In Case You're Wondering

Lately, I've been questioning why it was a good idea to become a Social Worker.

Or maybe just the smaller question of why it was a good idea to accept my current promotion.

8.25.08

We're two months out from the BIG DAAAAAAAAAAAY.

Along with assembling the invitations, I've been doing a lot of thinking about job stuff. I know I need to go back to work, while also knowing that I cannot allow myself to be in a situation that makes me as physically and mentally sick as my last job. Does that mean a career outside of social work? I dunno.

(Oh, and about the invites? I don't know why I care so deeply about what they look like, or the wording, or any of the other things I'm reviewing over and over again. If I really wanted a reason, I guess I could just pick any one of the Freudian defense mechanisms and apply blindly.)

Very Sensible

Yesterday, after a disappointing (but not surprising) meeting with a possible employer, I took myself shopping.

Shopping? Isn't that just a little irresponsible, given your current state of unemployment?

No - and I can counter with these arguments:

1) I needed a present for B for our one year anniversary, and
2) Who am I to deprive myself of a little something while I'm shopping for him? also
3) If it put it on my Banana card, it's not like real money is being spent anyway, plus
4) I bought a new business suit for any interviews that might come up in the near future, which
5) Is actually very sound financial planning, besides
6) I am still seeing my institute clients at $6.00/hour, so I *do * have some income, as well as,
7) I've qualified for the top level of unemployment benefits

Aim High - Dare To Dream

While I'm ending my current job, I've devised a goal that really keeps my feet on the ground while I'm reaching for the stars* - and it's pretty simple.

I am trying to violate the dress code each and every one of the remaining days that I am here. This can be achieved simply by keeping my flip flops on for the entire day.

Today, I had to make an unexpected visit to the (evil) executive suite, and thus had to put on my real shoes.

You win this round, hospital.

Treading Water

"Dear [ridiculouschick]...I regret to inform you...economic considerations...position eliminated...laid-off effective June 30."

As you can imagine, I've had a lot going on recently. Like a job search. And the larger question of what I really want to do when I grow up.

Losing this job brings a huge mix of emotions - and whilst I shuffle through them, and find a way to (once again) get comfortable in the not-knowing, I leave you with my temporary theme song.

$4.24

This is the balance in my checking account until I get paid tomorrow.

Unless, of course, the 'economic stimulus' payment from the government is deposited early. I have to be honest, though - at this point it's looking less like an incentive to help the economy, and more like me being able to buy lunch.

(I guess it teaches me not to be the tough guy that decides to pay for everyone's drinks at trivia night.)

Social. Work.

When, in a social situation, someone is making slightly deragatory remarks about the population of clients that you work with (and you yourself are a survivor of the particular social problem that this person is referencing) - what is the appropriate reaction?

Because, you know, it's hard to turn it all off when I leave the office at the end of the day.

On the flip side, who wants to hang out with Social Justice Girl?

Hiatus

Dear EMDR Training::

You are kicking my ass far, far worse than I had expected. Suspending regular life activities until you are done with me. Including blogging.

xoxoxo,
ridiculous

Surprise

As it turns out, my teeth have been hurting *not* because I'm grinding and clenching during my sleep...but because my fillings are about a gazillion years old.

(When I told my dentist that my fillings were, um, filled in 1988 she almost did a spit-take. Almost.)

My dentist must be super motivated because she decided to replace once side of my mouth's fillings right there on the spot. 4 shots of Novocaine and all.

(Me: "But I just came in for a cleaning!"
Her: "No time like the present!")

So now I'm back at work, debating if I should cancel my 3 pm client, or just try to drool on through it.

Transition

Before I became a therapist/counselor/mental health professional, my work life was pretty simple and steady. I could go to my office and completely tune out for the day (and I often did). I could do the absolute minimum that my job required, and still be considered an excellent employee. And so my days went...

...until I decided to overturn everything that I knew and everything I felt comfortable with to become a social worker. (See archive for graduate school wackiness.)

When I started my 2nd career I had a plan. I knew the work would be emotionally challenging, but vowed that it wasn't going to get in the way of my outside life or my relationships. The start felt bumpy, but I figured that was normal for a new social worker. Then my supervisor left and things felt chaotic and finally after months of feeling totally and utterly unsupported at work, I decided that I needed clinical skills help, and started an intensive 2-year trauma training program.

Still, there was this idea about living my life and drawing the line and keeping work and play separate.

Now I feel totally tricked. Because honestly, how did I think adding 8 hours to my work week wasn't going to have an impact? How did I think that I was going to continue listening to the things that my clients tell me without having trouble sleeping, or trouble feeling safe, or trouble with any other symptom of vicarious trauma? How did I think I was going to be a social worker and that my life was going to stay the same?

Fact: my work and my personal life are intertwined, whether it's in the stuff that I carry home every day, the way that I see the world, and/or the way I'm experiencing my interpersonal relationships. And maybe holding the belief that I need to keep the two divided is taking more energy than is necessary.

I think I just need to acknowledge that I'm not the same person, and that morphing into something different is a process. I'm gonna analyze my interactions and get some things wrong and overreact to some other things and it's all going to be a bit of a mess for a while. The truth is that I chose this career and so along with that, I choose the person who will exist within this career. And I have to give myself a little space to puzzle it all together.

Um, Wait. That's Not What I Meant.

