me, and there were many, are that we need to work toward educating the public that the victims are not to blame, and we must work toward propelling the girls forward, rather than thinking they are victims for life. We must work to end the prosecution of child victims of trafficking, and focus on offering healing instead. The prosecution should be directed at the pimps, perps, and "johns."<br />
<br />
The most troubling part of all of this involves "Demand." What is the matter with people who think it's okay to have sex with children? They create the Demand, and then Pimps step up to abduct and brainwash the most vulnerable of our human race. Pimps use control and power to force children into the sex trade. Children do not profit in any way in this horrific life, and sadly this is where they feel loved, sometimes for the first time. The pimp (called father or boyfriend) sells them for money along with a "stable" of other girls.<br />
<br />
I have accumulated some resources in the effort to urge you to educate yourself, and share the information in your agencies, and among your colleagues. We must dig deeper to locate these children, and if we do, we need to love them until they can love themselves. Like Ms. Lloyd explained, they aren't going to change overnight. The girls may go back and forth to their pimps for awhile. But if we are "seed planters," they might just come over to our side where they can be protected and loved, in the real sense of the word.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Related links: </span><br />
http://www.amazon.com/Girls-Like-Us-Fighting-Activist/dp/0061582050<br />
<br />
http://www.gems-girls.org/<br />
<br />
https://www.facebook.com/girlsarenotforsale?sk=wall<br />
<br />
http://www.change.org/petitions/tell-village-voice-media-to-stop-child-sex-trafficking-on-backpagecom?utm_source=action_alert&utm_medium=email&alert_id=VaeZQBCzrs_sePofLaEFS <br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;"><b>~SSW</b></div>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-83617675513976049402011-10-20T23:08:00.000-04:002011-10-20T23:08:21.787-04:00Wind of Change<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKp9aIj8s5YvpRVcdVEl_lR16wz0WOKuXXLVy7i82OuE5qfOAPyYuGo-zw-UrCJLAFv1xSbMxGiRSrCRcLcylLmywEcbYL85dFL3Cai-xrl3_K5mJlKxr7uoEp-qVWSec5TtwbSDa4t94/s1600/winds+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKp9aIj8s5YvpRVcdVEl_lR16wz0WOKuXXLVy7i82OuE5qfOAPyYuGo-zw-UrCJLAFv1xSbMxGiRSrCRcLcylLmywEcbYL85dFL3Cai-xrl3_K5mJlKxr7uoEp-qVWSec5TtwbSDa4t94/s1600/winds+3.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><i><b>"Take me to the magic of the moment</b></i></div><div style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><i><b>On a glory night<br />
Where the children of tomorrow share their dreams<br />
With you and me<br />
Take me to the magic of the moment<br />
On a glory night<br />
Where the children of tomorrow dream away<br />
in the wind of change..."(Scorpions)</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">TONIGHT, on the long ride home from work, I talked with a man about dreams. His dreams, specifically. He has fallen in love with a beautiful woman, and he bought her a ring. He shared his joy and hope with me, and I lived vicariously through him for a while.<br />
<br />
He also shared his dream of opening a half-way house one day. My heart leapt for a moment when I thought about <i>my dreams</i>. I am on the path, and sometimes it feels like it is taking too long. Then I remember this journey is what it's all about. I will get where I am going. The going is what matters. Every moment matters. Every <i>magic moment.</i><br />
<br />
It's interesting that we want to earn our degree(s), get a job, pass our LMSW and LCSW exams, and get to the place where we think we are headed (private practice, director of an agency, therapist, counselor, supervisor). The real magic is in the "getting there," isn't it?<br />
<br />
I have been (re)reading Elizabeth Lesser's book, "The Seeker's Guide," and she writes about how there is "no escape," from the present with all of its trials and tribulations. We can't escape from what is challenging and difficult. We have to breathe into it and "live it." We can't run away from the relationship, the job, the "whatever" from which we think we need to escape. When we want to escape, or run, going in deeper is usually the answer.<br />
<br />
So, as I ponder my next steps, I am willing to stay right where I am -- deeply -- until I am sure that the next decision is not about running away, but rather about walking peacefully toward the next best thing.<br />
<br />
