Category: Social Worky

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Social Worky

Unexpected Hero

I swim like a rock. It’s a thing I’m really REALLY bad at. I’m not sure why, but it’s always been the case. For the most part, it’s not a barrier. In general, I stick to land based activities to compensate for my deficiency.  

When I worked in the group home though, my work was far from based on what was in my comfort zone. There was an outing to Whiskeytown’s Brandy Creek. The other staff that went on the outing were bona fide swimmers. So when the kids wanted to swim across to the other bank, obviously we were all going to swim across. Fun fact: the kids had to wear life jackets. Staff was expected to trust their own judgement, you know, since we were adults and whatnot.

Once again, my Pride told my Common Sense, “Shut the fuck up. I got this one.”

And not surprisingly, once again Pride was wrong.

I made it across okay. We did all the obligatory lake things “I saw a fish” “Something just touched my leg” “I think that boy is looking at me” ect.

As many activities with this crowd did, it wasn’t long before it fun comments evolved to “Luna is looking at me! Tell her to stop looking at me or I’m going to bash her motherfuckin’ face in.”

Luna (or whatever her real name is) was the fringe kid. That’s a hard role to have in a group home. As the kid with the lowest level of ability to manage her impulses, she was also the one most often to be in some kind of trouble. Often grounded for property destruction, fighting,  or instigating others. While I respect her dignity and worth as a person, she really was difficult to be around.

Since Luna had turned on her lightening rod of negativity, we began our swim back across to the main beach.

The real swimmers pulled out ahead. Then there was Luna and my weak ass.

I know I am dramatic, but real panic doesn’t hit me too often. Luna and her life vest were breaking free from me. I was trying tricks to try to be calm. “Maybe I’ll float on my back a while” which resulted in me slipping under a lot. The “I can’t touch the bottom” fear combined with the reality that each time I tried to float I sunk further down resulted in a little mini terror.

I surfaced. Luna was my only hope. Would she help? I’ve personally restrained her and grounded her countless times. Plus, she doesn’t often demonstrate a willingness to help others.

Pride did that thing of “Ooops. My bad. So,….uhhhh, go on ahead  Common Sense. I’ll tap out now.”

I called out to her. Lumbering with the grace of the most awkward of mammals, she turned and swam back for me. I grabbed a hold of her life jacket, and splashed along.

In general, Luna did nothing unless it instantly benefitted her and her alone. But in this moment, she was my rescue hero.

Luna didn’t exactly see things the way most others did, so I wanted to make sure I honored her for helping me, but I wasn’t sure how to best do that. If I gave her a well written thank you card, she may have eaten it or placed it in some unsafe orifice. She destroyed nearly everything she ever possessed, so a nice teddy bear or framed art also wouldn’t get it. The solution I landed on was to get her Lifesavers. And she was beyond delighted.

I probably would have lived if she hadn’t come back for me. Again, I’m dramatic. But also, she didn’t have to come back. Sometimes when it’s least expected, people are still want to do the right thing. I don’t know what became of Luna, but I am thankful for her instinct to do great things that day.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Blogolicious Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Take It

The list of things I’m bad at is pretty robust. But before you fling your sympathy my way for today’s topic, know there’s a good chance you’re bad at it too. Often we all are really bad at accepting compliments.

As with any rule, there are exceptions. We all know that guy who’s pretty sure he or she is the shit. Or the misguided person who’s pretty convinced that everyone they meet wants to make babies with them. But in my experience, those folks are rare. Thankfully! Because they are super annoying and frankly a menace.

For the most part, folks just suck at hearing positive things. I’m sure there’s deep seeded reasons for it. Maybe it’s the conditioning about how it’s not okay to be a braggart. Maybe it’s that we’ve spent too much time living the “everyone gets a trophy” life and now we shirk away from recognition. And maybe sometimes it’s that we can’t genuinely believe the compliment.

Whatever the reason, it’s fucked up and we need to stop.

A classic way to ruin a compliment is to offer some reason to dismiss the kind words just said. When we do this, we can accidently be insulting to the kind-word-giver. Say someone tells you they like your hair, and you respond with “It looks bad.”

