Questions for my Would-Be Therapist

We do not take credit for our families’ successes and accomplishments, so why are we so quick to blame ourselves for their downfalls and breakdowns?

I’m going on two years in the field and I can say that my number one struggle remains to be setting and maintaining emotional boundaries.

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estabilishing personal boundaries can be really difficult

 

Already an issue due to the very personal way I approach the work, I find this separation almost impossible the longer I remain working alongside each family. Over time, due to the nature of the general preventive model, I am enmeshed in every way within my “strictly professional” relationships. From having a comprehensive understanding of their histories, their day to day realities to the hopes and dreams they carry for the future, it is not long before I begin to carry these as my own; before I pour my time, passion and effort into helping them achieve their goals because, damn it, they deserve it. Each and every one of them deserves a shot at stability and certainty; a moment for the chaos around them to release them from its grips, for the dust to settle so they can finally see and believe in their innate ability and self-worth. And I was put into their lives to help them with this, entering with promises already broken by virtue of my utter powerlessness to impact such entrenched patterns of injustice.

Walking alongside them day after day, I am overwhelmed in the face of the structural and cyclical blockades that threaten to strangle their capacity for self-determination. Ultimately it is all unbearably out of my control. How do I continue to pour myself into these hole-filled containers when so much of me already remains in puddles on the floor? How do I make a job sustainable that inherently triggers the failed efforts of my past to fix my own family?

I am starting to see that this is what likely leads to my feelings of personal failure when things go awry- the way they more than likely would have whether I was present in this capacity or not. Despite rationally knowing that I was not the cause of these breakdowns, my empathetic prowess works to my detriment in not allowing me to separate their devastation from my own.

It seems I care much too much. But how can I reconcile this with my fear of apathy and hopelessness jading and hardening my soul? How do I continue in this fight without allowing it to break me down in the process? How do I strike this fundamentally important balance?

I don’t have the answers here. Nor do I have the funds to afford a therapist that might be more able to guide me to them. So where am I to go? Despite my consistent efforts towards self-care- maintaining a vibrant social life, doing yoga, etc etc, I cannot seem to shake these deep questions I am confronted with each and every time I step back into the office. I try to write it out in my journal and reach out to professional contacts for advice, remind myself that I am planting seeds for individual impact and I will never truly know how far that impact will reverberate out. I repeat the golden mantra of social work that “All I can do is all I can do” but somehow through all that, it just never seems to be enough.

Ultimately, my fears extend far beyond my own personal mental health concerns/existential dilemmas regarding my purpose in life. There is a startling lack of support and flexibility given to most front-line staff making the conscious decision to dedicate their lives to these efforts. I believe that among the multitudes of egregious social injustices that need to be addressed, the high turnover rate within social welfare agencies due to widespread compassion fatigue and burn-out  is an important one to talk about because it systemically perpetuates many of the issues we set out to ameliorate. Statistically, a majority of social service providers choose this profession based on a strong personal identification with the population they serve. Thus, the inevitability of transference/countertransference, vicarious trauma, and other triggering experiences must be adequately supported to keep our fellow warriors in the fight instead of allowing it to break them down. If we are not given agency support and a safe space to collectively grapple with these emotional minefields, we are increasingly unable to provide this care to those we serve. In fact, the lack of consistency and apathy that prevails when these challenges go unacknowledged can result in disserving those we wish to help.

Much like what I believe my families could truly benefit from, I think we as direct practice staff need to coalesce for our common good. We need a safe and consistent space to come together to address and support each other through these trademark textbook symptoms that we face on a day to day basis that go on compounding like interest over time. Although I have yet to find the time and energy to formally channel these frustrations into a funnel of productivity, I aim to develop a curriculum to be used as a guide for us as a community of social workers to unpack the emotional baggage we so often carry alone in this line of work. A space where we share and acknowledge the burden we willingly accepted when we chose this as a profession. Where we come to realize and understand that while we made that choice alone initially, we are all in this fight together and need each other if we intend to make it out alive. Or if we simply want to avoid the additional cost of traditional therapy;)

Front-line workers need to support one another.

Front-line workers need to support one another.

So. Who’s with me?

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New Year Resolutions

Since the first day I walked in the door of my agency, I’ve spent 90% of my emotional energy and time on one case.balance-320x182

We’ll call it the Smith case. My other cases are “easy” and the Smith case is “hard”. My other parents are non compliant, deceased, or in the process of signing away their parental rights. To say Ms. Smith is present and determined would be an understatement.

