Recently I’d been thinking a lot about how this work uplifts me. On Twitter I had some wonderful conversations with youth advocates in the special ed and autism community about the public misperception that the populations we work with are depressing. “I could never do the work you do” is often coded language for “I could never work with those people.” It’s offensive, especially considering the fact that what’s dispiriting and draining about this work has virtually nothing to do with the people we serve.
You know what does get me down? On one level it’s the larger institutional, economic, and social structures that present significant challenges to our young people. If I dwell on them too much, it makes me lose my sense of humor. Some days I wake up wanting to punch somebody. I wish I could say that my advocacy springs from a generous Dalai Lama-esque capacity to love all my fellow human beings, but I’m not there yet. The truth is, my sense of purpose and outrage is very personally rooted. I’ll say this much: many of the stories I hear about children in foster care resonate with me.
If you are a confidant you probably recognize it’s no coincidence I ended up working for young people who have experienced significant chaos, neglect, and trauma in childhood. But empathy, in this context, cuts both ways. At the deepest level, the part of this work that really taxes me is the amount of energy required to guard against emotional triggers. It’s a minefield out here.
Even happy stories affect me deeply, as I learned at last night’s screening of Closure, a documentary about a transracial adoptee who sets out to find her birth mother. If you’ve ever wondered what a functional, communicative, nonjudgmental family looks like—how they deal with conflict, hurt, and discomfort—watch and learn from Angela’s entire family, not just the Burts, but the Bells, the Johnsons, and even her foster parents, Alison and John.
What has buoyed me through the holidays, and what keeps my head above water now, is an invaluable support system. This core group comprises my husband, my adoptive dad, and other select relatives; friends who know in their bones what I mean by “family stuff”; colleagues who understand firsthand the emotional demands of youth-serving work; and last but not least, a therapist to guide me through the tough, internal work necessary for me to continue living as a functional, productive—dare I say happy—person.
I’ll close with a bit of unsolicited advice to others in the caring fields: We can’t neglect to care for ourselves, and part of that means reaching out to others, whether they be loved ones, colleagues, or a therapist when your own reserves are drained. Lean on your people when you need it. You owe it as much to those you serve as to yourself.
Written By Ysette Guevara, Ph.D.
Hazards of the job was originally published @ Minds On Fire and has been syndicated with permission.
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Coded language? That sounds pretty straightforward to me. “I could never do the work that you do”. I’ve worked in the Foster Care and Juveline Justice systems for 25 years and it isn’t for everyone. Different people have different personalities, temperaments and strengths. Some people would be horrible at the type of work we do. I think it’s wiser to respect an honest statement like that.
Jay, I completely agree with you that we aren’t all suited to the same type of work, even within this field.
The point I was trying to make was that most people who make those sorts of comments don’t have a full view of what it’s really like to do my work. They imagine that it’s always depressing and stressful, when really so much of it is exhilarating–I laugh, get inspired, learn so much when I’m around my young people.
I am not a martyr/saint, in other words, and honestly, if it weren’t joyful work, I wouldn’t be doing it.
I respect you though for dedicating yourself to this work for so long, especially if you do feel like the bulk of it, though fulfilling, is tough going. Thank you for reading and commenting.
I remember making that same statement in grad school and others were offended until they heard why! Being raised with a sister with Downs Syndrome and contributing a lot of time with the Self Advocacy Association I realized I don’t seperate well from this population and when social workers don’t seperate they burn out. Please don’t make the assumption that, “I could never do the work you do” is coded language for everyone. As a PH.D I can only imagine you work in the broad field of social work and if you do then “person centered” should be applicable to all you encounter not just those with varying abilities.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment! I especially appreciate the timeliness of it because burn out has been on my mind lately. Today I am leading a workshop with a group of young people who wish to dedicate their lives to helping others, and we are talking about ways we can “do good” while “doing well” for ourselves. Your point about enmeshment is very well taken, as is your reminder that the generosity of spirit that we show those whom we serve is something we should share with everyone.
When I wrote this post my mind was on the folks who don’t work in this field and tend to have a misperception of why I do the work I do. Those who work in the helping professions know, however, that we don’t do this work to be martyrs, but because there is real joy in it. That was the point I was driving, though now I see I could have communicated it more clearly.
Thank you for reading and engaging.