As I began
Tina's story, I was prepared for the worst. Our professor had informed us that
we could expect moments in the chapter that could potentially bring us to
tears. Given how much of a cry-baby I can be —as proven by my innate ability to get choked up in the most cliche
moments of popular rom-coms —I locked myself in my room,
snuggled up in bed, opened up my book, and got myself mentally prepared for the
feels trip that was sure to come.
What I had not
anticipated, however, was how relatable Perry's stories would be, and it was an
unexpectedly refreshing discovery. A year ago I started working at a
residential treatment center called Helping Hand Home, and although I'm
currently comfortable and confident in the work that I do, I initially had my
doubts. I remember questioning my decision to apply at Helping Hand numerous
times and wondered what difference I could possibly make in changing the life
of a child who had perhaps been sexually abused and neglected. I mean, I
panic and absolutely lose my cool by the mere sight of a bee out by my yard
because I was stung as a kid, and these children I was seeing and working with
every day were dealing with traumatic experiences that make anything I have
ever dealt with a walk in the park.
At one point,
Perry questions how — in one-hour
sessions — he could possibly
change behaviors that have formed from years of experiences. And even now
as I consider what my future as a social worker might look like, I
find it difficult to imagine how meeting with a client for such a short
period of time can be significantly beneficial. As I type this it almost
sounds absurd to me that this is something I even question still, because how
many times have I not benefited from an hour of counseling? And how many
times was I not told by individuals at my internship that they were grateful
for the opportunity to meet with me, and others like me, on a weekly basis?
The work we do makes a difference, but sometimes I have to
remind myself of it. Knowing that someone like Bruce Perry felt
something similar even for just that moment was a warm reminder of the fact.
Something else
that resonated with me was when Perry detailed how conflicted he felt in
deciding whether or not it was appropriate to offer Tina and her family a ride
home. I think about the code of ethics that we are regularly reminded to
follow but at the same time can't help but think that sometimes there have
to be exceptions to the rules we are told to adhere to. Personally, I
didn't initially see anything wrong with Perry offering a ride to Tina. It was
late. It was cold. It was only right. But then I realized that I didn't
feel the same about his decision to walk into the apartment with the groceries.
I started to wonder where the line should be drawn in these situations and
about how the line itself can be a blurry one. Maybe the lines
should be entirely avoided because of this. Maybe attempts to do the
"right thing" can be misconstrued and result in the loss of trust of
a client. What if Tina had been frightened by Perry's attempts to help her and
she had never returned to him? I feel that these are things I always have
to be mindful of when approaching similar situations, especially since the
consequences of something that I might have considered to be harmless might in
fact be truly harmful.
Recounting your work at Helping Hand Home and how you've grown to be more comfortable working with your clients over time – clients who, as you say, have experienced significant trauma – reminds me of my own experiences with my clients and patients. I hadn't really thought about my own work in relation to the work Dr. Perry did with Tina until you mentioned it, but now that I'm thinking about it, some interesting things come up. Most recently I worked in an inpatient psychiatric hospital – primarily with adults, but also with children as young as four or five and teens as old as 18, and everything in between. Sexual abuse was a common theme, as was neglect, poverty, and drug use. When it comes to acuity, this is pretty much the pinnacle. But with adults, this never phased me. I could see their improvement on a daily basis, and at no point, even with the most intensely acute, chronic adult patients, did I ever feel like my patients were leaving the hospital without something. With kids, though, it's a different story – especially the very young ones, like Tina. There were plenty of moments with kids and adolescents when I had to ask myself, “What am I even doing here? Is any of this making a difference at all?” And that's a jarring thing to feel. I can see where Dr. Perry is coming from, in some ways, though I think with a more modern understanding of trauma I am perhaps better equipped to handle these cases than he was at the time. Even so, it is, and probably always will be, a daunting task to treat a sexually abused five-year-old.
ReplyDeleteHelping Hand Home colored my experiences as well while reading this chapter. I think it’s really wonderful that you bring in your own personally experiences with weekly therapy to help support how that amount of time is still effective. I tend to forget to reflect on my own experiences apart from the ones those kiddos had in which an hour a week would not have sufficed.
ReplyDeleteI think it’s interesting that you draw the line at groceries and walking into the apartment. I can definitely see how a ride seems very small to those things, and how that ride snowballed a tad. But had we not been in the social worker roll, what he did would’ve been considered a nice thing to do. As a social worker it was still a nice thing to do, and morally right, but I am unsure of what the boundaries he crossed repercussions were/could have been. I had not considered if Tina or her mother could’ve been frightened by his offer of help, and his crossing of boundaries. After thinking on it, I realized the mother could have just said she needed to go to the grocery store as a polite “out” to the situation.