There is rarely an emergency that comes up in my other cases but I could write a dozen blogs detailing the Smith case emergencies and dramas. These are the kids I transferred one night to an emergency foster home at 10pm after investigating allegations of abuse in the previous foster home. This is the case whose birth mom calls me once a week threatening to involve the media on the agencies injustices to her children or call the police. This is the case in which I get a call from the emergency line on a Saturday night informing me Ms. Smith has taken her children and is not answering her phone. This is the case I dream about; this is the birth parent I advocate strongest for; these are the children who tell me they are getting bullied in school for being foster kids and I imagine the ways I wish I could plot revenge on their bullies during my commute home. This is the case that makes me want to bang my head against the wall when Ms. Smith slips up or makes a poor judgment call. This is the case that I constantly find myself struggling over the line between professional and friend.  Some days I want to take the whole family home with me, birth mother and all.

My supervisor is aware of the effect this case has on my time and my emotions. And a while back in supervision he said something that stuck. He told me that the Smith case is my loudest case. It’s the case that demands my full attention and follows me home every night. But he encouraged me not to let my loudest case drown out my quieter ones.

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Just because the kids are well behaved, the parents are not as demanding, and the foster parents are saintly, doesn’t mean they should become second priority. Foster care is meant to be temporary; a significant reason why children remain in the system for years is because they are the “quiet cases” — ones that don’t require immediate action and therefore none is taken. They are the ones that workers dream of because of how “easy” they seem. But they are so often the ones that get ignored.

My goal for the New Year is not to work any less hard on the Smith case, but to help give voice to the quieter ones.

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… that one time I couldn’t find my kid .

On New Years Day at 10:30pm, I received a text saying that one of my foster children was not returned to his foster mother. I was getting ready for bed and I didn’t want to respond, but how could I sleep not knowing what is happening? So… I texted Ms.Todd*, foster mother, and asked her if he was still missing.

me: Is he still missing? Ms. Miller’s [birth mom] cell phone is off; here is her home number. I tried calling but no answer.
her: No, she still hasn’t dropped him off. I texted her, I called her, I called her mother… no response. I called the on-call and I am waiting for them to call me back. I hope everything is alright. I am beginning to get worried.

At this point it was 11:30pm, and I had no idea what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen! I had just talked to Ms. Miller the day before about her progress… this will not go well!

Let’s go back a couple of days… it’s Tuesday 12/30/14, and Ms. Miller called me. She is asking for an extended visit with her boys. I had received her most recent drug screening and it came back positive for marijuana. I had a long discussion with her and stated that I would email our lawyer to see if they will approve the extended visit, but I also have to inform them about the positive drug screening.

The lawyers wrote back and they recommended to suspend overnight visits until Ms. Miller has consistent negative drug screenings. This was not going to go well. It took so much to get Ms. Miller where she is now and if we suspended overnights, I believed that Ms. Miller would revert back to not being consistent with her service plan. After consulting with my supervisor, we decided that we would allow one-night overnight visit with Ms. Miller and she would have to complete a drug screening immediately. Continuing over-night visits would be determined after the drug screening results.

I called and informed Ms. Miller of the denial of her request; I informed her to come to the office the next morning to pick up her son, Tyler, and to have a discussion about moving forward. She came bright and early; we spoke about the drug screening [I showed her the results]. She denied that she is smoking. I explained that I don’t know if she is or not, but that random drug screenings are a part of the service plan, so she needs to stop being around it if that’s what’s causing the positive screening. I explained that we will have to suspend visits if the next test is positive. Tyler arrived and they left. Happy New Years!

Fast forward to 01/01/15 at 11:30 pm and we do not know where the foster child is; we can’t get a hold of birth mom.

Are they okay? Is anyone hurt? I’m going to get in so much trouble!
Please… please let us find him. 

At midnight, I called the on-call since Ms. Todd has not gotten a phone call back. I was able to relay information and the supervisor stated she would call Ms. Todd. The supervisor stated that she’s going to tell Ms. Todd to file a missing person’s report with the police. I waited by the phone for Ms. Todd to call me. I couldn’t fall asleep. I facebooked Ms. Miller and her boyfriend. I was desperate to get a hold of someone. I was thinking about how traumatizing it’s going to be for Tyler if the police goes to the home and he is there. But what are we supposed to do?

