Well friends, Social Work Month has passed… and while I intended to have this finished before the end of March, perhaps it’s fitting that I’m a few days behind. The pandemic must have distracted me last year… or maybe it’s the cumulative impact of being away from the front lines for a second year, or a combination of numerous other factors that have made this year feel different. I feel more removed, more homesick for clinical work and missing my former colleagues and clients. I’ve had to shift my identity over the past few years which has various implications… most notably me clinging to my clinical self and randomly mentioning my licensure to people who have no reason to know or care… like the cashier at the store when I’m purchasing bakery supplies.
I’ve done a lot of reflection about who I am as a clinician. Most of this has been in response to the assault I received from the VA and the complete crisis of character it created within me. I’ll spare the gory details for another entry, but suffice to say, distilling one’s entire career into one decision without any consideration for one’s character and lengthy history of behavior and judgement is not only inappropriate when making administrative decisions, it’s a bad idea when making any decisions. I remain eternally grateful to my former colleagues for helping me remember all of the amazing challenges and triumphs I had the privilege to participate in.
I have little flashes of memories all of time. Every time I hear Outkast’s, “Bombs Over Baghdad” I think of a sibling group of three little girls I used to transport for supervised meetings with their father. They used to request “the fast song” all the time and would just laugh and rock out to the entire song in transit. Almost every time I see an ad for cable TV I remember the power struggle I witnessed as a Veteran, creating a working budget who couldn’t imagine his life without cable, who years later thanked me profusely for helping him recognize the difference. between “wants” and “needs.” I remember countless loads of furniture… hauling couches up stairs…. finding donations to help make a house a home. I remember the ease of communication when you’re driving around town with someone and witnessing the feeling of profound relief as deeply painful experiences are validated for the first time. I remember almost missing my son’s kindergarten orientation because I will hellbent on getting a family moved into housing and had convinced the landlord to let me make the last minute repairs so the unit would pass inspection and her kids could start school on time.
I remember telling my clients that I will always be the rock they could come back to without fear of judgement. A sentiment reflected in countless trips to the emergency room for detox…leave AMA…. detox…leave AMA…. and detox again. I remember sitting bedside with people grateful for another chance at life, promising to never do whatever it was again… and urging them to journal about this tenacity before life rudely slaps them in the face again. And repeating that conversation many, many times. I remember the look of self-worth and gratitude on a person’s face as they get their one, two, three… five-year clean coins. I remember the pride and peace that comes with watching people succeed.
I remember the month from hell in 2018 filled with much loss and deep sorrow. I arrived at work one morning to see the brain matter of a man splattered all over the road as they feverishly attempted CPR only to learn it was a kind and loving veteran from my program. Later that week I remember a deeply troubled woman’s family visiting her in the hospital as she lie in a coma after being beaten by her abusive partner and attempting to drink away her problems. I remember watching them leave and my colleague and I stayed with her and held her hands as they removed her from life support. I remember pondering how much pain has to be present in a relationship to walk away as your daughter and mother dies. I remember just days after these tragedies learning that the son of a close friend and team member had been killed in a motorcycle accident. I remember our team reeling from loss and marshaling our strength to heal and recover stronger than before.
I have so many amazing memories of my time in the field. I know my clinical time isn’t over and I’m confident I will find a happy medium to keep me connected. I bloom where I’m planted, and for the first time in many years I can step back and appreciate the time I have invested in myself to create a firm foundation of mindful awareness. This awareness allows me to see the many relationships I have created via The Blakery and the little ways I get to contribute to self-care, celebrations and appreciation. I love hearing my clients tell me that they’ve found their bakery and will keep coming back. It helps me feel a deeper connection I long for and allows me to once again be the rock…. even if it’s now made of chocolate and drenched in Swiss meringue buttercream.