A good lesson

So I've been seeing a counselor this semester, on campus, half to address the massive anxiety I have about my future (i.e., what do I do when I graduate and how do I not completely lose it with the stress?) and half to observe and learn more about therapy. I got matched with a man who, well, I would prefer not to see a man anyway, but also, I could, really, immediately, tell I wouldn't feel comfortable with.

But I'm stubborn, and had already waited 3 months to get to see someone, so I stuck with him once I knew he did a lot of work with cognitive-behavioral therapy. I knew that's what I needed, plus, I wanted to see an experienced clinician administering CBT.

I don't know why I ignore gut feelings. I'm pretty ridiculous about that.

I quickly grew tired of his style, and of CBT in general. But I stayed with it at least a month and a half. At our last session, something else came up (a discussion topic) that I wanted to pursue, and since I knew he also did a lot of interpersonal therapy work (another modality I wanted to see in action), I suggested that direction instead.

I have this idea that because I'm comfortable in general with therapy, it can be successful no matter who I work with. But I had to confront the fact that I really am growing more uncomfortable with him, to the point that I started to dread the appointment we have scheduled for next week.

It's not anything in particular (unless you count that I think he talks too much for a therapist, and sometimes I zone out and miss half of what he says), it's more about a personality fit between counselor and client that's just not working.

This is actually not something I've encountered as a therapist myself--probably because most of the families I see are mandated to see me due to community service, and they don't have much of a choice to see another counselor unless they are very difficult and I defer to my supervisor. The therapeutic relationship (though important) just isn't discussed (though maybe that's only through my failing to bring it up).

Something that does happen a lot, though, is that people will stop coming, not even returning my phone calls, and I don't know why. It doesn't keep me up at night, but closure is nice. And I think I now realize why it happens.

I don't particularly want to talk about it with my therapist. I should talk about it, but I don't feel like it. I just feel like stopping our sessions. So I called the center receptionist and cancelled my appointment. And my counselor called me back to reschedule.

I knew he would. I call my clients, too. Even if they say (as I didn't), "I'm ending my counseling. I'm not coming back."

I don't want to call him back and explain, because I can't even figure out why in the past week, I've gone from being somewhat committed to (though unenthused about) counseling to suddenly being unavoidably uncomfortable with the idea of returning. I just don't feel like dealing with it. I don't need closure, or termination, I just have other things to do with my time.

Yet, because I hate it when clients just stop communicating, I feel some responsibility to him to tell him why I'm terminating. So I know that I'll feel really guilty if I don't call him back.

But I don't want to talk to him! I don't want to feel guilty about someone else's feelings and I don't want that to push me to do something I don't want to. I'd lie and say something came up and I don't have time for it, as one friend suggested, but I know that I would, as a counselor, probably push some more to get my client back in session. And I don't want to go through that myself.

Ugh. I feel like an idiot being bothered by all this.

But it's a fantastic lesson on what my clients could potentially be struggling with as well. It gives me great perspective.

Personal growth

So I am a nonconfrontational person. People can sense that, I'm sure, which leads me to get disrespected and taken advantage of quite a bit. This typically happens in the very situations where I excel: being a social worker, in which I treat people with a great deal of respect (it's not as though I believe I am automatically accorded respect because of my position or whatnot. It's more that I expect respect given should be reciprocated by at least treating me like a human being). It's always odd to me, a shock to my system, to be awarded blatant disrespect at moments like that. I never know how to deal with it in the moment because I'm so surprised, thus I think people get away with a lot more than they should. It's often hard to address rudeness and disrespect when it seems like I've been accepting the treatment for a while--thus becoming the norm.

And I hate hate hate that this is the thing I am worried about. It strikes me as being an extremely negative, cynical, and perhaps even dangerous way to approach my work.

But I also hate my lack of assertiveness. I get seriously down on myself at times because of this (what I consider) personality "flaw." It occurs to me occasionally that my kind, gentle nature and willingness to believe the best of people should be an asset to social work! But I get hung up on the negatives.

However, I think I need to be easier on myself. Continual self-reflection, I suppose, is a good thing. And if I think more deeply about it, I guess I can see where I am taking steps towards changing (albeit small, but hey! Still growth!).