Finally, Ms. Todd texted at 1:30 pm and stated that the police just left, they were going to Ms. Miller’s home, and she was finally going to sleep. All I could do was try to sleep. I woke up the next morning and rushed to the work. There was an email already in my inbox detailing the events from the night before. At 9:30 am, I received a phone call from Ms. Todd and she stated that Tyler was dropped off to her home at 9 am by Ms. Miller. Ms. Todd wasn’t able to speak with Ms. Miller.

Oh, thank goodness! He’s safe.

I was so angry; I was so tired. I wanted to cry; I was so scared for both Ms. Miller and Tyler. But I wonder how Ms. Miller felt. I wanted to know where she was coming from, what determined her actions, and how can we support her as we move to suspend her overnight visits. I know that when we meet I will have to explain the facts of the night before; I will have to explain why overnight visits are being suspended; and I will have to tell her that trial discharge is delayed. All of these topics will be hard to discuss with her, but it needs to happen.

This career field is no joke and we will have surprises like these all the time. What I have to remember is the ultimate goal… keeping the children safe. As long as that’s at the forefront, whatever we do, whatever we say… it will always be what is in the best interest of the child.

At this time, the best interest for Tyler is to suspend overnights. 

*All names have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

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Motherhood & Other Unclear Lessons

I was assigned a family over a year ago where I had to conduct family therapy using a phone interpretation service because the mother with six children was Spanish-speaking (I am not). The mother was also undocumented. After managing to make some therapeutic headway in the first few months, the family struggled to maintain stable housing and became homeless at the start of the summer. This family of seven ended up moving on a temporary basis into one bedroom of an apartment with two other undocumented families.

Back in August, I typed out the below entry on my phone to process my feelings about a failed home visit where I was going to give the family metro cards to come into my office for a session to address the family’s concerns in privacy:

I want to be angry or feel that the mother is ungrateful but I do not feel those things. Yes, I tried my best to ensure that this visit would occur and even gave mom an out by asking her to just text me if she won’t be home. Yes, I advocated for the family to be provided round trip metro cards to our office because I know it would be unrealistic and unfair to expect the family (one mom, six kids) to come on their own. And I wanted her to come to see me for once so we could have a meaningful conversation in a private, comfortable space with the aid of phone interpretation so that her kids do not need to be burdened with being spokespersons and she can feel safe that other families are not overhearing her business.

But I also understand that in the grand scheme of all their problems, talking with me isn’t high on her priority list. So what I’m left feeling is sadness. Sadness that really and honestly, there isn’t much of anything I can do for this family in their current situation. I am a family therapist. And while I can and should accommodate the realities of many of our clients in child welfare, I’m simply not equipped to help them with concrete needs. I’m not a housing specialist. I don’t have an array of resources at my disposal to provide undocumented families the necessities they need.

Refer them elsewhere. That’s the response. It’s the right move. And yet, it feels so hollow. We all know too well how many families fall through the cracks when they change programs or agencies. After nearly 8 months of working with this family and with the last 2 months of the family being homeless, this sliding down the slippery slope of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, I can’t help but feel what was the point of all this?

“We plant seeds. It’s not about solving their problems but about giving them the tools to face them more effectively. It’s the reality too many undocumented families face,” and so on. None of this gives me solace. I am just tired… and tired of expending more energy on a family that’s really beyond my or my agency’s capabilities.

I do acknowledge that there are strengths and some resources present in this mother and her family. But I can say with objectivity I’m not of much use to this family right now.
I’m not frustrated or angry. I’m just… Tired.

………

By the end of October, the family eventually ended up in an exceptionally safe and comfortable shelter and I was able to transfer the case to a nearby general preventive program to a dedicated worker who was also Spanish-speaking. I also got to have a very touching termination visit with the mom and children. Language barriers and evidence-based model protocols aside, I figured this was the closest to success I was going to achieve with this case.

Then in mid November, I came to learn the devastating news from the new worker that mom had been hospitalized, was found to be terminally ill, and was not going to be discharged. ACS planned to find permanent placements for the children (ages 7 to 13). I broke down.

