Comfortably Numb

Tsunamis.  Katrina.  Earthquakes.  Haiti.  More tsunamis.  Now another hurricane is set to hit Louisiana.  And it's not fair.  That region has not yet begun to recover, and now they are trying to prepare for more.

And you know what?  It's bringing out something in me that I'm not proud of.

I can't bring myself to care.

I just can't dwell on it.  I can't.  I avoid the news to avoid hearing about it.  I might say a general prayer for people around the world in harm's way, but I can't even bring myself to pray directly for these big disasters.  I don't know what I'm afraid of.  I can't think about what those people are going through, I can just barely acknowledge that there is some big disaster going on and that lives are going to be turned upside down.

What is wrong with me??  I've formed the beginnings of an entire career around caring about people who are hurting the most.  Why is it so hard to give some of my attention to these big disasters that affect so many?

Maybe it's a control thing.  In the jobs I've had, I may not have ultimate control over the outcome of anything, but at least I can do things to directly impact a hopefully more favorable outcome.  

These big disasters just seem insurmountable.  I feel powerless to do anything about them.  So I cut myself off of caring about them, and it's awful.  When the tsunamis in Japan were happening, I was working in residential treatment for kids with mental illnesses.  I remember sitting in a classroom where the teacher was showing the kids video footage of the earthquakes and water rushing up from the ground.  I went to the bathroom like 3 times during that hour, not because I had to go, but because I just didn't even want to be in the same room as those videos playing.

Am I the only one?  Does anyone else avoid these things?  Or has anyone else experienced the same feeling I have, and found a way to get over it, to open themselves up to caring more?

Respect

Lately, I've been hearing a lot of degrading of others' personal views.  Mostly on facebook, where of course it is easier to confront others.  My fiance calls this phenomenon "Keyboard rambo."  Ha.

Examples: posting cartoons and comics about why religion (usually Christianity) sucks.  Posting about how stupid all the "libs" are and how they are ruining the country.  Posting about how evil and heartless all the republicans are.  You could probably consider this statement as being a "keyboard rambo" myself, but so be it:  I think all of this is extremely childish.  It shows a simplistic understanding, at best, of another person's worldview, without any consideration that this may be something deeply held and treasured to the other person.

And I'm not just being sensitive about others attacking my own views.  I make it no secret that I'm Catholic, and I try to make it no secret (and I hope the way I live my life speaks for itself although  I'm not proud of everything I do) that I take that very seriously.  It is my foundation not only in my life, but in my career.  I have the Prayer of St. Francis tacked up in my cubicle and I meditate on it every time I anticipate a difficult meeting/session with a patient.  But I will defend the beauty in your own spiritual beliefs whether you are Protestant, Islam, Sikh, Zoroastrian, or anything else including having spiritual beliefs that are not tied to a specific religion.  If you ask me where I fall politically, well, that is a much longer conversation than just answering "conservative" or "liberal."  I may disagree with you on a particular topic or stance, but here's the thing:

I believe in the goodness in others.  I believe that even if what you advocate runs directly counter to what I advocate, it is coming from a good place, and you are following your conscience to the best of your ability.  If someone post something along the lines of "the libs do this" or "Christians are hateful because they xy and z", it makes me think that person is either simply reacting emotionally or hasn't really done their homework.

Some peoples' religious and political beliefs are so personally deeply held and cherished that if you are going to make a simplistic, derogatory, blanket statement about those beliefs, you may as well be insulting that person's significant other or parents or younger sibling.  How is that ever going to be a productive conversation?  You're going to get that much more resistance from them, and they are never going to want to see your side.  Or maybe that's the effect you're going for; maybe you want them to react that way so you can make a point about how you want to see them.

As a final note, I realize a lot of you have been hurt by something a particular belief or value system has done, and you have every right to be angry.  Just please be aware of how you could be hurting someone by cutting them down rather than trying to understand them.

Vicarious (aka Secondary) Trauma

Anyone ever have something pop up in their memory a bunch of times within a short span?  I keep thinking about a particular incident, and since I naturally have a lot of friends who've done similar work as I have, I felt that this was an important thing to check in on.  Also, if it kept popping up in my mind, it may be for a reason.

So this memory is from about 3 years ago.  It was within my last few weeks living in Corvallis before grad school.

One thing my Corvallis/college/Dixon Lodge/Blue House friends and I loved to do sometimes as cheap entertainment was take a walk out to the Covered Bridge.  The Covered Bridge is, well, a covered bridge that spans a creek that runs across a path through an agricultural area of Oregon State University's campus.  It is a peaceful spot at night to go out and watch stars.  Not to say that you won't likely encounter a couple other people, but it stays fairly quiet.

