Confessions of a Disillusioned Child Welfare Worker, Part Four: For E and All the Rest

In part three, I told you what broke me during my infancy in this career. I also provided some clues as to the reasons I persisted. I felt obligated to respond to the injustice I was seeing. I saw myself as a hero doing work that no one else was willing or strong enough to do. As Dr. Vikki Reynolds would likely say, I was enmeshed.  However, these explanations alone would leave this story incomplete. They would not give the young people I met through this work the honour and recognition they deserve. I see them all as flowers that managed to bloom even in the harshest of conditions.

Back to our theme of many things being true at once, allow me to share another set of reflections from that email I wrote when I was 21:

…It hurts me, and I cry all the time. But I feel like they deserve to have a person that hears all of their hurt.

…I feel strongly about that- about being a person that they can count on… Because I have been both blessed and cursed in having the opportunity to be a person that hopefully changes the way they see people. Because they deserve to have someone challenge their beliefs that people are out there to hurt you.

During those years, I got to know more girls and young women than I can count. Some for only a short time, others I walked alongside for many celebrations, heartbreaks, and moments in between. Most of them were Indigenous, carrying the pain and resilience of their ancestors. Having a relationship with them was and always will be one of the greatest honours of my life. I will always cherish the middle of the night, quiet conversations. The laughs in the kitchen, even when it was me being teased. The hours spent side by side in the car. I had enough tender moments with strong and wounded people to learn that life is not black and white. Those will always be precious to me.

Some of them have now passed away. What they experienced was not just, nor was it what they deserved. It is difficult to hold that truth, especially with the finality of death. I am still figuring out my stance on the afterlife, but it would certainly provide some comfort to believe they now get to experience a life without pain. A life where they feel safe enough to show the playful and vulnerable parts of themselves.

That’s a part of the job that gnaws away at you, the injustice of it all. We sit with those people on the fringes and in between the gaps. We try to compensate for a society that tells them they are unworthy and unwanted. We grow to know and love the people that are dying on waitlists.

I want to highlight the story of one young woman, although many come to mind:

E was a mother of two, a sister, a friend. She was funny, friendly, and loved to make other people feel good about themselves. She also struggled with schizophrenia. I would arrive at work on Friday and Saturday night, make my coffee, and sit on her bedroom floor until she fell asleep. She felt safer having someone there. When no housing program would accept her, she moved from our youth shelter into a women’s shelter. I would pick her up and we would go to Denny’s for lunch. She bought a few CDs we kept in my car and we listened to them over and over and over. Certain songs will always remind me of her. We did this for years. I heard she passed away a few years after I left that job.

While I believe that ethical social workers must be willing to be critical of themselves, we must also honour the strengths in ourselves that we so readily acknowledge in others. This work has brought out some of the best parts of me: my gentleness, my patience, and my compassion. I have tried my best to be measured, fair, and accountable when I have done harm. At times I fell short, especially in moments where I was scared. In honesty, I have been scared a lot of the time. But through this fear, I persisted.

Sometimes you must be broken before you can take on new shape. That rarely feels like a privilege until you come out on the other side. I admire the people who have that wisdom even in the storm.

And with that, I will see you in part five to tell you what happens next.

Signed,

A Disillusioned Child Welfare Worker