In spite of all the problems and instability, the one constant in the lives of these children was their mother. While mom had grown more weary and drained over the year, the children remained high spirited and resilient. This mom was clearly doing something many things right no matter what her ACS worker said.

Unfortunately, this is where their story ended for me. It will be someone else’s job to see the next chapter of their story unfold. I am left mourning the loss of a woman who faced countless struggles and at times made me feel my weariest as her worker, but who unquestionably championed at being a mother.

My work with this family taught me that while my role as a social worker may often feel unclear, unsatisfying, and ultimately, not enough, it does not mean the work/effort/connection was in vain. There are not always clear lessons to be learned or closure to be gained. And I am learning to be okay with that.

My thoughts are with her children.

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Thanksgiving Thoughts and Reflections

In the spirit of this giving season I want to give some of my thanks, thoughts, and reflections on my first three months working in child welfare as a member of Children’s Corps (CC). As my job has become increasingly demanding and my emotional involvement increasingly present, the mission of Children’s Corps has become even clearer to me. Children’s Corps provides a tightly knit support network for us to turn to when we need guidance, advice, a sounding board, a friend, or a mentor. These things seem obvious and necessary for those of us who are members and who take advantage of CC’s resources, but Children’s Corps was created to address a need in the employment of case planners in foster care. Fostering Change for Children (FCFC) examined the system on a macro level and noticed disturbing trends in employee turnover, lack of adequate supervision, and overworked, underpaid, burnt-out workers.

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This is a serious problem and clearly change is necessary. FCFC took a step. Instead of tearing down and radically changing the structure of child welfare, Children’s Corps works within the system to set up supports and structures which can transform the problems into permanent and lasting solutions. In the end it’s really quite simple. Workers need support, positive reinforcement, guidance, and training. Children’s Corps provides these things. And it’s working. 88% of CC workers stay after one year, where only 66% of the general case planner population is still working after the same amount of time. The vast majority of Children’s Corps workers stay in the field of child welfare even after the two years of commitment to the program. I’m lucky enough to have a fantastic supervisor who is a Children’s Corps alum. It seems that providing new workers with these things (support, positive reinforcement, guidance, and training) is creating a new generation of workers who stay.

So first I want to say thank you to Children’s Corps. You guys rock. Second I want to make some observations with CC’s mission in mind: it has become increasingly obvious to me that the families I work with in my job are in need of the same fundamental support, positive reinforcement, guidance, and training that we as workers receive from Children’s Corps. The predominant difference is that these families did not choose to be in the system whereas we made the conscious and slightly insane decision to enter into this field.

As Children’s Corps has re-envisioned the experience of child welfare workers, let us as those workers strive every day to re-envision the experience of our families. Imagine equipping our parents and children with the support, positive reinforcement, guidance, and training that Children’s Corps has modeled for us. What would that look like? How might things be different if we focused on creating community support networks for our single parents with limited familial ties or help? What would happen if our strength based approach to family engagement centered around positive reinforcement and the development and sustainability of those strengths? How would it help if we guide families through the system, inviting  them to be a part of the conversation, with an emphasis on compassion and care, instead of on deadlines and requirements? How might that change the narrative? Or, what would happen if we equip and train parents and children with skills to prevent future trauma and pain? In a perfect system I would like to see the only necessary services be preventive instead of reactive. Perhaps this all seems too unrealistic. But I have worked in this field for only three months and therefore am allowed my idealistic visions of how we can engage with our families. I’m not asking to change the system, but rather, what Children’s Corps has provided for case planners I hope to provide for my families.i-dont-pretend-we-have-all-the-answers-but-the-questions-are-certainly-worth-thinking-about-inspirational-quote

As Children’s Corps workers we are fortunate to have this support network backing us and setting us up for success in our future careers. I believe it is our duty to get creative and collaborative with how to implement that structure in the lives of our families.  I don’t have the answers but I clearly have a lot of questions and a whole community of support. That’s the first step.

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Year one- The Aftermath

Hi Jess-

It has been awhile… what a whirlwind of a summer, huh? I’ve been doing all right for the most part… back to school definitely comes with a lot more work but its exciting since I have been preparing most of my families all summer and now we will see what comes of it. I’m trying to be hopeful. Unfortunately the last couple weeks have been extremely emotional and hard. I went to my first funeral on Tuesday for a child from a family that I had worked with before my medical leave. Her friends and family often called her Monsta. She had sickle cell anemia. She was 9.