Well, both Chris and I were moving away from Corvallis at roughly the same time (within a week of one another) so he, Caitlin and I decided to go for one last Covered Bridge walk (sniff sniff..those were good times!).

I was working in Child Welfare at that time, and my first go-round with Child Welfare was a little rough.  I wasn't as fast a learner as my first supervisor had hoped, and I went through a period where my future there was a little uncertain.  I made it through that period, but a combination of some lingering concern about that due to some conflicting communication styles between my supervisor and I, and the nature of the work itself, had an impact on me and to some degree on my functioning.

So we were walking along this path, which is pretty sparsely lit, just talking and having a great time.  Since we always just kind of strolled along and enjoyed ourselves, it was pretty common for someone who was out for a workout to pass us from behind.  This happened this time, a man was on a jog and passed us as he got close to us.  But for some reason, that one time, it triggered something really odd in me...it startled me so badly that before I had a chance to even realize I'd been startled, I was suddenly on the ground, protecting my head with my hands, screaming bloody murder.

That poor guy...

Anyway, once I realized what happened, I looked up at Chris and Caitlin, who paused briefly to look puzzled before bending over in gut-splitting laughter.  I cracked up too, because the whole situation was (and is!) pretty comical.  But my heart was still racing. 

It is only now,  few years later, that I can recognize this as a sign of Vicarious (or Secondary) Trauma, hereby shortened to VT.

VT is something that occurs to some people who work in helping professions.  One thing it is not is having a trauma reaction to seeing something or hearing something specific: that is actual trauma.  VT can have some similar symptoms to trauma, but it is not the effect of any one thing.  Instead, it is a reaction to an accumulation of being witness to others' suffering.  It happens especially when you feel a responsibility to have a positive impact on others' suffering, and even more so when you feel hopeless or powerless to do so. (One of the best explanations I have read on VT: http://headington-institute.org/Default.aspx?tabid=2648 )

Several months before, I remember feeling really weird about life.  Maybe a little anxious, not exactly numb, and I wasn't depressed, but something had just felt "off" for awhile.  I tried to explain this sensation to a great friend/co-worker.  I had mentioned that something felt "off" and she tried to help me un-pack it, but I couldn't really even talk about it because I didn't fully understand it.  In retrospect, I saw the lives of lots of my clients crumbling and felt partially responsible...which made me feel guilty.  I also just felt really sad about all the suffering I was seeing.  In a word (or two): Vicarious Trauma.

Now, I had heard of Vicarious Trauma before I experienced this, and I knew a little about it.  But I didn't know enough about it to know that's what I was going through, and I certainly didn't have the words to talk about it.  I think if I did, that would have helped.

Instead, I got a little untrusting and easily irritated for a period of time.  (This also happened to be the period of time in which my now-fiance and I were getting to know one another.  Lucky for me he stuck around to get to the better part!)

I had a break from this all when I went to grad school, but after a few months of being back into Child Welfare, I started feeling that way again.  Armed with at least the knowledge that I shouldn't feel that way, I began seeing a counselor.  She was good for me and a calming force, but she started exploring the concept of attention deficit with me.  I thought this was interesting, and that it might help account for some of my disorganization, but I ran it by a couple of people who have known me since I was a kid, and they said they never would have thought that about me.  So it made me really question that, since attention deficit isn't known for having an adult-onset type.

Really, what it boiled down to was leftover VT from working Child Welfare previously.  And once I realized that, I was able to process it...which in turn reduced my work-related anxiety, and helped me be much more productive.

Now, I want to say that I do not tell this story as a "poor me, look what I've been through, show me pity" thing.  I wouldn't trade my life for anyone's.  I've had it easier than anyone I know, and I could fill 100 pages with blessings for every page I could fill with hardships about my life.  I am telling it because if there is someone else out there who has felt this way...you are not alone.  It's a pretty normal reaction to working in any sort of helping profession, and you should talk to someone you trust.  And you are welcome to talk to me.

Switch to a more political/philosophical topic

I believe in privilege and power and the role it plays in our lives.

I was talking today to someone who thinks completely opposite of me.  Which is a valid position to hold, even though I disagree with it, but it fascinates me how something that I see everywhere--some see nowhere.

Are our lives a product of our decisions?  Well, yes, but the decisions we make depend on what choices are available to us.  And if you ask me, there is a VAST variety of the range of peoples' choices.

For instance--I am white.  I am German, French, Dutch, Belgian, and maybe just a little Scotch.  Therefore, I can easily ignore race.  In this country, especially in my little corner of it, if somebody is not white and only white, race is not something they can ignore.  Being not white makes them "different" or "other" and they are confronted with it on a daily basis.

