To say I was stunned when I first started as a social worker would be an understatement. I was employed by a rural county community mental health with the official job title of home-based therapist. When I took the job, I obviously realized it would require me going into homes on a daily basis. However, I did not realize the magnitude of poverty in the county and social worker school never prepared me for the things I can never un-see, un-smell, un-hear, un-feel.
Prior to being employed at CMH I had never been into a home where I wasn't sure where to sit because it was infested with bugs (always crossing my fingers for a hard chair), where I had to figure out if a parent was under the influence, where babies ran around in diapers so full they hit the floor, or where I had to text someone my whereabouts just in case they didn't hear from me in an hour. I think the only way I coped with leaving these types of homes every week was by telling myself they would be okay because "kids are resilient". I had heard it a million times throughout my schooling and I believed it to my core. In fact, I believed it the entire time I was employed at CMH. (I still believe it but I'm getting there) I believed it until one of my current coworkers said, "The only way for adults to cope with the type of work we do is to tell ourselves kids are resilient. I think the only reason we say it is to make ourselves feel better about terrible situations and to be able to sleep at night but it's a lie." I had to think about his statement for a long time. It challenged everything I believed and had been taught about kids and trauma. I think there is a lot of truth to the statement for kids who are surrounded by very, very strong support systems. My sister and are actually pretty good real life examples of how resilient kids can be but probably not to very much credit of our own. After our brother died, I can't even name all the things our support system did for us. Meals were brought forever, school lunches were packed for the rest of the year, our house was cleaned, funeral clothes were bought, Build-A-Bears were made, money was donated, support groups were formed, counseling was offered throughout adolescent years; I could go on forever. Our brother was and is celebrated and remembered. We thrive in adulthood because of people who were "boots on the ground" with us. What I've learned doing home-based therapy and now juvenile probation-too many kids only have one adult who is "boots on the ground" with them. And let's face it, it's a paid professional who eventually leaves their life because services terminate. Sometimes they don't have parents who will wake up with them to make sure they get to school on time. Even typing parent in the plural form is a stretch, many of the homes are single parent. Basic needs aren't being met. There is food scarcity, bill roulette (what bill should I risk not paying this month and hope services won't be shut off), no washer and dryer in the home and no money or vehicle to go to the laundry mat. Transportation barriers. Unemployment. Substance abuse issues and other mental health problems. Perhaps the biggest root issue being poverty. Actually today, I saw a Human's of New York post with a man essentially saying "Poverty creates a lot of sociopaths. I never became one but I can understand it. Because when nobody cares about your pain, it's easy to ignore the pain of others." This could not relate more directly to my career. "Delinquent youth" are largely a result of trauma and poverty ***in my opinion, not speaking on behalf of my employer should this ever be read. Hi mom you may be the only person who consistently reads this lol*** What if my parent's couldn't have afforded a funeral for my brother or mental health services following his death? I wonder how much money we have invested in psychotropic medication at this point. What if they were experiencing grief and at the exact same time couldn't feed our family or keep our electricity on? What if no one showed up to bring us meals because we lived in a bad part of town or they didn't have transportation to get there? If any of those things were true I promise you I wouldn't be the adult I am today. I would be the type of adult a lot of people in our society judge. In thinking about my coworkers statement, I've had to ask myself: If kids aren't resilient what are they? I've come to the conclusion they are survivors, which requires a whole lot of resiliency, but does not equal long term hopeful outcomes. I think the overused yet truthful phrase, "it takes a village" makes kids resilient and helps them transition from survival to thriving. This means taking pro-life issues beyond bringing babies safely into the world. This means mentoring-for the long haul not just a school year. I've had kids on my caseload waiting for mentors the entire time they are on probation. It means fostering, adopting, and providing respite. Or walking alongside a mom navigating a confusing system as she tries to reunify with her kids. It means loving people living in poverty and sharing what you've been blessed with, not for personal "feel goods" but because they are people, and in getting to know them, you learn you love them. I'm thankful for the people who have taught me to be resilient. I'm hopeful for the kids I work with and believe they are so resilient. By the time they come to the court's attention, they've likely survived a whole lot. But I want so much more for them, and praying the right, boots on the ground, caring adult or peer comes alongside them and teaches them to thrive. (Check in on your friends doing home-based work, I promise they have all experienced similar things and it's exhausting, important work. Same for teacher friends)
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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