Evidenced by this: an instance of extreme rudeness, three or four consecutive interchanges where I could feel the anger emanating off of someone in waves, directed at me for a reason I couldn't fathom. Dealing with that--and her--made me feel like I was kicked in the stomach. I thought about the anxiety that would result in me addressing it, compared to the anxiety of not. I remembered in Alabama, how being treated like that without sticking up for myself would tear away at my self-esteem until I hated myself so much, I believed I was worthy of the awful treatment I received. So after the next instance of rudeness, I stopped, took a deep breath, and said, "You don't have to like me. You do have to respect me and the rules I have to uphold." It was not exactly the phrasing I had wanted, but still. I said something! I stood up for myself! And it led to a conversation that cleared the air and restored a relationship. I really do believe that this particular woman respects me more for speaking up than for cowering under her rudeness. Since then, I have felt more confident addressing necessary things with her when they come up.

It seems like a little thing, and for a lot of people, it probably is. But for me, wow. Huge. I was just so proud of myself! I never would have had the nerve to say anything like that in Alabama (aka, my first experience as a real social worker). I just have to remember that when I think I'm not growing and improving at all.

Finally

The past month and a half has been so stressful. I felt like I was suspended in limbo, waiting to hear back on internships, and it didn't even dawn on me until after that it took so long. My whole body was clenched tight the entire time.

And then I found out that none of them wanted me. What a big blow to my self-esteem. It seemed like a waste of an excuse, saying, "well, that's what happens when you apply for the most competitive ones." I started to mistrust my gut, which had told me at least two of the three interviews I went on were really fabulous. In fact, one of them, I just knew I nailed it. I went really quickly into the anger stage of grief with that one. How couldn't they pick me? They must not be the quality agency I thought, if they could turn down someone so obviously perfect for them.

Though I really hate it when people say, "everything happens for a reason," and I generally felt like punching Tim throughout the past six weeks when he did say that, now everything has fallen into place and has seemed like a lead-up for the internship I did finally get.

I think I had focused so heavily on the first three that I didn't allow room in my brain for not getting them, or for considering others. So when I had to, I felt like I was striking out blindly, just randomly picking places to look into because there's no getting around having to do a second-year internship. I randomly called a woman at the Evanston Police Department and she said, "I just offered the spot to someone yesterday. But I haven't heard from her yet. If she doesn't take it, I'll call you back." And an hour later she called me and we set up an interview. Then in the interview, they said, "What do you think of this place? Think about it and call us tomorrow." I wasn't sure, since I'm ignoring my gut right now, but that didn't sound like the other closers to interviews that I've heard lately, which is: "We'll let you know."

I might be back to trusting my instincts, though, because when I called back this morning and said, "I'm very interested in your placement. What's the next step?" the response was, "Well, you just accepted the internship!"

I'm not jumping up and down, I'm just chill. Which of course makes me think that this isn't the right thing for me. But maybe I just burnt out too much emotion with the earlier options, only to have them snatched from reach?

Throughout this whole process, I've been torn. Should I go back to working with adults, or stick with adolescents? I thought internships were for choosing your whim, and getting to do something you might not ever be able to be hired for, but it seemed like most of the places I interviewed needed me to choose firmly. I had so much adult experience, why did I want to/was qualified to work with teens, the youth services organization wanted to know. And with the adult counseling center, I thought, "Now I can get back to my first love, working with women," but felt a pang at the thought of no more teens.

I just couldn't decide, I couldn't pin myself down, and probably that's why, in the end, none of my first choices worked out. But in the end, I can't believe my luck.

I'm going to be working through the police department, with youths aged 12-15 and their families, primarily doing family therapy. What I didn't realize as I started the selection process earlier in the semester was how much I like working with families. Back then I had barely done any family work at the hospital, and now, a few families later, it's striking me as the most difficult, yet most interesting part of therapy. And this program I'll be in is a phenomenally progressive idea. Prevention and intervention work with youth and families in a police department? It really strikes me as working on change from within the system. I love that the police department is supportive of the idea, which really puts the focus on positive interaction between youth (potential) offenders and the police, rather than punitive, "afterwards" interaction. And there are no mandated clients. Everyone is there voluntarily.

Hmm . . . come to think of it, I am pretty damn excited about it! I can't wait for next fall!