Because I work in such a freakishly un-diverse county, poverty is something that plays a huge role in the differences between people.  The amount of money someone has contributes so much to his or her power, status, and privilege.

For instance--we all make better choices in life when we are not stressed out.  But if you don't know where the next meal is coming from for you and your kids, and you are a single mother, you might latch on to a man--ANY MAN--who can help you get non-negotiable necessities.  You might even think you are being a good, resourceful parent for doing so.  And you may not have the resources to check what his background is like.  Once you start adding in factors such as addiction, having been neglected or abused or molested in your own childhood...well, unless you've been there you probably can't imagine what it is like to try to make all the right decisions for your family while everything is all muddled.  On top of that, let's say you have a state agency on top of you telling that you are doing things wrong and you better shape up or else your kids will get taken from you...how do you not just blow a gasket?  Have a psychotic break?

And here's the question I perpetually struggle with--If I, the holder of privilege and power, am charged with helping 15+ families recover from these kinds of situations, and have 40 hours per week to do so, where the heck do I draw the boundaries??  I can't get enough work done in 40 hours to be considered social justice.  But the state doesn't want to pay us overtime anymore, and I also don't want to work for free.  But should I, in the name of social justice?  Where does my work end and I begin?  How do people in positions of power who want to affect social justice in an overworked system manage?

Purpose

So I started this intending to get more political, and it will come, but the things I tend to be mulling lately are more spiritual in nature.  And religion is also considered to be an impolite dinner topic, so we're gonna go with it.

People who know me know that my job causes me a significant amount of anxiety.  I'm always worrying that I'm not doing enough to help my clients, or please the judge or the attorneys or the review board or the special advocate or the foster parents or...

But...I'd be lying if I said my job didn't bring me a certain sense of satisfaction.  This is not to say that I want to be in this job forever, but it is in my target "field" of work, and sometimes I get to make a positive difference in someone's life, when I am not busy shuffling papers to make central office happy.  It is in keeping with what I feel is my vocation.

To that end, if I believe that my vocation is my calling, and that by following my calling I am doing the kind of work God wants me to do, I am worried about pleasing all the wrong people.  Yes, I need to do good work and follow what is expected of me so I can keep my job, but in the end, I answer to God.  I left my office tonight at 6:30, annoyed with the voicemails I had from people who were annoyed with me for not having returned their calls yet, and I thought to myself "Man, they think I'm neglecting them, I bet few of them are neglecting themselves the way I am."

Then I went on facebook.  A facebook friend had posted the following:

"I am a servant to my creator."

That said it all.  I may serve others, but it is all in the name of serving God.  I have to do the best work I can, but nobody is coming to my home to take care of me except me.  And if I let my job suck me dry, I have nothing to give my clients.  If all I can do on a 3 day weekend is lie around catatonic, and I still don't feel refreshed by the end of the weekend, somewhere I am getting my priorities wrong.

I pray that I can become a more effective caseworker by letting go a little more.

It's true, someone you admire WILL let you down.

Someone you look up to, trust, admire will someday let you down in a big way.  I've heard this before, I've felt it before, but this is probably the "biggest" incident of it I have ever experienced.

I found out last night that one of the supervisors I worked with in my first stint with Child Welfare has been charged by the federal government with child pornography.

I kind of can't think of anything more heinous.

You always think you'd get a creepy feeling about someone who would do something like that.  I didn't ever, ever, ever get a creepy feeling with this man.  I really thought of him as a sweet old grandfatherly type.

You just never know, and right now, I don't know what that means.  Do I just live my life, hoping that most of the time I would "know" if someone I knew was doing something like this?  Should I become hypervigilant?  I mean, probably not.  I was probably never personally going to find out anything about this guy that was going to bring his crime to light.

I guess for me, it brings home something that I thought about often in high school.  Role models are there for us to show us something about God.  (At least, in the way I practice my own spirituality).  Role models are not there to BE God, and if we put them on a pedestal, they are going to let us down simply by not being perfect.

The Parable of my Own Life

It was Christmas Eve, 2002.  I had graduated from high school a few months earlier, and unlike almost all of my close friends (who went on to major universities) I had stayed home and begun my college career at Chemeketa Community College.  I had honestly loved high school and had feared leaving it behind, but was unprepared for how lonely I would feel during this stage of my life.  I had hated my first quarter of college, and was only temporarily boosted during Christmas Break by the return of many good friends.  Community College just didn’t seem to be a place to meet people, let alone something I’d had briefly during my sophomore year of high school, and badly wanted to find again.  Sigh.  A boyfriend. 

