Well, Duh
Have you ever made a discovery about yourself that, once having discovered it, seems so bloody obvious that you even feel a little silly about it?
I've known for some time that I have the tendency to get into relationships in which I bear the bulk of the responsibility for the relationship itself. In other words, I do all the talking, feeling, consoling, cajoling -- I do all the relating because my beloved of that moment is so guarded, reticent, angst-ridden, or whatever else his bag might be that if I didn't do all the relating, we wouldn't be a couple so much as two people just sharing a newspaper. Not to worry, though. I've long since come to the conclusion that I don't want to have to work that hard for the privilege of giving up first dibs on the crossword, and my personal relationships reflect this feat of self-knowledge.
I bring it up because it only just recently occurred to me that my professional life more or less requires that I engage in the very same relational habits at work that I've banished at home. Take Andy, for example. Remember Andy? Wordless pacing guy? Well, Andy finally got his state hospital bed. With some luck, it'll be a step toward home and a return to some kind of functioning. I felt a little like I imagine a mother feels when she sends her kid off on his first day of school: some mixture of excitement, sadness, pride and fear. I think Andy was just relieved to be getting a new hallway to pace. I helped him get some of his things together and wished him luck and good care. He nodded and asked for an envelope. I got a feeling of deja vu.
As a therapist, as a social worker in particular, I'm trained to think about mutuality in the therapeutic relationship, about subverting the authority inherent in being the one with the license. Power with, not power over and all that. That's all well and good, but postmodern rhetoric isn't going to get me very far with an inpatient population of decompensated schizophrenics. Sure, I've always got an eye on enhancing self-efficacy, but these relationships are anything but mutual. A guy like Andy's got so much chaos in his head that he needs cues from other people to figure out how to respond to the world. He needs a cheerleader and a coach, and I get a lot of satisfaction out of being able to do that for people like him.
The only thing that's surprising about any of this is that it took me so long to see that the pattern. And I have to admit to feeling a little dim-witted for not having seen it sooner. Why, it's just as plain as the nose on my face.
I suppose I've hidden this from myself for the obvious reason: I don't really want to have to ask myself if I've made a healthy adaptation, or if I've just transferred the pathology from one area of my life to another. I think for now I'll take the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" approach and just call it an interesting observation.
Ciao,
Madeline
posted by Francesca @ 12:11 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
I think that there are a lot of reasons that working in this field is wonderful for some of us, and awful for others, and I think what you say is part of that.
When you study psychology and mental health, they usually teach it to you as if it's a science; and certainly a fair amount of it is. But when you come into contact with patients, it's also about who you are, and I think that makes it as much an art as it is a science.
Me, I love that. I love that both sides matter.
It didn't take long, out of school, to understand that it's a myth that only people who have their shit totally together can do this work. That was a major relief, trust me. It's even better when I see that some of the stuff that could get underfoot in my life can work for me on the job.
My social life has involved some trainwrecks; let's say, some ... difficult women, with resultant whiplash of the heart on my part. Nothing I feel very bad about, but enough give me an interesting story or two. Now, I find myself working very comfortably with an inpatient group of women.
It can be tricky; I'm a male working on a ward full of women. The estrogen alone can make me crabby every month. But it has been four years, now, and it's generally been a good experience, both for me, and, I hope, for them. At least, for the most part, they trust me, and believe I'm working to keep them safe and help them work to get better. And that's no small thing.
On my first shift, there, I took a group of them out for a smoke break. One of them looks at me, and asks, "So, how's it feel to be out with six crazy women?"
"Well, it's more efficient than college," I said. "Then, I did it one at a time." I'm smug about being able to come up with that quip on the spot, but I also think of it as the start of a working arrangement with people who don't always have much reason to trust men. I like them, with occasional exceptions, and I hope that the fact that they can see that helps the work.
And I've noticed something. I've noticed that whatever lingering part of me has this wish to help women who don't really know how to take care of themselves ... that part of me gets to do it where it can be channeled into something useful. And, because it's not my personal life, I don't seem to get tangled up in my own stuff. That's not as simple or as easy as I make it sound, but if you work in this field, and you've thought about yourself, as you have, M, you probably know what I mean. Hope so, anyway. So, when I run into it away from work, I don't get pulled in. Or I haven't so far. And, like you, I keep learning things about myself. I love that.
I don't need crazy at home; I gave at the office.
Post a Comment
<< Home