Relaxation

Yesterday it was near 80. I went out to see the in-laws. After a big mistake of going to Brookfield Zoo (massively busy), we went to Portillo's, got cheeseburgers, fries, and malts, and sat in the backyard enjoying the weather. In addition to the delicious bad-for-me meal, I also got word that I scored an interview at a new internship placement this week.

Later, I took a movie up to the attic, turned on a fan, and laid down on the futon with a kitty, and blissed out. It didn't take very long for me to attempt to identify what was going on.

Relaxation? I felt perfectly at peace, restful, and relaxed.

In the evening, I made a birthday meal of grilled chicken pesto pasta for my sister-in-law, with coconut cupcakes for dessert--melted truffles drizzled over. Sauvignon blanc and lexia flowed freely. We ended the evening in the backyard again, where Tim lit a fire in the chiminia and we were hypnotized by the glowing coals.

I had almost forgotten what relaxation feels like.

I had many plans of working head on schoolwork, and a to-do list a mile long for this spring break. I think, though, that I need to just unwind and not worry about anything. God knows the stress lately has been fixing to kill me.

Stress

Maybe stress is so embedded in my life now that I fail to notice it affecting me. But Tim does, which led to a big meltdown and discussion last night. From what I was saying, he mentioned that a lot of the feelings I have towards school right now are ones I've told him I struggled with in the past, in school. It's horrifying to realize that, at thirty, I'm still working on the same insecurity issues I had at thirteen, sixteen, eighteen . . . Humiliating, too, for I thought I had grown up and become stronger.

The one social place I feel safe and comfortable in right now is the theatre, doing Gorey. Tim thinks it's because a lot of people escape to the arts to get external validation for their insecurity, but I don't want to be reduced to a simple (and slightly insulting) explanation. I think it's because I know the role through and through. It's not new to me, and I feel comfortable and confident that I can successfully do it. (That everyone likes me and appreciates me there is almost secondary to feeling confident about it.)

But as I say that, I realize that the shelter is also a safe haven for me, too. I know what I'm doing, and I can tell that I'm good at it. (This will be the sixth year that I've worked there.)

Which makes me fully realize how off balance I have been for the past three months. Thrust into so many new situations, which, no matter how much I think I enjoy them, still make me feel inexperienced, insecure, and just generally bad at what I do, since I don't swoop in and become immediately successful.

Not just job-wise, but also making friends.

It feels like almost everyone in my class is outgoing and gregarious. (Perhaps that's the typical nature of social worker, and I'm just an oddity.) And they naturally gravitate towards each other. I feel that my quiet nature works against me, and I'm losing the opportunity to make good friends.

That's not true, of course. I know a few classmates who value me quite a bit. But the stupid insecurity in me still thinks that's not enough. I guess I think that I am a pretty cool person, who does have a lot of interesting things to say, if given the chance. And that strikes me as confidence. Right?

Last day of work, and it was pretty overwhelming. One, for having to get everything wrapped up, no loose ends, and two, for the response everyone had to my departure. Usually a going away merits a departmental lunch, but mine included people from across the agency. And we went to Shogun, which is not particularly my favorite place to get sushi in the world, but considering all my co-workers used to wrinkle their nose at anything I brought in for my lunch, I thought it was a sweet gesture.

And a big basket of presents, some lovely and some well-intentioned. Somewhere in the middle of all of this--and then later my exit interview--it occurred to me that these people really liked me.

It's odd to be in a position like that. Does that sound strange? I guess I'm not used to people showing me that they like me. People are more effusive in the south.

I think I've been the obstinate, difficult sibling my whole life so I expect that people are always going to react to me in comparison to my sweet, personable sister. I guess it's pretty childish to still fall into that pattern of behavior. So maybe it was a pretty stupid realization to discover that I'm nice and sweet on my own, as an individual. But still, it was pretty cool.

I haven't really processed how I feel about work yet. I left no holds barred during my exit interview, and I left feeling slightly sick. Even though I feel like HR needs to know what's going on in my department, to actually say it all outloud feels like tattling, or gossiping. No matter how frustrated or upset I can get, to complain always makes me feel like a lesser, despicable person. And for the past two months, I've had a daily countdown, and then suddenly it's here, and over, and I emerged from the day with a throbbing headache and my body was racing like I had downed several shots of espresso.