A takeaway for the giver could be, “okay, guess I’ll just keep my opinion to myself next time.” Is that what we want? No. But what’s the motivation for the person to share kind words if in your attempts to be humble, you essentially tell them they’re wrong? You should say “thank you,” period.

I’m unsure how we can get better at taking compliments. Perhaps a nice support group in is order. We can journal about why we suck at hearing positivity. Or maybe we just all need to give each other the following permission; if I dismiss your compliment, you can deliver a crisp slap to my face or throat punch(because sometimes violence is the answer).

Flatterer: “You’re really good at drawing”

Recipient: “I’m not really that good”

Flatterer: “I SAID, you’re GOOD at DRAWING!” *promptly delivers serpent’s head strike to the throat

Recipient: (after clutching throat and recovering coughs out), “Thank you.”

Change would happen quickly, I’m sure.

We need to do less compliment dodging. Humility has it’s place, but so does confidence. In instances such as job interviews and general daily living; it’s okay to know that you’re good at things and say that out loud. And while it’s important to have our own internal locus of control in our positive opinions, it’s also important to for us see those opinions reflected in others.

Doubt? Okay, have you ever heard or said “do these jeans make my butt look big?”

It’s one of history’s most classic baits used in the practice that is compliment fishing.

Despite how much we need to improve on just fucking taking it, a compliment disclaimer may be still needed. Sometimes accolades really are used as a means of manipulation. Luckily there’s a couple easy responses to that too. If you’re worried that the person giving the positivity isn’t being genuine, you can still just say “thank you” and move on. You aren’t beholden to anyone who says nice things and the “thank you” covers you in case maybe they’re being sincere. You may encounter a creeper driving the van with  “free candy” spray painted where the back windows don’t exist. If he (or she, to be gender neutral) gives you a compliment, you do not owe him (or her) anything. Do not get in the van.

In summary; compliment, good. Creeper in van giving out candy with compliments, bad. So move foraes knowing your hair probably looks great today, and it’s okay to know it.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Social Worky

Fostering

Child welfare is an interesting gig. Until about the 1900’s, there were far more rules protecting violence against animals than there were for the protection of human children. Child welfare in it’s modern sense came into being around the 1970’s when there was an increase in the role of government trying to ensure that children were safe in their own homes.

Since that time, nearly everyone has heard a story about a time that Child Welfare didn’t intervene enough. And nearly everyone has heard a story when we intervened too much.

It’s a very difficult balance that people who chose the field as their career take very seriously. Fortunately for the families we serve, they are entitled to privacy about the events that led to our intervention. However, this makes the work seem like we are transparent to those outside the field.

By the time the events take place in which children are removed from the care of their parents, things have happened. Things that those with the legal ability to remove children (cops and courts) have determined have made it so the children can not currently be safe in the care of their parents.

Whatever those things are, stacked up with the removal of kids, are a lot for families to endure.

Social workers constantly meet 6-year-olds who experienced more in their short lives than they themselves as adults have experienced. It can be hard, but the depth of the experiences our families have had also make them some of the strongest people ever.

Most often, things have just gotten a little out of hand for a minute, and they need an opportunity to reset. There’s tools in place for that. Tools that really do help. But in the meantime, kids need a place to rest their souls while parents work.

A great foster parent is one who will be there for those little ones in an unsettled time in their life, and be prepared to support them when it’s time to go home.

It’s a very big ask. Love them like they need, but don’t love them so much that you get in the way of them going home. And, if they can’t go home, go back to wanting to be their forever solution. Open your home to scrutiny, and your heart to potential breakage.

It doesn’t sound like a good sales pitch. But somewhere the night is putting a child into your care; a child who’s had a really bad day. And they need a foster parent who’s in it for the right reasons who can help them get through it.

The foster parents who are best at what they do are the ones who are able to balance the many many hard things with the rewards of knowing they helped a kid through some tough times or got to see kids go back to homes where they are loved and safe.

Unfortunately, there’s a constant need for folks who can fill the complex role of fostering. If it sounds like something you’d like to learn more about, or something you’ve heard someone else express interest in, please don’t hesitate to ask a social worker about it.

Categories
Blogolicious Social Worky

Lame Bucket List 2 of 3

If you read my first bucket list happening, you’ll know that my second bucket list item wasn’t really destined to set the world on fire either. But it was something that was a challenge, and that I thought would be funny, so it had to be.