Although I’m no longer working with the family, this whole experience has highlighted for me how truly batshit crazy of a job this is… that the unmatched vulnerable nature of my position is one that is simultaneously beautiful and ab-so-lutely terrifying.

I have realized that what we so often laxly refer to as “caseloads” are in reality an extended web of close and trusting relationships that do not end once a case is transferred or closed. That by virtue of entering into a family and getting to know them from the inside out the way we do, we will go on carrying that profound level of knowledge and understanding of who they are, where they came from and the obstacles they face- and with that- all of the dreams, hopes and compassion we develop with and for them over the course of that relationship. We come in rooting for them all, even though we know that statistically, many of them will not be able to achieve the heights we help them to aspire to- for reasons far too complicated to simply blame on individual failures or shortcomings. We find ourselves feeling frustratingly stagnant at times because of these invisible ceilings that our families are up against, and even more-so by the blatant blockages and limitations we are bogged down by as the workers slated to support them through these minefields of oppression, poverty and discrimination. But how are we to feel when sickness and death rip one of our soldiers out of the fight before she is even given the opportunity to confront it for herself? When we cannot point our fingers of blame at the ism’s society has seemingly maliciously created and unjustly imposed? Grief has the ability to swallow you whole because there is nothing and no one to blame for the unexpected loss of a child who suffered (although she would never show it) from a genetic disease.

To watch and be a part of the most raw and intimate moments of each family’s lifecycle thus far has been equal measures of wildly beautiful, inexplicably frustrating, and heart wrenchingly painful. I am but a little over a year in and I have this pleasure/curse of carrying with me the full spectrum of human emotion and experience, not only for myself, family, and friends, but extended now to 20+ sets of parents, grandparents and children- and that is overwhelming to say the least. Although I hate to describe it as baggage or weight that I carry, in moments like these it is hard to see it as anything but, and I must admit that this realization scares the shit out of me. Throughout the course of this year, my deep and far reaching empathetic capacity, something I initially thought would be a great asset and strength in this field, has simultaneously been my biggest downfall. And I’m not quite sure how to feel about that yet.

In order to make it through this first year as a child welfare warrior, I have had no choice but to (try to) come to terms with this limitation, and all limitations that get in the way of creating and fostering the lasting change that my families need to sustain in order to ensure the safe and nurtured development of their children. I thought I had mastered it- that the trick was simply in framing my role with the families that I work with as that of a modern day, female version of Johnny Appleseed (we’ll go with Jenny); planting small seeds of hope, motivation, accountability, and healing each time I had a conversation with my parents and their children. I told myself that like all seeds, they would take time and care and the right environment to flourish into saplings, let alone to begin taking root in the individuals I was asking to change. I told myself that what I so often felt as personal responsibility for my families’ lack of progress (I don’t have the clinical skills, for a start) was in fact beyond both my own or their control. That, despite my title as Preventive Case Planner, I could not, in fact, have prevented (or planned) many of the crises my families have experienced over the last year. When I recognized that this left me with the role of holding their hands through the crises, picking them up once the dust settled, and trying again to guide them in the right direction- a weight lifted off my shoulders. That, I could do. But to pick my own self up, to pick up and support my co-worker who has stood by them through it all in a way I honestly don’t think I could’ve handled, let alone how the family will even begin to pick up the shattered pieces of their universe after a tragedy so deep… this will be a constant struggle for us all.

Moving forward, which is all we can really do, I’m daunted to no end to think that this may be the first of many tragedies like this to impact me and the people that I work alongside and care about. At this point, it is impossible to say if my capacity to cope will only get stronger or if I will even be able to bear another.  Still yet, through the tears, I am driven to continue being a positive force for these families who are all too often socially isolated and disempowered and left to languish on the fringes of our society. Despite the baggage it brings, the endless complexity of human relationships still fascinates me unlike any other field of study, and this is not something I can easily turn my back on- this truly seems to be my soul’s purpose, and I fear that it would not be fulfilled if I ran away, even and especially if it was to protect myself.

Attending M’s funeral this week was one of the more difficult experiences of my already tumultuous life. But it wasn’t about me. It was about her family and friends, all of us as a community of souls who were blessed to have known her smile, coming together to show our support and send out our incredible amounts of love and appreciation that we knew her while we could, because what else can we possibly do? All of us, no matter what we choose as a profession, are given chances every day to share our light with those around us that need it, sometimes desperately. And we can all agree that this world could use a little more light. I’d like to think that through the hardships I will be able to remind myself that this is not only a worthy endeavor but a pretty damn cool job description at that.