I don't know. I feel like things are all rushed right now with ending work and getting the apartment packed up, and arranging things in Chicago so I'm not going to have the time to contemplate on my feelings about the job, and leaving it. Which means I'll probably never resolve the conflicting emotions I have/had about it. But I guess that's really the way most things go in life. One thing ends, another begins, and you're always moving forward.

From bad to worse

Work is really bad right now. It's a pretty toxic environment, and I can't wait to leave. You know the stereotype of Southerners being incredible sweet to your face while they're busy cutting you down? Almost everyone I know mentioned that to me when I first told them I was moving. Unfortunately, I work with one or two people who live up to that stereotype.

There is absolutely no trust in my workplace. There are now two people with whom I openly (but behind closed doors) discuss this, but not for one moment do I think they aren't talking amongst themselves about me and the things I might do that bothers them. It's not a great spot to be in, but occasionally, I reeeeeally need to vent.

I can't wait to get out of here. 16 more days.

I drink alone

Friday was the worst day of my work life thus far. It involved claims of suicidal tendancies, a very long wait at the emergency room, and a feeling of complete and utter helplessness. And it all happened in not just eight hours, but twelve. I actually cried when I was done. (No matter how upsetting or frustrating things get, I rarely cry at work.)

I left work at 8 p.m., having been too busy to eat lunch or dinner, and drove through wet streets that shone during flashes of lightning. (It was a dark and stormy night.) I didn't know what to do, where to go, how to process my day, and how to work up strength to return to work on Monday. I just knew I couldn't think about it.

I ended up at my favorite burrito lounge. Busy on a Friday night, there was only room at the bar, which is where I wanted to be.

I'm not entirely at ease--not at all, in fact--being alone at a bar. But I absolutely couldn't be with anyone at the moment, nor could I face going home.

I ordered a Corona, and hunched over the bar. It was awkward. For me, anyway. No doubt no one else in the bar and restaurant even gave a second thought to me, but I felt out of place and uneasy in my position. It helped to keep a hand on my beer, and soon I drained it. My brain slowed down and emptied. I started to feel blessedly numb. I stopped worrying about how I looked to others, and what they thought. I stopped worrying if I looked too exhausted or worried or upset.

The bartender was inept, but he finally noticed my empty bottle, and gave me another. I ordered food. I ate slowly, and memorized the labels on the bottles behind the bar. I tried not to stare at the people in conversation to either side of me. I got drunkish.

I was ready to leave when the bartender set down another beer, and said it was from a guy in the kitchen. I think he was a little runty guy, and I was far too old for him. But I felt it would be poor form to turn down the drink, and besides, it was only the second time a stranger had ever bought me a drink (the first was at a club in college, when the waitress pointed out a skeevy guy who offered a drink and suggested I turn him down. I got a water instead.). He didn't bother me. In fact, he didn't even approach me. He was probably the type who just likes to be able to say he's gotten a woman's drink before.

I drank it slowly, for I still had to drive. And then I was ready, and my mind was softer and clearer and more peaceful, and I was able to put work behind me and go home.

It's not something I can do easily or often, but in the end, I was glad I did. I like being able to do things alone.

Saturday night random

I think my hands feel lost without a keyboard underneath them. Folding the laundry tonight, I thought an undershirt was inside out, so I reversed it, only to discover it was then inside out. My left hand twitched for Control + V so it would go back to the way it was and I wouldn't have to turn it out yet again.

I added up expenses for next fall so I could figure out how much financial aid to accept. I don't know if anyone ever turns down portions of what they're offered. Being out-of-state first semester is going to keep us strapped for a while. But it occurred to me that I was basing all the estimates on the entirety of our expenses and financial aid, and not taking into account Tim making an income. Though there's no way to predict what he'll bring in, at least it will be something. I feel a little better.

But thinking about money freaks me out, period, and I'm starting to get really angry for purchasing three small red peppers for $6. That money could be put elsewhere. Like a gorgeous satchel I am coveting for my birthday but would really be horrified to actually own (it costs more than I think is necessary). I hate having money issues. I'm going to be second-guessing every single thing I purchase for the next three months, from groceries to clothing, to a dollar for a coke with lunch.