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!

Happy International Women's Day!

I am celebrating (if you can call it that) today by preparing for my internship interview tomorrow with an agency that specializes in working with sexual trauma. I am beyond nervous. I wrote up possible questions and role played with Tim to practice. He pulled out all the stops and acted like it was a real interview, and I don't know if it was that or what, but I got so nervous and tense that my body actually started spasming. Sometimes I feel awkward talking shop in a pretend way, with people I know. It just doesn't feel natural. I hope that's what it is, and not a preview of how the real interview is going to go. I am simultaneously 100% terrified of this internship and committed to having it for my very own.

Ack.

Edited to say: wow. The potentially most nerve-wracking interview ever, and I left there bouncing up and down and couldn't stop smiling! There was a group Q&A period (seven of us), and then we each took turns interviewing with two different people. They really were racing through it, so I had to make sure to really put as much of myself into each answer, and add things when they didn't ask. I'm glad this wasn't my first interview--I've learned a few things since I've started this process.

I interviewed first with a woman, and it seemed to go well, but when I interviewed with the man, I knew that things were soaring. He had lived in Mississippi, so we bonded over the south, and when I asked what he was looking for in an intern, pretty much everything he said fit exactly who I was. Also, he said that when he and the woman were looking over resumes, they'd put either a check plus or a check minus on each one (for whether they wanted to interview the person), and rarely did they have the same opinion. Then he showed me my resume, which had their checks plus plus on it!

(It occurs to me later that if, like they said, they had 50+ applicants and only interviewed 12, probably all of us twelve were the check plus pluses, but in the moment, it gave me great confidence, and I settled down and felt very comfortable in the interview.)

Everything their agency does is amazing and terrifying, and I want to work there so badly. It would position me incredibly for finding a job after graduation. I would learn SO MUCH there.

There's just one issue I have, and I wasn't sure whether or not to bring it up, but I was feeling so comfortable with the man that when he asked if I'd seen their web site and was there anything on there I was nervous or uncomfortable with, I was honest. I told him it was the fact that their agency seemed like a private practice, and since they essentially were, and the interns exist mostly to help the DCFS-mandated clients, Public Aid, and others who can't afford it, do they feel like they're doing a disservice to the underpriviledged?

I worded it better than that, though, and he wrote down my question before answering, so I think he was impressed I brought it up. He said yes, and it was a struggle the agency was constantly dealing with, and I can appreciate that.

I don't want to help people who can afford to pay me a lot of money. I want to work with those who can't afford it. It makes me uneasy to think about working in a private practice, but the place also really excites me for the therapy opportunities it presents. No way could I turn that down.

At any rate, I left feeling on top of the world. I was only with six of the other eleven people they interviewed, but out of that group, I felt very confident that I was the perfect fit for the internship.

Thinking back

The day after I graduated from college, my belongings were packed in the back of a truck, and my parents and I drove to Chicago.

Growing up, every time we'd visit, we'd arrive the same way, from the south, up the Dan Ryan to LSD, and then the home stretch to my grandparents' home just north of the city, in Evanston. Coming up Sheridan Road in Rogers Park, I'd get a thrill of excitement, because to me, Rogers Park was the city. It was the embodiment of everything I believed Chicago to be.

So I was finally there! The city was mine! (Well, sort of. The fact that I lived in what could technically be called a suburb didn't phase me.) Evanston wasn't a typical suburb, anyway. It was a cross between being its own city and a small town.

That summer, I ran the baked streets, getting to know the cafes, vintage bookstores, and thrifts. I worked at a cafe near Northwestern, and I flirted with the intellectual professors who'd spend their Sunday mornings over my coffee and a newspaper. Sometimes nights I'd walk through the neighborhood on the lake, the one with unbelievably fancy mansions and daydream about what it would be like to live in one.

I was lonely still, missing my Kansas boyfriend and worried about job prospects, but it was also a glorious time, filled with newness. The world unrolled itself at my feet, and I could have done anything.

Memories like that rush back at the touch of hot summer wind, or the smell of coffee beans freshly ground. Certain music can resurrect the exact feelings I had at any given moment during that period. The experience is so deeply imprinted upon my psyche.

It goes without saying that there is an entire chamber of my heart devoted to Evanston. I still work here, 9.5 years after that beautiful summer. So I was excited to also do my internship here.
And it's different.

I'm older.

I'm seeing a different side of the city, the one where 25% of the citizens live at or below the poverty line. Where the streets I formerly skipped down, if I turn left instead of right, I discover low-income areas I never knew existed.

