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Thursday, September 15, 2016

Ode to social work

I'm a social worker. I have been for over 40 years. It's tough work. For many social workers, it is front line work. The profession has many true first responders in it who show up in ER's, child abuse scenes, domestic violence, mental health and addiction crisis, family deaths, community disasters and so on. When the term first responder is used people think of police, fire and ambulance. Social workers don't drive around with lights and sirens. The work os often dangerous going into homes where safety can be quite uncertain or down back alleys to help those in the sex trade or trying to find their next fix.

Even those not on the front lines, will work with traumatized people day in and day out. It's the common denominator of the people we see.

Our clients also die. Suicide, overdose, murder as well as the tragedies of life on the streets all add up in the lives of our client experiences. None of us walk away unaffected. It is impossible.

The common risk is burnout or fatigue from vicarious trauma that comes from witnessing. Many approach the work thinking they are tough and can handle whatever comes along. It is a lie. Some get themselves promoted or transferred into positions where the exposure is less intense.  Most just engage in DAMN behaviour (Denial, Avoidance, Minimization, Numbing).

On the other hand, self care is a real need and meditation is part of that. Other things like diet, exercise, hobbies and interests and supportive relationships are also part of the menu. It is vital that we find the calm in work full of chaotic experiences.



Unwritting the Story


Unwriting the story of my life
is stepping back from the cliffs
where the vulnerable live

It is no longer being able to touch
the precious humanity of the abused
Whose bodies and minds carry the scars of the violence

To not be the witness of lives lost
at the hands of others
who have felled the blows or handed the drugs

It is to pull back from the child
who looks up unsure
which choice will be made, love or hurt

To let go of the tenderness so foreign
to the person whose home 
is the ground between two trees at river's edge

To stand back from the begger
who stands before the coffee shop
between stays at the hospital when the voices inside erupt

It is to know they all have come 
to live within the cells of my body
where homes have been made for all

The desperation and loneliness 
touch deeply
Many are gone as the evils have won

Some are blossoming 
as the new flowers of spring
showing the possibility of change

Too many get to the edge of hope
but lose their grip
falling back into the abyss

Evil has not been my only story
but I have touched evil often
such that it has walked with me too many days

I turn and there it is
humanity has no shortage 
of evil's presence

My body after years of walking with evil
bows down in pains
too long carried

Who now will be my witness
who now can carry the burdens
I no longer can shoulder 

Unwritting my memories 
is not to be done
new ones must be found

The pain and evil I have witnessed
must not be forgotten
as they are the very legacy that many seek to deny exist

If we are not the witness then who will be
it must be those willing to walk the pathway
I joined and must now leave

There was passion and joy
in my journey which has passed along
new joys new passions new pathways must surely await






© Peter Choate, 2016

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