I am NOT a hugger. I’ve been raised by a hugger, but it didn’t take.

It’s not that I don’t love to hug on my people. My poor boys will do that thing where after I start the hug mob they just freeze and disassociate. It’s their primal defense mechanism. So far, it hasn’t deterred me from my repeated hug assaults.

I can interface with huggers. There’s times when people need the hug. I can and will abide.

I also know that there’s sometimes where being held is the only thing that soothes the soul. Those magnificent embraces that remind you that it’s going to be okay. The ones where you just be still and let it work it’s magic.

Buuuuut,…aside from those instances; not a hugger. I’ll shirk away from contact a kid from a sink of dirty dishes.

My guess is that our former director was also not a hugger. She was able to manage an agency based on feelings in a way where she didn’t let feelings have an impact on her work. By no means was she warm and/or fuzzy. I’m pretty sure she crossed a street one time just to avoid interacting with me.

So obviously, getting a hug from her had to be on my list.

I’m pretty sure I could’ve just gone up and asked for one any day, but where’s the fun in that.

So I waited for just the right time. I plotted and schemed. I shared my goal with others. There was speculation on how it would go; maybe even some assumption that she was a robot. “I bet she’ll have to access her ‘engage hug’ sequence.”

There was a get together one evening to celebrate on our attorneys moving on. When I’d parked at View 202, I saw her honor from my first bucket list item being dropped off. I walked in right behind the judge in hopes that people would think we came together. It would have been more convincing if I’d actually talked to her as I did that.

I didn’t expect my hug target to be there, but she was! I had to rally. It seemed like a good idea to check in with my mentor/supervisor before making a spectacle. I sent her a text asking if I should, but she didn’t respond instantly. I had a “Fuck it, we’ll do it live” moment.

There was a quieter moment in the event. I stood up in front of probably 20 people who I really respect and,….yup,…announced that my bucket list included wanting a hug from Maxine.

She shrugged her consent. I walked towards her. Cameras rolled. I felt certain it would be the uber safe one arm side hug, but it wasn’t! It was the two armed, with a squeeze hug! There was cheering (not kidding…we’re all weird where I work).

The occasion wrapped up with a photo of me with both the judge and the director. As we stood there an smiled, both of them flatly told me “You need to do better on making your bucket list.”

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Social Worky

Blame it on the Algorithm

Well. Somehow we got here. The place where a random guy’s facebook post generated enough conversation that there was a story on the legitimate news about it. To be clear, I’m not weighing in on what he said or what she said. That’s not my concern. The last time I cared about a backing-and-forthing on the social media front was in the days of the Cottonwood Food Truck Crisis (#LongLiveHotDogGuy).

But I do care about how social media is shaping reality. I care about that very much.

I’m ill equipped to describe the dangers of media algorithms, but imma be still trying.

I watched this interesting show on Netflix called Social Dilemma. I’m sure someone has a better summation than this, but in short; it talked about how our attention is a very lucrative product that is battled for. I liked the quote that “if you don’t pay for the product, you are the product.” And the brilliant software folks are very good at getting, and keeping, our attention.

The show discussed the negative consequences that have come from less than 100 programmers being able to influence the opinions of 3 billion people. For example, humans weren’t hard wired to have a need for “social approval dosing” every five minutes. But here we are.

They said that since 2010, this attention feedback cycle has resulted in an increase in psychiatric hospitalizations for girls 10-14 by 189%. By the show’s report, the youngn’s of our time have been manipulated to believe that they need specific kinds and amounts of social media interactions, and that they can hyper-focus on negativity to the point of self-injury.

I don’t know they are right or wrong about that, but I do know that the manipulation doesn’t stop at tween girls. We’re all susceptible to it. Look around you. Can you see something you bought because it popped up on your Facebook or your Instagram? Do you have a strongly held opinion that started after seeing someone’s post?

You’ve probably heard about algorithms. (Again, non-smart person description here) Algorithms are the math-y way that your media controls what you see. What pops on my mine versus your Facebook is specifically engineered to be different so that each of us is inclined to stay on longer. (I’m a size 7 ¼ in tinfoil hats, by the way).