Knowing about the urban problems that Evanston's pretty, tree-lined streets cover up sour my memories of the perfect college "town" I used to know. It's hard to enjoy its beauty when I know about the uneasy alliance between the priviledged and unpriviledged.

But sometimes, sometimes sometimes, I'm able to walk into the organic cafe that's near my internship, sit down with some tea, and be transported back, unfettered, in the glorious spell that this place once cast upon me.

School and stuff

I haven't been contributing much to class lately. My classmate S and I were discussing the general lack of good conversation and insight overall in our program, and so I resolved to speak up. I didn't say anything ground-breaking, but I think I raised a few good points yesterday. Once, I was asking for clarity on something the professor said, but instead of just asking what she meant, I explained why I was confused from a historical perspective, and asked how that meshed with her statement. (Yes, very deep. ha!) I don't think she understood where I was coming from, but I didn't feel like pursuing it, so I just nodded at her answer and said, "fine."

Afterwards everyone gathered with their project groups, and S and J (in my group) both said, "I knew that look!" Evidently they could tell by my response and my face that I was unsatisfied by the professor's response but was trying to politely hide that.

It warmed me to the cockles of my heart that they knew me well enough to pick up on that. I have friends!

In addition, there is another classmate in our group who is super cool but suffering the aftereffects of being friends with a superbitch last semester. Now that the bitch is gone, the rest of the class has embraced her. I made an effort to strike up a conversation with her several times during the day, and once she did with me, complimenting my hair.

It's like How to Make Friends 101. It's really pretty funny to recognize exactly what's going on, but it's also awesome to see someone making an effort for me.

I had forgotten that last semester I slipped into a little depression, and I feel it happening again. There's just SO MUCH insecurity that blankets me in mostly all I do involving school. The internship has ceased to be the joy of my existence and has become something highly stressful. I'm in the midst of finding a new placement for next year, and as I talk myself up, writing in cover letters that I excel at working from trauma-informed perspective, I wonder still why anyone would give me a hard-core therapy internship. How could I possibly be a therapist? I am abjectly terrified of it, yet I couldn't bear to try anything else next year. I must get a therapy placement.

Break

I have been relaxing and cooking like I used to--really taking advantage of my break. Not feeling guilty about my excessive laying around watching TV or reading. And I thought, "I could really get used to this. Damn us not being independently wealthy!" How I'd love to be a lady of leisure, rising late, being able to spend time making my home beautiful and lived in, gourmet cooking when the mood strikes. My non-existent stress level has made things utterly lovely for Tim and I. Our weekends are lazy and filled with happiness and cuddles.

And then, when I started to freak out that I had just a week and a half left until that whole world would be turned on its head, and school would start, my internship, my second part-time job, I also started to get a little restless. So now I'm ready. Good timing, that.

Only I found out today, third-hand, that three of the supervisors at my internship (my direct boss one of them) all quit and their last day will be Friday, before I even return. Talk about a world being turned on its head. I don't know what my future will hold there, now. I reeeeally like my boss, and she is/was the only LCSW on staff--a certification needed to sign off on intern's hours. There are five of us students in total, so I hope we get taken into consideration when planning how to proceed with new hires. I love the placement, so I don't want to get shuffled off to a new one.

And I also hate the timing, for I wanted my boss's job when I graduate--in 1.5 years. But I know there's some hospital fuckness, the extent of which I'm not even sure, so I'm sure she and the others have a good reason for leaving. (But despite the horror stories I've heard, I still harbored the desire to at least get my foot in the door, to get some experience there.)

I'm trying to spin it positively (because I haven't yet heard any details) and think that maybe this is a good opportunity for me to take on more responsibility. Or maybe she's going to a cool new place and will take me with her. I don't know. I'm trying to chill out and not worry about it.

My New Year's resolution is to remain calm and relaxed when things get stressful.

Big blinking neon life arrows

I feel like the universe is presenting me with a bunch of enormous, blinking, neon arrows (and did I mention "with bling"?) pointing to this job I just interviewed for.

I got in for an interview because the girl who worked my internship last year now works at the agency. She gave me the supervisor's name and number after I didn't hear anything further from the web submission of my resume.

One of the counselors at my internship said, "Oh, who's the supervisor? I know so-and-so," who, it turns out, is the program director and sat in on my interview. I was able to name drop (fun!), "Oh, I think we have a mutual colleague . . ."

I had mixed feelings about the job, though; preconceived notions that, though the interview smashed through them, were hard to shake.