At this stage in my life, I have spent a lot of time thinking about why I was so single for so long, and have come to a complex and intertwining variety of reasons.  But I was a young 18 years old and took it oh so very personally.

I attended Midnight Mass at St. Mary’s with my two brothers.  I sat between them in the pew, and sadly watched as both of them got called on to be a part of the almost comically enormous Midnight Mass altar serving corps.  In a time in my life where I felt very alone anyway, it felt devastating to be at Midnight Mass alone.  As I knelt to pray before mass started, I bit my lip hard to keep from crying.  I prayed so hard to not feel this alone forever, and all of the sudden, I felt a sort of warmth in my body, beginning in my scalp and spreading quickly through my torso and limbs.  It sounds so cheesy and unreal, but I swear it’s how I experienced it.  It was this huge comfort, as if Jesus was saying “I’m here.  That’s what today is all about.  I came here to be with you, to walk with you.”  And as I let myself be comforted by that feeling, I looked around me and realized that I knew many people there, and that the church was filling fast.  I may have attended alone, but I was far from being alone that night.

As the years passed by, I felt very close to the Christ Child during Christmas, and have made it a point to go to Midnight Mass every year.  Up until 2009 (more on that later) there wasn’t a Christmas/Advent season that felt devoid of that loneliness (specifically of being STILL single), but there was ALWAYS comfort in Midnight Mass.

I got to thinking today how wonderfully symbolic that is, and how it fits in so perfectly with the love story that is still being written as we speak.  I love to imagine that God often creates on a micro level in my life what he has created on a macro level with his plan for the world and for salvation.  And maybe it’s true…I think those who have similar beliefs to me would have little trouble in seeing it that way.

The Israelites waited many generations spanning thousands of years for the arrival of their Messiah.  They wandered through the desert, were persecuted by other nations, and many probably, frankly, started to wonder if He was ever going to show up.  And when He finally did, it didn’t even seem believable.  A baby?  And where?  Born to whom?  This wasn’t exactly the mighty leader they had been looking for.  But through the years and centuries, He was revealed to be more amazing than anything they could have dreamed up.  When speaking of Sacrifice, many Christians think of the Good Friday story, but until a few years ago, my attention had not been drawn to the Sacrifice of the Christmas Story.

Before Jesus came to earth, we can assume that Heaven was his home.  Don’t get me wrong, I think the Earth is an amazing place with resounding beauty.  But it is no heaven.  It meant Jesus was far away from the Father and the Holy Spirit.  And of course there were the pieces of poverty and persecution.  But he chose this fate, because he chose us.  He chose me.  He wanted to come and walk among us.

Which leads me to Christmas 2008.  I thought I was doing well.  I steeled myself against what I had come to dub “The Christmas Lonelies.”  I was helping a friend through a very difficult time and didn’t want to be self-pitying.  I also had many loving and fun friends and family members around me and just said to myself “don’t pout.”  I invited the Christ Child into my worship during Christmas Eve Mass, but invited him in as joy rather than as comfort.   But maybe this was prideful of me.  Maybe I wanted the comfort.  Maybe I needed the comfort.  Because on the 26^th, we celebrated Christmas with my grandmother.  She is very generous in giving gifts, and puts a lot of thought and heart into what she gives.  But this particular Christmas she gave me something that sent me almost immediately to tears.  She gave me a rose vase she found in an antique shop.  I opened it and smiled thinking that even though it didn’t really fit with the décor of my apartment, it was pretty and I appreciated it.  I thanked her and she said “Well I just saw it and thought maybe somebody would be sending you flowers sometime soon.”  I found an excuse to leave 15 minutes after that, because the first thought in my head was “other than a short high school thing and a short dysfunctional on again off again college thing, I’ve never had anyone that wants to give me flowers.  I have no reason to think anyone will want to anytime soon…or ever.”

There began a relatively short bout of being convinced that my love life was going nowhere, and I should start thinking about what else I wanted to do with my life because nobody would ever want to be with me or marry me.  It sounds so melodramatic now, but it was honestly what I felt and believed at the time, and couldn’t even confide it aloud to my best friend.

Ironically, it was less than a week and a half later that things started up with Zach.  At first, I felt probably pretty similar to the way the Israelites felt about the Messiah being born a baby in a barn.  “That’s sweet and all, but really, he lives far away and this is going nowhere.”  Slowly, very slowly, a bigger plan was revealed, and ultimately Zach made a pretty sizeable sacrifice to be able to come and walk with me, too.

I love the way God can use the parables of our own lives to tell us about His great love for us.