~SSW</div>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-28447671139447059342011-10-06T07:21:00.005-04:002011-10-06T22:43:51.994-04:00Empathy for the Intern<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tUDBHsjz-TSmg6JelyHwJsJyNucbzzkga_ZnAUUtNnUPRsjntJhoWyhj8E0zNwoTVXJURIy5q3V1ANAE_S2llV55qG60ZvzhX76IZ-sGGXtyAGXCpT72d_bfbrCiB_H79sWpJ5Ts4GU/s1600/empathy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2tUDBHsjz-TSmg6JelyHwJsJyNucbzzkga_ZnAUUtNnUPRsjntJhoWyhj8E0zNwoTVXJURIy5q3V1ANAE_S2llV55qG60ZvzhX76IZ-sGGXtyAGXCpT72d_bfbrCiB_H79sWpJ5Ts4GU/s1600/empathy2.jpg" /></a></div><b>I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN</b> what it's like to be an intern. Heck, it was just a little over a year and a half ago when I finished my field practice. In the beginning I was working full-time, going to four or five graduate classes, and my internship added 24 hours to the mix.<br />
<br />
At first it was an adrenaline rush. I amazed myself that I could do it all! I became incredibly efficient, not sweating ANY of the small stuff at work, school or the agency where I interned. A few months later, there wasn't enough caffeine to fuel the energy I needed to accomplish this tall order. <br />
<br />
I was given the go-ahead at work to reduce my hours to 32 (and still receive all benefits). This helped for awhile until I came to my final nine months of school. Forget that I hadn't spent any quality time with my family, and never mind that week-ends became the time to catch up with homework, study and complete projects. Friends? Exercise? Housework? Nope, Nada. Uh Uh.<br />
<br />
My husband and I had socked away my paychecks for a year, and I was able to quit my job to concentrate on my final semesters. Once I got used to a somewhat more reasonable schedule, I could not fathom how I had managed the first year and a half! <br />
<br />
As I work with my first MSW intern in a full-circle moment, I am cognizant of what she is going through. Being close enough to my own experience is a plus for her, because I am likely to be the kind of field instructor I wished I'd had (empathetic, for one thing!).<br />
<br />
I applaud the MSW interns out there. Stay the path, keep the faith, and know it is so worth it when you get to the other side.<br />
<br />
~SSWpsychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-88004239146422174852011-10-01T02:00:00.004-04:002011-10-01T02:10:44.045-04:00Home is Where They Love You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8x0gJnwxK39667rQEIg_XSJYbew0uWRRlAPUuIP_K-OcVit1b2axr2ibOP6N6Ex0ziYlW-eRxC-xYJq7XvBCgEv3tgWhpegayYmCN7Okb6lqdeePwwI14DQyShbbngVFqBJEs3bY4a3I/s1600/N_casey-Lonely-house_oil.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8x0gJnwxK39667rQEIg_XSJYbew0uWRRlAPUuIP_K-OcVit1b2axr2ibOP6N6Ex0ziYlW-eRxC-xYJq7XvBCgEv3tgWhpegayYmCN7Okb6lqdeePwwI14DQyShbbngVFqBJEs3bY4a3I/s320/N_casey-Lonely-house_oil.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="color: #351c75;"><strong>WHEN I WAS IN MY EARLY TWENTIES,</strong></span> I gave my father a handmade plaque that had the words, "Home is Where They Love You," painted on it. He placed it above a built-in cupboard in his small kitchen. <br />
<br />
Looking back, I know that simple sign was in and of itself a wish, a hope.<br />
<br />
As the child of alcoholic, prescription drug-addicted, and violent parents, all I ever wanted was a peaceful, loving family. I didn't have it with them then, and I don't have it with them now. Still, every now and then, I get caught up with the fantasy of a family who knows how to unconditionally love one another, and, when I do, it causes me a lot of pain.<br />
<br />
My mentor said something very prophetic today: "If you want to analyze anything, it should be why you feel the need to subject yourself to such unhappiness." She was referring to my attempts to visit my faraway siblings and parent. Every step toward scheduling the trip had a big barrier, and every word that came from the other end of the phone line was hurtful ("you can't stay with us," and there isn't enough room for you," and "she doesn't want you to stay").<br />
<br />
My irrational need to make a duty trip home was propelling me toward the madness that is my biological family. I was telling myself things like, "My father is getting old and won't be around much longer," and "I haven't been home for years." For every try to get there, there were several compelling arguments not to go. After an unbearably painful hang-up call with my father, I was done.<br />
<br />
I called my husband, who had been patiently waiting for me to spiral back down to my generally sensible self.<br />
"We are not going," I said, trying not to cry.<br />
Silence.<br />
"They don't want me to come, and I don't want to go."<br />
Still he listened.<br />
"You are my family," I said, collapsing into tearful emotion.<br />
"I know, baby, I know. Come home," he said as I sobbed into the phone.<br />
