Shelter Memories....released
Sometimes you have to be able to name the demons before you can restore them back to their original human states. Sometimes you have to be able to name it before you can claim it.
It has been absolutely therapeutic for me to discover the research material on compassion fatigue, vicarious traumatization and secondary post-traumatic stress--the familiar, amazing realization that I actually know very well: "so, I am not alone, and I am not crazy. There are reasons why I am feeling the way I am."
I cannot tell you how huge a relief that is. I am sure the re-experiencing of my depression these days taps into old, old stuff for me--the needs to be strong, good, perfect in order to feel worthy; and before I found the material on CF, VT and SPTS, I was feeling thoroughly like a failure in addition to the aftermath of working at the shelter. No wonder life was intolerable and I was shutting down.
Lets see:
I worked for a whole year at the emergency shelter, doing crisis intervention work, without clinical supervision and without managerial support.
I worked with 17 immigrant families that suffered from various degrees of family violence. Many of these families were suffering from man-made violence and abuse that was chronic, repetitive and brutal.
I was previously diagnosed with PTSD, had made significant headway of breaking out of the merely coping and had started my healing journey prior to coming to working at the shelter. I am also sensitive, empathetic and have an enormous capacity to 'feel what others feel.'
Hmm, what do you think happens with the above senario?
Stress. Depression. Emotional numbness. Becoming judgmental. Powerlessness. Self-doubt. Anger & hatred. Loss of faith & hope. Decreased ability to connect with others or to feel joy. Withdrawn.
Gees.
I still think that working at the shelter was one of the most important experiences in my life: it showed me the level of social injustice that occurs on many different levels that I otherwise wouldn't have been in touch with; it showed me that, even with good intentions, nonprofit organizations often times suffer from organizational dyfunctionalities that stifle agency growth, espeically when leadership is vague and inconsistent; it showed me that individuals are always embedded in one social context or another, and to be a good therapist, I not only need to understand and empathize with the inner drives and feelings of my clients, but also to spend time to study and understand the various social and cultural contexts that they are in in order to get a whole picture of the person. All in all, working at the shelter expanded my horizon and put me in touch with a different level of healing work.
At the same time, working a the shelter burned me out: the intense caseload, vague service-provision standards, lack of professional support and confusion over organizational structure made it a horrifying work experience. I now know how fucked-up it can get to do this kind of work without proper clinical guidance and support. This is no work that one person can do; this takes a whole village to counter the effect of trauma, espeicially trauma from your loved ones.
I will never forget what it felt like to hold a little ethnic girl in my arms and feel her wail--her father had broken her arm prior to her coming to the shelter. I will never forget when my client, my brave, brave client who was abused for more than 17 years of her life, asked me, "Did God forget me?" So many memories, so much of it I don't want to think about again today. Because I had felt overwhelmed when working with these clients. Sometimes I felt repulsed. Sometimes I felt protective. Sometimes I felt shocked, and sometimes I felt sucked dry. I didn't know how or what boundaries to uphold, and there was no help. My coworkers and I leaned on one another to cope and to survive, but each of us was drowning. There was no healing. None of us was experienced enough to contain the dark shadows we faced everyday. We shut down. We became numb, and we did what we had to do to survive and to offer help to the extent possible.
Gees.
No wonder I was doubting if I had what it took to be a therapist.
It has been absolutely therapeutic for me to discover the research material on compassion fatigue, vicarious traumatization and secondary post-traumatic stress--the familiar, amazing realization that I actually know very well: "so, I am not alone, and I am not crazy. There are reasons why I am feeling the way I am."
I cannot tell you how huge a relief that is. I am sure the re-experiencing of my depression these days taps into old, old stuff for me--the needs to be strong, good, perfect in order to feel worthy; and before I found the material on CF, VT and SPTS, I was feeling thoroughly like a failure in addition to the aftermath of working at the shelter. No wonder life was intolerable and I was shutting down.
Lets see:
I worked for a whole year at the emergency shelter, doing crisis intervention work, without clinical supervision and without managerial support.
I worked with 17 immigrant families that suffered from various degrees of family violence. Many of these families were suffering from man-made violence and abuse that was chronic, repetitive and brutal.
I was previously diagnosed with PTSD, had made significant headway of breaking out of the merely coping and had started my healing journey prior to coming to working at the shelter. I am also sensitive, empathetic and have an enormous capacity to 'feel what others feel.'
Hmm, what do you think happens with the above senario?
Stress. Depression. Emotional numbness. Becoming judgmental. Powerlessness. Self-doubt. Anger & hatred. Loss of faith & hope. Decreased ability to connect with others or to feel joy. Withdrawn.
Gees.
I still think that working at the shelter was one of the most important experiences in my life: it showed me the level of social injustice that occurs on many different levels that I otherwise wouldn't have been in touch with; it showed me that, even with good intentions, nonprofit organizations often times suffer from organizational dyfunctionalities that stifle agency growth, espeically when leadership is vague and inconsistent; it showed me that individuals are always embedded in one social context or another, and to be a good therapist, I not only need to understand and empathize with the inner drives and feelings of my clients, but also to spend time to study and understand the various social and cultural contexts that they are in in order to get a whole picture of the person. All in all, working at the shelter expanded my horizon and put me in touch with a different level of healing work.
At the same time, working a the shelter burned me out: the intense caseload, vague service-provision standards, lack of professional support and confusion over organizational structure made it a horrifying work experience. I now know how fucked-up it can get to do this kind of work without proper clinical guidance and support. This is no work that one person can do; this takes a whole village to counter the effect of trauma, espeicially trauma from your loved ones.
I will never forget what it felt like to hold a little ethnic girl in my arms and feel her wail--her father had broken her arm prior to her coming to the shelter. I will never forget when my client, my brave, brave client who was abused for more than 17 years of her life, asked me, "Did God forget me?" So many memories, so much of it I don't want to think about again today. Because I had felt overwhelmed when working with these clients. Sometimes I felt repulsed. Sometimes I felt protective. Sometimes I felt shocked, and sometimes I felt sucked dry. I didn't know how or what boundaries to uphold, and there was no help. My coworkers and I leaned on one another to cope and to survive, but each of us was drowning. There was no healing. None of us was experienced enough to contain the dark shadows we faced everyday. We shut down. We became numb, and we did what we had to do to survive and to offer help to the extent possible.
Gees.
No wonder I was doubting if I had what it took to be a therapist.
posted by Julia C. at
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
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