So I went to talk to my favorite professor. "Is this agency good? Is this position worthy?" She said yes, and mentioned that she thought a former student of hers, D--, might work there. "D--?" I said. "What's his last name?"

It turns out that he is the same man I corresponded with after I was accepted to grad school. He was just finishing up his last year and had volunteered to contact incoming students to answer any questions they had. I had a million. We e-mailed each other for 2 months!

So I called him at work. I think he vaguely recognized my name. He was very nice and helpful (just like two years ago) and gave me his work address so we could e-mail further and I could pick his brain about this job.

The upshot of it all is that, if I don't get called back for a second interview, or even offered the job, I'm going to be seriously pissed.

Done

Spending the evening cleaning the apartment is a pretty mild (no, nonexistent) way to celebrate being done with the semester. This time last year, I was two pitchers into the evening and on my way to Delilah's with classmates, some of whom have now become good friends, and some of whom, well, I drank too much to remember who those others were.

It's different this time, because I still have to go to the police department tomorrow and instead of the usual slow, lazy Friday, I have four families to see. I don't get a full month off to laze about and forget entirely about the internship. Simply taking away the classes relieves some of the workload, but not a lot.

This semester, I slacked off hardcore. I didn't love school last year, but this year it has been torturous. I'm scared to death about what kind of job I'm going to be able to score come May, but I'd give anything to be there now and not have to suffer through 146 more days. You know, not that I have a minutes, nay, seconds, countdown going in my cell phone countdown function.

I know so many people who would be professional students if they could afford it. I'm not one of those. I'd rather apprentice. There's a certain social work-y sensibility that I'm getting through being in school, one that I definitely didn't pick up as a case worker in Alabama (far from it), but overall, I find most of the classes pretty worthless and the internships as valuable as gold.

I suppose those experiences are what will make me a good social worker, but generally, I'm pretty annoyed at spending so much money (and I even went to the cheap school!) and putting us in debt for years to come. I think if I had gotten a bachelor's in social work, I might never get my masters. But sadly, they usually don't employ social workers with a background in English literature. Plus, I don't think I would have made a very good social worker when I was 21. As much as I gnash my teeth at starting over again in my 30s, at least I have the maturity now. I just would like the money to match that.

I guess I'll start looking for jobs in the next month or so, which freaks me out, but I have a plan that, while not securing Tim and me any health benefits, will at least give me some experience. I'm going to work registry at psych emergency rooms, doing hospital intakes. I suspect they'll hire any fool with a degree to do registry work, so it's a good way to get some experience and my foot in the door. Having at least a teeny plan makes me feel better, not quite as terrified.

So, on to Christmas.

From inside a black and white

I did a ride-along with a police officer at my internship. We started around 3:30, just when Evanston Township High School was letting out. LG, the field training officer I was riding with has a regular shift at the school, so we parked on the south end of school. A block down, she said there was another car posted; a paddy wagon cruised in front of the main entrance, and one or two undercover detectives circled campus. I couldn't believe it. It seemed excessive, but LG said there were fights there nearly every day. We sat there for 45 minutes, but the kids all filed peaceably past.

About halfway through our watch, a white car filled with boys and booming music pulled up to the light next to us. Immediately LG said, "that car's on a special watch," and punched the license into her computer to verify. I guess someone a few streets over called in to complain that this car was speeding on the street, and the boys in it were smoking weed. I got momentarily excited, because I thought LG might go after them, but she said she couldn't move during school duty, and we'd catch them later. (We didn't.) She said if she came across them again, she'd find a reason to pull them over.

That instigated a really interesting conversation about drugs and the law. Evidently if an officer pulls a driver over and has suspicion of illegal activity (like smells it or something), they can say, "Would you step out of the car, please?" and when the driver and/or passengers do, that action gives the police the legal right to search the car. And if the driver refuses to get out of the car, officers can do whatever they need to in order to remove the person from the car.

LG also told me the difference in smells between burnt and unburnt cannabis. I kept my mouth shut. It's a good thing if a cop thinks you're too naive to know about that.

Then we cruised Evanston, and I got to see all the bad parts. (I had no idea Evanston had an underbelly!) Once there was a bank hold-up call, and LG decided to race to it, despite being all the way on the opposite end of the city. She said it's usually a false alarm, but in case it wasn't . . . By the time we got there, the call had been cancelled, but it was pretty exciting to be in the car with the sirens going, speeding through rush hour.