Although I am still reeling from the loss of a vibrant and incredible baby girl I had the pleasure to know during her short stay in this life, I look forward to the birth of yet another just around the corner that awaits another family in my ever extending web. Life is absurd in its endlessly fleeting and unpredictable nature- in both its light and darkness.

Only together, as brothers and sisters of the human race, will we be able to fully embrace it, celebrate it, mourn it, grow with it and triumph over it.

With love and a forever bleeding heart,

K

PS. Guess we might as well turn this into a blog post, eh?

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Overcoming the Devils

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“We don’t get many days like this.” Not a line one expects to hear at the closing of a High School Valedictorian’s speech but one that so powerfully captures the essence of life as a 19-year-old graduate in Foster Care. As I sat at the ceremony then and as I reflect now on my past year of work, this statement not only applies to youth in foster care but also to those who work relentlessly to change this.

On my first day of work, I asked each young man to write down their “words to live by” as well as the one place in the world that they would travel to if circumstance was no barrier. I hoped to use this to create a wall in the cottage that could grow as new residents came and serve as a testament to all those who left. One in particular recited a Bob Marley lyric I know well “Overcome the Devils with a Thing Called Love.”

Social Workers, notoriously branded as do-gooders are not immune to life’s devils. There is the devil of working more for lower wages. There is the devil of others looking down on you for being over-worked and under-paid. There is the devil of working with other over-worked and under-paid colleagues who take out their daily frustrations on you. There is the devil of bureaucracy. There is the devil of doing everything in your power for your youth and families only for your efforts, for reasons beyond anyone’s foreseeable control, to inevitably fail. There is the devil of becoming every kind of Social Worker that you swore that you never would.

Working within a metropolis such as New York City one can in a few short subway stops travel from a neighborhood of extreme poverty to the literal epitome of excessive wealth. Across the country, youth of color remain represented in Foster Care at a disproportionate rate. LGTBQ youth in the foster care system face increased homelessness. At its best, the systems we employ keep children and their families’ safe; create opportunities for growth, and in doing so remedy some of the harsh realities of this systemic oppression. At its worst; these systems employ the same cycles of oppression to their youth, families, and staff. It is not difficult to become both victim and perpetrator of this cycle that at its root is really just fed by hopelessness.

Hopelessness is bred through an exhaustion of all possible options. I am not hopeless. To begin, all work on a fundamental level is “Social Work.” With the opportunity, everyone who is capable and willing works so that they can sustain and generally better life in our social environment. “Social Workers” should not be the only individuals in this world loaded, even symbolically by name, with this task. When we realize that the systemic cycle of oppression, inadequate mental health care, and poverty is a burden that we should all share regardless of our profession, we have tackled the greatest obstacle. As Rita Mae Brown once said, “don’t hope more than you are willing to work.”

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Above all we most effectively help others when we help ourselves. Funding aimed at strengthening preventive programs that can work within homes before removing children from homes allow families an opportunity to effectively parent, addresses trauma early on, and prevents system overload. Agencies and Social Workers that continue to strive to cap caseloads through mandates, pay higher and fairer wages by re-evaluating the budget, and reduce burnout by allowing the flexibility of occasionally working at home make small movements towards this goal. Those in leadership roles who treat Social Workers with compassion and value their strengths will find that Social Workers treat their youth and families the same.

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One of the most respected therapeutic crisis intervention trainers on our Residential Treatment Center campus opens each session with a personal anecdote. On his way out of campus after a long late night shift, a resident in crisis darted out in front of him and ran into his car. While the resident was not injured, everyone around them immediately surrounded the young boy. Paralyzed by what had just occurred, after checking on the boy, this trainer sat in his car, un-sure what to do next. Surely he contemplated whether it was worth coming back to work the next day or ever again. Unexpectedly, the boy’s mother approached the Trainer and asked how he was doing. If not for this small gesture, this now well-respected Cottage Supervisor may not have made it another day on the job. As we make tiny dents gradually over time, we will see good work get better. At the heart of all gut-wrenching positive change, after all, is that thing called love.

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