So what does this have to do with the guys’ facebook post becoming news?

Media and social media are feeding their version of reality to us. And since it’s designed to harvest our attention, we’re in a dangerous spot if we take the spoon fed information as gospel.

The show talked about how if I’m always looking at “the chicken came first” stories, my feeds and recommended views will want to keep my attention by showing me more “chicken first” stories. Never challenging me to consider if the egg was first. However, if my neighbor is always looking at “the egg came first” information, that’s what will her medias will continue to push her way. A confirmation bias feedback loop that just tells us each we’re right.

Who needs that much divisiveness? But it takes work to seek out our own information, do our own research, and come to our own conclusions. It’s soooo much easier for me to get my news from memes (What happened in Oregon that made crack legal?).

But let’s see if this loosely associated example helps.

Vegas. I’d seen it a million times glamorized in movies and media. Everything from “Hangover” to “3000 Miles to Graceland” glorifies this town. So imagine my surprise when we went there a couple years ago and it dawned on me; it’s a real and little place. Sure it’s cool and all, but being there instantly demystified that it was larger than life.

If Vegas wasn’t exactly like it seems in media and social media, I suppose it’s possible there could be other confusing representations out there as well.

So before you vilify or champion any side of any argument; ask yourself this: Are you being  shown Vegas they want you to see? Or the Vegas that really is? Is the news that you are seeing really news? Or is it the result of algorithms feeding off each other?

There’s an old psychology phrase of “self-fulfilling prophecy.” It means a prediction that causes itself to be true. That’s what’s at risk with algorithms.

I could be going around thinking my neighbor and I are going to have to fight about if it was the chicken or the egg that came first. My algorithms could fight for my attention by making me believe that it’s going to happen. Tensions rise. We each put symbolic frames around our profile pictures indicating our allegiance. Next thing I know, there’s a donnybrook going on as we take out our garbage. A right scrap that maybe would’ve never happened if we didn’t let social media make our opinions for us.

Good on ya’ if you were able to stick with this one as a read. I know it’s a little out there. With that being said, I’m off to post some pictures of my crockpot (full of chicken) on my IG to see if I can land myself on the news.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

ALPHAS

I saw a person at a place recently wearing a shirt that said “Alpha Male.” I’m sure he’s a lovely human, so it’s with zero judgement that my mind screamed back “Alphas don’t advertise that they’re alphas!! They just don’t!” Don’t worry, this isn’t about me bashing attempted alpha males, it’s about bashing attempted alphas regardless of gender.

Alpha status is as old as time. I’m guessing there was a brave, strong cave person (Grog) whose acts of power benefited others. In turn, that probably afforded Grog more privileges. Maybe he got first choice of which cave person to club over the head for special cave person time. Or maybe he got extra servings of saber-tooth squirrel salad. I’m sure that it resulted in Torg looking at Grog with envy. Torg too wants extra paleo pot roast. But,…“Torg no alpha.” (imagine sad caveman face)

Since challenges to hierarchies continue today, it’s completely reasonable to assume that Torg challenged Grog. They may have had a spear chucking contest, wooly mammoth wrestling display, or perhaps a dance off. And maybe at some point Torg attained his caveman dreams of alpha.

I’m sure that over time, the reasons creating alpha status, and the activities to establish pecking order have changed. But deep in our lizard brains, it would seem that we are still hard wired for herd life. In isolation we fail. We need each other. And we need alphas. They come in many forms. Alpha Grog’s freshly harvested saber toothed jack rabbits would be useless without the fire guy or the cooking person. And quite possibly, they are alphas in their own right.

Some people seem to feel a need to continue to buck for alpha status. Maybe that’s good, I don’t know. Maybe is the challenges to hierarchies that continue to push whatever system is in question to another level. But two important things 1) it’s okay not to be an alpha and 2) I don’t think real alphas try. I think it just happens. Alphas don’t get pegged with the title because they set out for it.

Maybe you’re reading this wondering if it’s your time to challenge the hierarchy with your own dance-off. Maybe it is. Maybe the system will be better off before. Just please make an informed choice ahead of time because (stolen internet quote of the week…) “everybody wants to be an alpha, until it’s time to do alpha shit.”