After that, she pulled over a woman who illegally turned right on red--right in front of us! LG said that if she pulls someone over, she's going to give them a ticket, no passes. LG wants to be a traffic cop. I thought that sounded pretty boring, just going after driving offenses, but she said that it included doing accident reconstructions.

That was about the highlight of the afternoon. It was pretty slow. None of the calls were for us, though we did check on two other incidents (two boys fighting, and a drunk, injured man) to see if the officers there needed help. We cruised past all the parks where kids usually hang out and get into mischief, though no one was that day. LG took me to one of the parks where the Latino gangs usually are, and pointed out, "That's so-and-so. He's a Latin King. And that's so-and-so. he's in Los Locos." She told me a lot about gangs, which was super interesting. I guess when a Latin King murders someone, he gets to tattoo 5 dots on his hand, like on a dice. Those who specialize in thievery get to tattoo 3 dots.

Towards the end of the ride, we came across two drug officers who LG is friends with, and we parked in a community center lot and talked for a while.

LG said I should do a ride along on a Saturday night. It would definitely be more action-packed than this afternoon was, but it was really nice to see more of Evanston, and get familiar with some of the areas where my future kids (clients) hang out.

Fall is here!

Yesterday when I got off work in the morning, I went to my grandmother's apartment for the few hours before my internship started. She wasn't home, so I made some green tea and curled up under a blanket on the couch, watching episodes from season one "The West Wing." It was grey and cool outside, and I felt toasty warm and cozy inside. I wished for a moment that I didn't have to work, or go to school, and I could spend my days relaxing like this. It was so wonderful and worry-free.

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.

Springtime

It's here, it's here, it's here!

For this weekend, anyway. Hannah and I biked to the Bongo Room for breakfast, and browsed a used record store. She got a Tori Amos album I had never heard of, so I loaded it onto my computer, and now I'm listening to it.

I'm ready for this season. It's windows flung open to a slight chill, green buds on the trees, candles flickering in a dark, clean apartment, Tori Amos singing on the stereo. Salads for dinner, and white wine. It's a season I like to spend alone. This evening Tim is with old friends, playing music at a bar, and I'm revelling in having the apartment to myself. The cats are still asleep in the window sill. It's not too chilly for them, though I'll need to close the windows soon.

I'll go to bed, a new crossword puzzle in my lap, and I'll fall asleep in the quiet dark, and tomorrow the spell will be ruined, for it will be schoolwork and stress, papers to write and the wait for internship offers. But for now it's perfectly still, perfectly cool, and perfectly spring.

Working with families

In my interview last week for an internship at a youth-services agency, they asked me what I liked about teenagers, and what the challenges working with them were. I love teenagers because they're living through possibly the most formative time of life. They can still have the innocence of children (wellll, not so much the ones I work with), and some of the wisdom of adulthood (ditto). And I remember what a glorious yet angst-filled time that was for me. Plus, some of them respond really well to my sarcasm, and others to my sympathetic side, so we just really get along.

What I don't like about working with them is their parents. So many of the kids are in the hospital and diagnosed with bipolar disorder or intermittant explosive disorder because their families are just pretty fucked up. So rarely do I actually believe their mental health diagnosis is actually a chemical inbalance and not the response to a difficult, traumatic upbringing.

But today I led a family session that went so well. The mom was upset but still willing to support her son. First I asked her how she wanted to see his behavior change when he got home, and she listed a bunch of things. We talked about the supportive services he was already receiving. Then I brought him into the room and asked him to tell his mom what he had been working on while in the hospital. He said his anger issues and coping skills; and I asked him to elaborate and give examples about what skills he's learning. Then I gave both of them a copy of a poem called The Meanest Mother in the World. (It's pretty cheesy but it's a good way for kids to reflect on why their parents do things like impose curfews, make them do chores, etc.) I had him read it outloud and then explain what he thought it meant, and how it applied to his mom.

Then I brought out a art project the son had done during a therapy group about suicide. It was a funeral program. He read it to his mom and explained how he created it and why he included the things he did. It was a really amazing program. I said, "What do you think it would be like for your mom, if this were a real program for your funeral?" which generated good discussion.

I wasn't planning on the next part, but the conversation led up to it really well, so I asked the two of them to do a reverse role play of mom and son. The mother really got into it, acting like her son wanting to go out and hang with friends. I think the son was irritated by the exercise, but he responded as his mom would, and afterwards, was able to articulate some good thoughts about the activity.