Later he said he knew I had to get to that place by myself, and that he knew he couldn't take me there any quicker. <br />
<br />
He is my "home where they love me."<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="background-color: white;">~SSW</span></strong>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-88006180239964972452011-09-18T22:23:00.003-04:002011-09-18T22:26:16.615-04:00I Think I Need Some Time Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizoSPxSYvFOMi8P67YxWEQM6bI-xFmn3Mt6xbWwvEzJ12MXJrNG9xW_ETpFQqkA1RsZICS_4IaOl0Uip22s75fpknb2QY677YSGjtlZwE_R6H_nuGzAL59q_NO_2TC_g4YWS2pARnf3Y/s1600/child+pose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizoSPxSYvFOMi8P67YxWEQM6bI-xFmn3Mt6xbWwvEzJ12MXJrNG9xW_ETpFQqkA1RsZICS_4IaOl0Uip22s75fpknb2QY677YSGjtlZwE_R6H_nuGzAL59q_NO_2TC_g4YWS2pARnf3Y/s1600/child+pose.jpg" /></a></div><b style="color: #45818e;">HOW DO YOU KNOW</b> when you need time off? <br />
<br />
For me, it's when I am super tired. And, more often than not, I won't want to go to work. I'll want to stay home and relax. A mental health day just won't cut it, either. I'll need consecutive days off. Several. <br />
<br />
Why am I writing about this now? You guessed it. I am feeling the need to take some time off from work. So, I am going to check the calendar, and see where I can block out some days. Just for me.<br />
<br />
I feel better already.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #76a5af;">~SSW</b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-62713072752185605212011-09-01T12:06:00.001-04:002011-09-01T12:09:27.364-04:00Remembering why we chose this field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoLQfLIGmzUpnNVUH0Greco4YgMv9WjMmEay_qnV-KAhi8w9WwrzqA4WWqfpBrurxZW9eHRP9xjCbLxlbAh5W_BO3TM_qypqX-XRO5J69AxMqrlgpZpgox1uSsptQLKcXPEMRTrzk7JA/s1600/paper+plate+mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoLQfLIGmzUpnNVUH0Greco4YgMv9WjMmEay_qnV-KAhi8w9WwrzqA4WWqfpBrurxZW9eHRP9xjCbLxlbAh5W_BO3TM_qypqX-XRO5J69AxMqrlgpZpgox1uSsptQLKcXPEMRTrzk7JA/s1600/paper+plate+mask.jpg" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #a64d79;">IT WAS A BUSY DAY.</span></b> I was trying to get my work finished to allow for a furlough, holiday, and three days of training. I knew if I got behind, I would pay for it upon my return. <br />
<br />
As I raced down the corridor toward my office, my head buzzing with a task list, I spotted two young men in the child visitation room. I could hear a music box playing a plucky rendition of "The Way We Were." I stopped in my tracks.<br />
<br />
"What are you guys doing?" I asked.<br />
<br />
The younger of the two was curled up on a couch, looking as if he was ready to nap. He looked at me and said, "Nothing."<br />
<br />
"Do you want to watch a video?" I asked, gesturing toward a bookcase filled with old VHS tapes.<br />
<br />
"We've seen all of them," the older boy said. Let me explain what that means if you haven't already figured it out. These children have been in our visitation room so many times that they have watched more than 20 videos. <br />
<br />
"Are you bored?" I asked, thinking, 'Where is their case manager?'<br />
<br />
"Yes. I have cleaned the entire room," said the older child. I looked around the room, and noticed how spotless and organized it was.<br />
<br />
"Wow. You did a great job," I said. I headed toward the door and said, "Hold on, let me see what I can find."<br />
<br />
I gathered up some snacks, craft books, and other books for the children. The younger boy sprang to life, and reached for the craft book. Soon he was turning the pages, and picking a project. I brought scissors, paper plates, string, markers, and tracing paper. He busied himself with creating a mask.<br />
<br />
I left them to their "play," and asked the young man to come and get me when he finished certain steps, and I checked in on them (they were 10 and 15) now and then. At one point I could hear their mother talking with them. Apparently there had been discipline issues in their foster home, and their biological mom was brought in to talk with them.<br />
<br />
At the end of their visit, I was helping to put finishing touches on the mask when their mom came in to say good-bye. The younger child tried to be brave, and he wiped his tears on his sleeves. After she left, I looked at him and asked, "Are you okay?" knowing he wasn't but opening a door for him to talk about it if he wanted.<br />
<br />
"I just miss my mom," he said. The instant lump in my throat made it difficult to speak, and I swallowed hard and said, "Of course you do." I rubbed his back in an effort to comfort him, and his rigid back softened a little.<br />
<br />
"Why are you in the foster home?" I asked, knowing it's important for him to understand "why."<br />