I have a day off on Monday. I have a day off on Monday! The original plan was to go visit my Boston peeps for a 3 day weekend, but given the impending storm/doom and gloom that is predicted, it might be best to stay home.

But that's not the point.

In the main waiting area of my program, we have a whiteboard where we track staff location, using codes to note the reason for absences: sick, vacation, conference, etc. So this morning, I merrily wrote that I was going to be out on Monday (I have a day off on Monday!) with the appropriate code.

I just walked into the hallway and re-read the board:
[ridiculouschick] 12.17.07 VD.

Hm.

Maslow

The brief work update is that we've been moved back to the main hospital building. [sarcasm] Luckily, we were given 6 hours of notice so we had plenty of time to prepare [/sarcasm].

The new space has security! And heat! And cleaning service! And a lack of dead vermin!

Now I just need internet and phone connection, and to be able to organize my things sufficiently enough so I can see clients.

Oh, and to get over the fact that I was there waaaay too late last night, directing the movers as to where to put all of our stuff.

Stay of Execution

For those of you playing along at home, work's been a little, um, challenging lately. In short: we're still working out of a building that has been sold - without heat, cleaning services, garbage collection, or security. We've been told for months that we're moving to a new location, so all of our stuff has been packed away for, well, months. With each passing day, queries about our workspace (and, by extension, the future of our program) have been met with vague answers (or no answers at all).

Last week, one of the hospital engineers stopped by the building with the news that he was told to have all of his tools (heh heh, I said 'tools') out of the building by October 31st for closing. Questions about this deadline were met with (you guessed it) silence.

This was it, we thought. We're done. We're gonna get laid off. I wallowed for a bit and then started planning alternate ridiculous careers (dog walking, perhaps?), panicking about money, and feeling like the world's biggest loser. And along the way, came into a little bit of acceptance about leaving (well, being forced to leave, really) and my time there and what I had accomplished despite the obstacles, and blah, blah, blah social workiness. (For the record, even though it is vastly illogical, I still feel like a huge loser.)

Today, a short email from our new supervisor, stating that the closing date has been delayed. No further information.

And thus I climb back on the rollercoaster.

Ruh Roh

Last night, I had an intake with a new client.

So I met her in the waiting room and we walked back to the office (no cockroaches - bonus!). We made ourselves comfortable. I introduced myself. I managed not to stutter, or make too many hand gestures, or any of the other things that I had been worried about.

We started talking. It seemed to be going well. Ok, I thought. I'm like a real therapist here.

And then, when I asked her if she had any questions, she told me that she had googled my name.

Well, I thought, this is interesting. Like most neurotic people, I do google myself...frequently. However, I was suddenly unable to recall exactly what she would have found. Certainly nothing very 'therapisty'. Does google have links to my myspace page? I know the NY times bedbug stuff is on there...what else could she have seen?

Unable to immediately answer any of these questions, I took a deep breath, reset my mind, and continued the session.

And ran right home and googled myself.

The Man

Last night, when I got home, B had a present waiting for me. Probably because he was sick of me explaining about how I have the salt scrub, but I only use it sparingly because it's a little expensive but it's my favorite thing EVER.

So now I have two whole new tubs of it, waiting in the medicine cabinet for whenever I'm ready to exfoliate.

In return, I bring home the vicarious traumas of my job.

So, we're even.

Ugh

I'm not saying things are bad at work, but I just found a giant dead cockroach in my office and my first thought wasn't how to get rid of it but about the best way to properly document this as proof for my union about the working conditions here.

Extra Ridiculous

It is ridiculous even beyond my normal appreciation for the ridiculous that I have to call my boyfriend and establish a 'safety plan' for leaving my work building at night because I'm so freaked out by the spookiness of it now that the other tenants have moved out. I don't use the bathroom here because I'm convinced that someone is going to be hiding in there.

(It's always been spooky - given the sub-basements and the tendency of the facilities people to turn the lights out - but now it's Extra Spooky.)

*And* even given the 'safety plan', what's he gonna do if I fail to answer my phone at the appointed hour? Race over to Brooklyn to see if he can be of assistance?

Baby Got Back

I've (triumphantly) returned from Vermont, where I climbed friggin' Hunger Mountain in a thunderstorm with my girls. We're such badasses.

Pics and details to follow...now I'm just sludging through my work day after getting up at 4 am to drive back...

My Brain Hurts...

...after spending all day at a meeting up in Rockland County, discussing branding and strategy for the communications sub-committee of this coalition that I'm involved with. Slowly, I think my job is taking over my life.

And then, on the 1 train coming home, some random dude was totally trying to have a conversation with me about yoga, which forced me to remove my ipod headphones and listen to his stupidity, which I really hate. Dude, nothing personal, but I've just spent 7 hours discussing crime victims and I need a little peace and loud music and no social interaction. M'kay?

Luckily, I'm home now, and I have a cold beer in the fridge, calling my name.

Almost...

I've never gone on vacation before when I've had social work clients. I'm worried about them. I've already alerted my co-workers about who they might be hearing from while I'm away...called each person to make sure they are 'okay' before I leave (or as close to okay as they can be)...and given my cell phone number (for emergencies) to our admin.

I just need to let go. Worrying about my clients isn't fair to them. Or to my skills as their therapist.

So...I've set my 'out of office' responses on email and voicemail. Cleared off my desk. Updated my files.

The only thing left to do is to get a pedicure and have some goodbye cocktails with MS & Groom.

Why am I blogging?