Thanks for reading!

Categories
I Work Out Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

Discipline-ish

Discipline. I need it. You need it. We all need it. And we all have some degree of it. And in an illustration of irony, I’ve wanted to blog about it for a minute; buuuuut just haven’t quite had the self-regulation to get it done. The cursor flashes at me; taunting, “What do you know about discipline?” You’re right cursor. There’s plenty of room for improvement for me on this one.

Anybody can do things when they’re easy. Maybe it’s new and exciting and so it doesn’t take much get you moving towards your goal. But then,…those damn walls and changing circumstances. That’s when you really get the benefit of being tested. Stolen internet quote of the week: good sailors are not made on calm seas. It’s not until things become inordinately difficult that we learn whether or not we have the needed amount of discipline. We have to be faced with the decisions about satisfying the “what you want now” vs. “what you want the most” to know how much restraint we have.

I could be wrong, but I thoroughly believe that discipline is a transferrable skill. Once a person develops those intrinsic means of self-discipline in one area; they are able to apply those skills to new goals. In looking at people who’ve accomplished pretty cool shit; they have a tendency to complete other pretty cool shit. Like the doctors and lawyers who are also black belts. Or the people in addiction recovery who now run marathons.

I very much do want to be more disciplined. I even read a book to learn more; the one by the writing guy/navy seal guy Jocko Willink. The book was a fun read. Each chapter charged with enough oomph and motivation that it felt like caffeine to the jugular. I would read and be like “YEA!!!!! That makes perfect sense! But also, ….now I kinda need a nap.” A theme that was a new to my undercooked brain was “discipline equals freedom.” It was counterintuitive. In general, I think of discipline as restrictive. But the words that my brain could only read in a yell made sense.

My interpretation was probably too social-workie, but how I understood it was that we learn where the boundaries are. Then it’s up to us to charge full steam towards them and get them to move. Test, and then be tested again. See how much progress we can make. What we can’t tolerate today; if we work at, maybe we can do tomorrow. There’s a great picture lots of us have probably seen with the horse obediently remaining tied to a plastic chair. The horse could totally shred the chair and get away, but in it’s horse brain, that chair is a limit they can’t surpass.

All our proverbial plastic chairs are different. But we can operate in the freedom of knowing that we are in control of how we react to the limits. (She said as she headed to the gym knowing it’s questionable if she’ll squat below parallel bwah ha!)

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Personal Growth (or not) Social Worky

FUCK

Rose: “Crystal. What was that word you used yesterday?”

Me: “Was it ‘fuck’?”

“Well, you used that one, but the other word…?”

“Court-diversion” was the answer she was going for. I knew without doubt that my previous day had the queen mother of all dirty words. The “F-dash-dash-dash.” (fake bonus points awarded to anyone who knows that quote.)

I say fuck too much. I’m not sure how it started. Maybe I thought I would sound cool or tough. Or maybe I thought that it would make people think I’m outgoing, or whatever thoughts it caused in their head. But regardless of how it started, it took on a purposeful life of it’s own.

It’s become my filler word. Where someone with a fully functioning brain may say “uhhhhh,” my twisted self will insert “fuuuuuukin.”

There’s been times over the years when I’ve been more potty mouthed than others. When we had the classic young child saying the bad word at school, the teacher said it wasn’t a big deal. “Lots of kids hear their dads talk like that.” I could’ve corrected her, but I didn’t.

I was able to pass for a number of years, mostly swearing like a sailor on the down-low. But recently it seems to be getting brazenly worse. It’s like “fuck” is my emotional support word for those days/weeks when I feel like I’m stuck between losing my mind and finding my soul. (another stolen internet quote).

It’s the word that flows so freely when injustice hits people who are important to me. Their situation doesn’t improve by me using so much profanity. I know that. But since my passion runs in the red pretty often on the daily, it seems like cussing is all that’s left to add oomph to my expressions.

TWICE in the last week I’ve said that word in the presence of someone who really doesn’t deserve to hear it. Our dear, sweet, revered director has the ability to get some serious shit done; completely without the use of potty words. She is to child welfare what Will Smith is to rap.

TWICE!