<br />
"I was left alone. And I had marks on me."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I see. How old were you when you were left alone?"<br />
<br />
"Seven."<br />
<br />
"And, who left the marks on you?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know," he said.<br />
<br />
I did not pry. I kept my voice soft as we worked on his mask. I praised him as he added stars, and other personal icons to the transformed paper plate. If he wanted to deny that his parent beat him so severely that he had marks, and was removed from his home, I was not about to make him talk about it today. <br />
<br />
It was time for the boys to return to their foster home. We put the mask on the younger child's face after making the eye-holes a little bigger. He looked great! His older brother, who, by now, had become quite fascinated by the music box, gave him kudos, too. It was a good moment. I told him he could keep the music box. His little brother said, "It will probably help him to sleep." <br />
<br />
I asked him, "Do you have trouble sleeping?"<br />
<br />
"I don't sleep. I have so much energy," he answered. (I will be reporting this to his case manager later to try to help him get some rest.)<br />
<br />
As I watched the two brothers head down the corridor toward the exit, it occurred to me that this was the most important "work" I did today. Everything else could wait. <br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #a64d79;">~SSW</span></b>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-51899025319453170572011-08-07T18:40:00.002-04:002011-08-18T21:16:17.120-04:00Furloughs and three-day week-ends, oh my<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfD9xFfjyXt37fo-ET6Evxj8Z0KA00-oLpLkPuW8tb3Gt12n7QRfFd34XYzAYka8vltFNcT_oJFbwN0ozzCcmcKShAvVpCnbafusSNqZcmlaYJn1oSsN7Ui6YSbQE2evzFV4lKdMkcizQ/s1600/imagesCAL3PSK3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfD9xFfjyXt37fo-ET6Evxj8Z0KA00-oLpLkPuW8tb3Gt12n7QRfFd34XYzAYka8vltFNcT_oJFbwN0ozzCcmcKShAvVpCnbafusSNqZcmlaYJn1oSsN7Ui6YSbQE2evzFV4lKdMkcizQ/s1600/imagesCAL3PSK3.jpg" t$="true" /></a></div><b><span style="color: #45818e;">THE MISSING PAY</span></b> can be a drag, but three-day, and even four-day week-ends, can be fabulous. Such is the case when you work for the state, and furloughs are part of the deal. But hey, you can't put a price tag on time off.<br />
<br />
There are workers who disdain the furloughs. I never worked for the state when furloughs weren't mandated, so I don't "miss" the money, per se. Our new commissioner promises to cut the furloughs from 12 to 6 days in 2012. I guess I will see how much of a difference it makes then, huh?<br />
<br />
And, until that day, I will count my blessings for this glorious time off.<br />
<br />
~<span style="color: #45818e;"><b>SSW</b></span>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6171038266084960379.post-16665480969437360882011-07-24T22:28:00.000-04:002011-07-24T22:28:27.294-04:00Late Night Energy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoj1RK7lKYreKj9SgBXDfjR-xqma7WT2OMQIDSNoBvBXZaF8p57lwGDFaK5Jeyxwo_jx-VQntHJpMIOjaSiAn4mj-gU_H1kOKgi6Q4tRWq2jiIa1SokPPns8VyCvoNklT0t-I1ZmcPTE/s1600/coffee-cup-silhoutte.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoj1RK7lKYreKj9SgBXDfjR-xqma7WT2OMQIDSNoBvBXZaF8p57lwGDFaK5Jeyxwo_jx-VQntHJpMIOjaSiAn4mj-gU_H1kOKgi6Q4tRWq2jiIa1SokPPns8VyCvoNklT0t-I1ZmcPTE/s1600/coffee-cup-silhoutte.jpg" /></a></div><b style="color: red;"><br />
GO FIGURE!</b> I have enjoyed a somewhat lazy, somewhat productive Sunday that included staying in my jams until noon, throwing in an occasional load of laundry, watching a Netflix movie, riding my scooter around the 'hood, and piecing together some fairly healthy eats for me and the husband dude.<br />
<br />
Now here it is, close to shut-eye time and I get a <b><span style="color: lime;">SUPER BURST </span></b>of energy that won't quit. I've fired off several work-related e-mails, put together a game plan to respond to news that a worker has unexpectedly resigned, effective immediately, and packed my work bag for tomorrow.<br />
<br />
Oh, and I am posting to my blog, too, now. What the what!?<br />
<br />
I guess I could inflict some cognitive therapy on myself and just shut it down, but I also think it is sometimes healthy for me to ride this energy bubble. I feel productive and I might as well take advantage of it, huh?<br />
<br />
How about you? Do you ever get the late-night desire to light the oil lamp, and burn it up? If so, do you allow yourself to do it, or are you more disciplined than me? I'd love to hear about it!<br />
<br />
<div style="color: orange;"><b>~SSW</b></div>psychotherapistinthesouthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13781018243949659548noreply@blogger.com1