Then we made up a contract of behaviors, what the son would work on when he went home, what the mom would do, and some things I'd be able to help them with. The son was able to come up with his own ideas of how his behavior should change that mirrored what his mom said, and she was agreeable to the things he asked her to do, like being there for him when he needed to talk and to not blame him for things before asking first if he caused them.

Finally, I gave each of them a saying about attitude and had the son read it. Then it was over, and the family hugged. One of the nurses asked me a little later what had happened, because evidently the kid came back to group with a really bad attitude. So maybe he didn't get as much out of it as it seemed, but I don't really care. The mom was pleased with how it went, and she's very supportive of him, and will allow him to come back into the home, so that's the important part. And it made me feel really good about my (slowly but surely) improving skills.

Done

So I'm done. My final was Monday, my group project due today, and my last internship until next semester was today.

I feel a little shell-shocked. I don't know what to do with myself. The first order of business was recovering from a massive hangover on Tuesday, and today will be spent recovering from a night at the shelter, but after that, what? I don't want to completely waste my break and be bored. But after three months of non-stop stress, I really just want to lay on the couch and watch movies. Damn the lack of movies at my house. I don't even feel like getting out to pick up any.

Then, and now

This has been stewing in my brain for a while. A few months, really, since I started school and really got absorbed back into Chicago.

This time it's different. I've started to distinguish my Chicago lives as in Single Chicago and Married Chicago, and while that's not necessarily always the best descriptor, it is mostly apt. There was an excitement, an unpredictability, a wildness to Single Chicago. I was discovering everything for the first time. I don't know if I expected to pick up where I left off by moving back.

I'm seeing a whole new part of the city now. A part that feels old and settled, and not so flighty. More real. For one, I live further in the city than I used to. School takes me to an area I've never been, as well as my internship on the south side, and my school tutoring, on the west side. These areas and existences are so far removed from the (it seems like, now) priviledged life I used to have.

Sometimes I miss the constant rapture, the moments where I absolutely lose my breath over the fact that I live in Chicago. It feels more solid in my bones. Not something I even think about anymore.

And I think about what I used to love about the city, and most of it revolved around a life I don't have anymore. One that I can't afford to have anymore. It gives me a different perspective, not having money to do the things I used to. But really, I used to have the money to do whatever I wanted, and now I just have the money to do what I need to do.

I don't think Married is any better than Single, or vice versa. Just different.

Good in crisis

I'm sick right now. Open my mouth to breathe and I cough up (painfully) a lung. I missed a day of class and internship this week, but I couldn't call in sick to work. Not only is it hard to find a last-minute replacement for an overnight shift, but I make a little over a hundred dollars per night, and we can't afford to lose that.

So I dragged myself there, tossing and turning all night. Luckily it was quiet. Until the morning. One of the ladies was in a bad way, dizzy, disoriented, couldn't stand up. I watched her slide to the floor and bang her head against a table before I knew what was going on. She said it was because she hadn't taken her medicine, but then her meds didn't seem to help. Maybe it was because she hadn't been to her methadone clinic in two days. But also, she was losing feeling on the right side of her body. Another woman and I helped drag her to the bathroom to pee, and dressed her, then I called for an ambulance. When the paramedics arrived, I gave them her medicine and a note about when she had taken each one last.

I can't help but feel I was so cool in the situation because I wasn't all there. I hadn't slept well, and my chest was burning, and I didn't have many extra resources to expend freaking out.

But then again, in retrospect, the situation wasn't that stressful for me, and I knew what to do.

I feel capable. I think my whole working life, I've waited to feel capable. I've never done anything long enough to feel so capable. But now I'm reaching a point where I do have enough experience that I can handle unexpected things that come up. It's an awesome, awesome feeling. And it's so gratifying to be able to see how far I've come, and how I've improved.

Jobs jobs jobs

Before school, when I was just preparing, I felt aimless because I wasn't working any longer. While it was hard not bringing in any income, it was even harder to feel like I didn't have any purpose (starting school in a month, a week, a few days didn't strike me, at the time, as purpose).

And then I started, and though I became overwhelmed with the courseloads, it seemed like most of my classmates had jobs. It seems like the schedule is very accomodating (to a degree) having a part-time job.

So I got two.

I'm going back to the shelter, to do overnights again, on Tuesdays. I remember what vivid nightmares I had there, sleeping on a Murphy bed a foot from an unsecured window that opened onto a creaky veranda. How I'd fall asleep by entertaining visions of an abuser tracking down his woman and breaking into the shelter through my window. One medium-strong kick would propel him right through. Or a recurring dream about locking the front door yet people opening it up and walking right through. After two years of working days at a shelter that felt like Fort Knox, it will be hard to feel safe in this environment again.