Teapot Tara tried to prevent the second f bomb by “subtly” calling out in a voice way louder and high pitched than her regular “OH!  HI!! NANCY!!!!” It could’ve worked. But I tattled on myself. “You didn’t have to tell her” offered Teapot. “I’m Catholic” was my response. Tara and Nancy nodded with full knowing that yea, yea I did have to tell on myself. ‘Tis the Catholic code.

Problems can’t be fixed until they’re fully identified. So I asked young Dirty, “When I say ‘fuck’ does it sound like a mom saying it? Or does it sound like some fake forced word?” “I don’t know. You say it a lot.”

So boom. There it is. I’ve identified that it is a problem. It’s a problem I hope to correct. It’s not very ladylike, grown-up, or professional. Please be patient with me as I try to eliminate my sentence enhancer. I may explode from managing my least favorite f word (feelings) without the help of my most favorite f word.

But make no mistake, just because the volume of the communication changes; imma be still just as passionate.

Thanks for reading!

Categories
Blogolicious Social Worky

Social Work Appreciation

As I stood in line waiting to buy 100 tortillas for the social work appreciation breakfast, I had some time to contemplate the universe.

In a perfect world, child welfare social work wouldn’t exist. We’d all be clamoring for some real jobs because kids would have safety, permanency, and well-being without government intervention. That’s not the reality though.

People are pulled to social work. Every worker I know possesses the intelligence and skills to make an easier living. But they don’t. Everyone has their own reasons for doing the job. Some may have experience in the system. Some may have been those weirdos who as a child felt bad for the toys of theirs that didn’t get played with as much as others (eyeroll…it’s me). Some are drawn by the fascination with human behavior. Some want to fight the system from within. Nonetheless, all want to make the world a better place for someone.

There are variances as to what “better place” means, and how to work through “who’s place should be better” in a world of competing priorities. And then there’s those complications of system limitations and good ol’ client right to self-determination. For those non social workers, client right to self determination is best summed with the classic joke: how many social workers does it take to change a lightbulb? One, but the lightbulb has to WANT to change.

Social work is caught between camps that think, 1)we don’t do enough and 2)we do too much.

There’s a  new Netflix documentary right now about a child who was beaten to death by his mother and her boyfriend. 4 social workers were charged criminally for their role in his death. The Trials of Gabriel Fernandez is 6 hours of looking back on a horriific tragedy and trying to assign blame to someone other than the monsters who committed the acts. I’d love to think that it could have been prevented, but I also know that decisions are made hundreds of times a day in which the full impact won’t be known until the story stops somehow. Sometimes our help doesn’t help. We use tools at our disposal and shared decision making in an effort to prevent tragedy, but fully predicting human behavior does not exist. Sometimes, bad things happen despite the very best efforts. The show has caused feelings and conversations filled with critical thinking.

In ironic contrast to the position of the Netflix show, some kindly gentleman set up camp in front of our office to educate the public his belief that child welfare agencies are over involved. Just a little glimpse in to how hard it can be to find the perfect middle ground in intervention.

The external pressures and queries pale in comparison to the pressure the workers put on themselves.

Some social work decisions end up amazing. Others end up with an unofficial jury of your peers passing judgment on them. Others still end in bad things happening. Many end up with some version of okay. The yuck of it is, most decisions can land anywhere on that scale, and the social worker has no idea at the time.

Social workers want nothing more than to do the right thing. And when that’s not clear, or isn’t going to happen, it can be very hard.

God bless their people and pets for being there for them during tough times. They didn’t chose the social work life, but they still deal with the consequences.

if we were really fair, we’d include support pets and people in the hiring process. “Fluffy, what are your thoughts on having your human come home inexplicably crying and not meeting your cat needs as quickly as you’d like?” “Billy, sometimes mom is going to come home from work and hug you a really long time for reasons that aren’t yours to know. How will you deal with that?”  “What are you going to say when your husband tells people he’s a social worker and people at the barbeque suddenly act different toward you all?”

We don’t do that though. (Thank goodness, because I could never interview a cat. The last one I met bitch slapped me for trying to pet it like a dog. I didn’t know!). But, we do try to support each other. We try to honor the families that we serve by giving them our best work. And once a year we over eat breakfast burritos to commemorate the decision that we make every day to wake up and be a social worker.