other days, like today, this is me.
I know… it’s tacky to post a picture crying, boo hoo, so I had a bad day. Yes, yes I did. And I would like to utilize this moment by shining a light on a topic many other professionals ignore. Vicarious trauma.
If you’ve read Hollow Company or heard about it, you likely know I have extreme trauma from domestic violence. I have CPTSD, Depression, and Anxiety. Like many others, my mental health is not linear. I do my best to maintain it with self care, medication, therapy and support from others. But I’m only human.
I’m also a social worker. Every day we meet families who are likely having their worst day ever. They’re at their most vulnerable and lowest moments. As a result we are screamed at, cussed at, and sometimes threatened. We hear true stories that will send a shiver down your spine, and a tear to your eye. Mostly from the mouths of babes.
My job is not easy. My best days, still aren’t good days. Sure we have little wins, but they can be few and far between.
Have you ever had a terrible day at work? Probably. Shit, I have at every job I’ve held. But the type of stress I deal with as a social worker is so much more than I could’ve imagined.
I toss and turn at night thinking of other peoples children. Wondering how a child is coping after I had to make a plan for them. Wondering if that victim is safe from their abuser. Wondering how our new case will react when we come knocking. Should we bring the police? Will that just escalate them? So many thoughts… questions… worries.
I was so excited to become a social worker. To help people. But I never thought about how it might hurt me in the process. Society often sees givers as people with unlimited cups to pour from. Truth is, many of us are empty. I am bone dry.
I know I’m a hard worker and talented in my field. I go in early, stay late, help others workers, and get my tasks in on time. But days like today, I don’t feel as good.
I hate that my trauma, the trauma HE CAUSED, is still haunting me. I hate that I have to put my foot down and refuse to take a case similar to my own. One that I know will throw me over the edge. So why do I feel so bad about it? About creating professional boundaries?
I have taken a case in the past that I knew I shouldn’t have, and it effected my mental health, my relationship… my whole life. One case. I was in the best place mentally before taking it, and within 30 days I was unstable. I’m finally getting back to myself, and I refuseeee to go back to that dark place. No job is worth that. What is the point in being in therapy to process and heal my trauma, if I’m just by absorbing someone else’s in the mean time?
This isn’t just hearing others sad stories and letting it getting me down. That’s fine, that’s a normalllll reaction. But when I’m living life and feeling like I’m going through what you are, day in and day out? No thank you. I served my time in that frame of mind, and I am O-U-T, out, out, out.
My job has affected my appetite, my mood, my appearance, and my desire to enjoy daily activities. It’s contributed to memory loss, extreme worry, paranoia. It’s caused anger, nightmares and excruciating fear that HE is still going to hurt me. I could continue. The wounds from my story which had began to heal, feel so, fresh.
Moments that were becoming a distant memory, had been pulled at hyper speed from my brain.
How could it not feel fresh? Moments that were becoming a distant memory, had been pulled at hyper speed from my brain. Because what she is living, I too lived. I don’t just hear her pain, I fucking feel it. It’s a fresh reminder that evil people are out there, everywhere. And so, I feel I’m back at square one. And I have fought too hard for my life, to be back at the beginning.
I spent over an hour, sobbing. I’d get my composure for a moment, just to start over. I had to pull over driving. I laid for a while with my dogs in the yard, staring blankly at the clouds while they moved. Tears streaming down my face. My phone rang, and I was a blubbering mess as I told my husband “it’s too hard. I can’t do it. I won’t do it.” I pulled myself together before he and my son arrived home. And when they did, I hugged that little man harder than ever, smiling ear to ear. Then we cooked dinner, just a boy and his momma. The highlight of my day.
Burnout is real, and it’s rarely acknowledged. Turnover rates in my field are insane, and in my opinion can often be avoided. If we know certain fields have these issues, why aren’t we doing more to prevent it? Many people who resign don’t want to, but are in a mental state they feel forced to. Why aren’t we listening to our workers when they repeatedly say something is too much, and then act shocked when they resign?
My advice. Advocate for yourself. Sometimes they will take it into consideration, and sometimes they won’t. But just like the clients I serve, my mental health is important.
Hollow Company: A Memoir of Survival 