And yet. Going back there to fill out paperwork reminded me why I endured so long last time. Walking into the office fills me with peace. No matter what stressors are bothering me before work, no matter what kind of mayhem I might (and am likely to) encounter at the shelter, I feel like a weight has been lifted and my mind is clear when I am there.

My other job is tutoring once a week at a westside Chicago elementary school. Unluckily for them, they did not ask me if I was any good at it. I suspect I will not be. I tried to help at girl with her homework at my internship yesterday, and it was pretty pathetic. I did not know how to lead her to answer "In what city is the White House located?" after it was clear her little 3-page article on the government did not hold the key. (Because I'm pretty sure just telling her was not a good method. But my "Do you know who the first president was? . . . Do you think maybe they might have named a city after him?" was pretty ham-handed, and besides, the girl didn't know anyway.)

But I think it will be an interesting time. More experience working with kids, at any rate.

Ups and downs

There are times when I feel like I'm settling in, and others when I think I'm hopelessly flailing.

Occasionally, I feel like I have a handle on school, but that really means I start studying right when I get home, or after dinner, without even thinking about it, or wishing I could instead goof off or relax. I just do it. And I adore my internship. Getting up at 5:30 a.m. is less difficult on the days when I can go there instead of class. I got to do my first psychosocial assessment yesterday, and it was a little nerve-wracking, but also eye-opening in how not difficult it was, because hey! I've been doing social work for the past two years. I'm back in familiar territory (albeit with a different population and responsibilities). And I'm already scheming to work there after I graduate.

And then at other times, I sit in class and I feel so incredibly stupid. Like I've lost--or never had--any critical thinking skills, or reading comprehension, or even the ability to talk like I'm halfway intelligent. I've always struggled with the plainspeak towards which I'm naturally inclined versus the "grad school" lingo that my peers seem to slip into like it is second nature.

I know logically that I am/can be/will be very very good at rolling up my sleeves and actually doing social work, but the classes are doing a number on my self-esteem. What's hard is that everyone who knows me assumes that I will be just fine, or do spectacularly well. I thought that grad school would nurture a writer and thinker like me, but every class grades on participation in discussion, and my mind works slower than that.

Surely I can't be the only one feeling lonely and lost in my class, but it's hard to look past my own insecurities, or even admit them to my classmates. One of my classmates whom I'd like to make my new best friend, she's quite possibly the most articulate person I've ever met. And it's no good trying to start a friendship feeling highly inferior.

Grad school

It really feels like the closer I get to grad school, the less I know what I want out of it. I recently turned in my field placement questionnaire, which asked my interests so that my advisor could assist me in finding an internship for my first year. Pinning down one agency for an entire year . . . and the only thing I know for sure is that I want to work with women, and I'm ready to experience something besides domestic violence.

I'm stressed out. Part of me wants my advisor to say "Here. This is it. This is the place you will work," but then I hear myself piping up, "but what about the addictions field? What about working with adolescent girls? What about the LGBT community?"

I've been corresponding with a second-year student in the past few months who is a month away from graduation and feels similarly adrift looking for an area to pursue post-graduation. He told me he discussed this with a professor who said, "the paradox of social work grad school is that by leaving more confused/unsure of what direction to go now, you can be assured that you are being educated in social work."

I'm not sure how I feel about that, but I'll keep reminding myself of it as I try to grasp firmly for a concrete idea of my future.

Lately, I've been thinking more about therapy. I have always thought that's the direction I'd end up, but I have been doing so well with case management that I considered seeking out more opportunities for that. It keeps me busy. It sooths my problem solving brain. I like hearing someone state a problem and being able to figure out how to "fix" it. The idea of wading through a nebulous conversation about feelings terrifies me slightly. Check that. A lot.

I don't know why. I'm no stranger to therapy myself. I suppose the idea that I wouldn't be able to offer neat, tidy answers to people's questions (Unemployed? Have children? Apply for Public Assistance!) sets me on edge.

But lately, I've also been paying closer attention to the kinds of interactions I enjoy more with my clients. Some breeze into my office and say "yes, no, maybe" when I ask what they've accomplished in the past week, and I give them assignments for our next meeting. Others spend time going over issues or paperwork I can assist with. And still others sit down to just talk about emotions and feelings they have.

And it's the talky ones I enjoy the most. I feel more connected to them, involved in their situations, and less bored with my job. I think I should explore therapy more.