Hey, folks, it's been awhile. How ya doin'?
I blame my silence on the fact that I feel like my life has undergone one of its periodic seismic shifts. I'm working. And not at a hang-my-head-why-am-I-doing-this-job-when-I-have-a-college-degree sort of way. No. I'm a domestic violence shelter advocate and aftercare coordinator. Part-time, but intellectually and emotionally satisfying without being overwhelming.
It makes for an awkward conversation, though. If asked, I may say that I'm doing social work and try to keep it vague. Otherwise I'm afraid of how I'll be perceived. I'm neither saintly, nor particularly brave, nor anti-male. And, no, I can't tell you where the shelter is.
As you, my dear friends and up-to-date readers, know, the decision to return to this work was an emotionally fraught one. It's working out, though. I'm happy to report that I no longer have a horrible knot in my stomach when I report for my shift. I think I'm gonna like it here.
Just two days ago I was rooting around the office looking for something when I happened to open a file drawer of old files. I mean really old files. Some of the name tags were in my handwriting. I grabbed a few files and read my notes signed with my maiden name. It was a vaguely surreal time-travel moment. The memories came flooding back.
SIDE NOTE - I am retiring the "Gimme Shelter" blog. I don't feel comfortable sharing any stories, even old ones, when I'm back in the field.
What struck me, reading my own progress notes from a lifetime ago, was how confident and professional I sounded. Like I really knew what I was talking about, and I was just a young pup.
But to be really successful in this type of field you have to be able to maintain a delicate balance: care, but not too much.
This will be my struggle.
One day in my intro to psych class in college we talked about the correlation between various forms of mental illness and poverty. It's a chicken and egg thing, really. From my vantage point, it appears mental difficulty pushes people into poverty (slow to learn or otherwise unreliable = unemployable), and then the stress of poverty feeds the illness (while restricting access to help) in a vicious, vicious cycle.
It's painful to watch. The people who come through the shelter tend to be those with less resources and options. Especially difficult are the people who dance at the edge. Slow, but not fully developmentally disabled. Maladapted to society, but not full-out mentally ill. Not bad enough to qualify for the money and services that are out there, but not really functional, either. The safety net has some gaping holes.
Especially difficult is the plight of the women without children. Imagine that you haven't been working because: a) you were not allowed to, b)you were a homemaker, or c) you haven't been able to because of the anxiety and depression caused by a (usually) lifetime of abuse. Now imagine you need to escape from the one person who financially supported you, and you only have 30 days to re-establish yourself. There is no money to help you secure housing. None. We eliminated welfare benefits (except for Medicaid and food stamps) for single, able-bodied individuals. Public housing is limited and wait-listed. If you happen to suffer with mental health issues, the disability process is difficult and can take a year to complete, easily.
I think I may end up with the anxiety disorder.
I've read about a problem that sometimes happens to aid workers doing famine relief. They feel so guilty for having food when others don't that they stop eating. Ultimately, of course, you need to eat in order to feed other people.
It's hard to look poverty and impending poverty straight in the face. I've always known violence and misery and poverty (and, yes, they are intertwined) were out there, but it is so much worse to hear the individual stories. And to know that there are fewer options and resources out there for these people now.
The poor will always be with us. There is never 100% employment, and when times are tough and jobs are tight it's the under-educated, not as bright, trauma-ridden people who suffer the most. I've yet to meet someone who chose to be poor because the lifestyle was so awesome.
Remember that. Especially when you vote. Or pay taxes. Feel grateful that you even have enough income to pay those taxes.
OK. Off the soapbox now.
And how are you?
