October 2016 – Dr. Sean St. Jean

Most Social Workers Will Not Survive Because of This

Wow, now that’s a stern title. Usually I don’t take myself that seriously. Really. I’m the guy who often risks making a joke during a tense child protection meeting with angry parents. Often a bad idea, I won’t lie. But when it works it’s golden and I look like a social work genius. I like to clown around when I can. Yet I have to tell you, when it comes to the topic of “surviving social work” I sober up. I get dead serious.
I hate the word “wellness” and I despise the term “self-care”. Why? Because to me they reek of upper-middle class privilege. My ears hear, “I think I’m going to switch yoga studios because I’m not sure my instructor gets me” or “My weekly hot stone massage was divine.”
Don’t get me wrong- I’m not against you getting your downward dog on, and I sure would love a hot stone massage (every week). No, what I am saying is that wellness behaviors often come across as privileged acts taken by those who are already well-ish. Those who have resources. Those who live a relatively charmed life already (aka: not our clients). I sense that a lot of you in your helping professions may think so too. Let’s face it: it’s flat-out hard to savor your Reiki appointment after helping a homeless guy find some underwear.
I am talking about survival. My concern is with staying alive emotionally and psychologically, which for helping professionals can be an insurmountable task. I mean, look at the numbers. In the field of child protection social work, 70% of frontline workers have had symptoms of PTSD and 15% are currently diagnosable with the condition. Yearly turnover in those trenches is between 30-90% depending on where you are. Can you imagine losing 9 out of 10 of your co-workers every year? One study estimated that the average new child welfare worker only survives for about 14 months in the field.
But these numbers are more than just unattached or meaningless figures. These numbers represent the lives of people. When you dig into the stories of helping professionals you see human beings who are getting taxed in ways they have never before experienced for long periods of time. Here’s what I have personally witnessed in social work over the past decade:

a parade of workers who have quietly entered my office in tears because they hated their lives
first-hand stories of professionals with degrees who are struggling with drug addictions, food addictions, sex addictions, and the like
professionals who have told me they would be better off if they got hit by a truck
hurting social workers who have been emotionally, psychologically, and even physically abused by their supervisors

Those are the extreme cases, for sure. But don’t get me wrong- there are many of them. What happens more typically is that people tell their peers at the office or their bosses that they have decided to go back to school for their master’s degree or that they are taking time off to have kids or they’ve decided that this specific position isn’t right for them. Behind closed doors, however, another story emerges: they are climbing the walls to get out. They have gone full-limbic. They are running from real danger because they realize they are not safe.
Ready for that hot stone massage yet? Let’s get back to the problem. “Self-care” and “wellness” just sound too fluffy. It sounds like they are meant for those who have not undergone that extreme level of professional stress. Those labels just aren’t adequate to describe what is needed to survive emotionally in many social service systems. To weather the onslaught.
We would never say to a construction worker, “Those steel toed boots and hardhat are a luxury.” We would never look sideways at a skydiving instructor as she conducts her second or even third check of her parachute. These processes aren’t sexy. They are simply a necessity to protect the worker; required tools that are needed to be safe on the job.
So if the risk of trauma and burnout is so high for helping professionals then why isn’t this a focus? Why aren’t universities teaching this? Why does my employer have nothing (or only minimal systems) in place to protect me? It’s a complicated answer, but I have three possible explanations:

1. There is a no talk rule, so the problem goes unaddressed

Remember how I suggested last week that people often feel inadequate but want to project an image of confidence and happiness to those around them? Unfortunately when professionals experience trauma they often feel at least partially responsible. They feel guilty. When asked by our coworkers how we’re doing the “correct” answer is “awesome!” or “great!” Why do we answer this way? Because of social pressure. If we don’t see the professionals around us say “I am suffering right now” then it’s probably not safe to choose that answer either (and you’re probably right to keep your mouth shut).
My wife and I experienced this when our first child came along. We were both a mess. We felt really lost. We also felt major guilt because we were supposed to be able to handle it. We were supposed to be enraptured by our new bundle. I felt powerless to help my tearful wife. Worst of all, the other mom’s seemed to be doing just fine (even though statistically 70% of all new moms have postpartum blues, and 10-20% have diagnosed postpartum depression). My guess is that this cycle of guilt and silence is self-perpetuating. No one is talking so no one talks. No one wants to be the first one to be open; to be vulnerable.
I contend that the same holds true in our offices. Even though we know better, none of us wants to be the loser who needs help. None of us wants to be the one who can’t cut it.

2. Trauma often looks like incompetence or a poor work attitude

The second reason there is commonly no intervention for protecting helping professionals from trauma and burnout is that we are still bound by an old-school or “mainstream” employment paradigm. This is a way of thinking that says that if someone is not meeting employment performance criteria it is due to a deficit in their character. It is seen as a moral failing that must be corrected via supervisory and disciplinary means.
But here is the rub: symptoms of trauma and burnout just happen to look much like what the system calls incompetence or poor attitude. Here is a list of symptoms that are commonly associated with burnout, and how they may be perceived:

Chronic fatigue. Your supervisor may read this as a lack of motivation to do your job.
Forgetfulness/lack of attention. Possibly perceived as not caring about your client.
Increased illness. How many sick days have you been taking lately?
Anxiety. Sometimes leads to avoiding certain people and tasks at work.
Outbursts of anger. Could be toward clients or other service providers.
Cynicism. Easily picked up by others in little jabs and comments.
Reduction in performance. These could lead to poor job reviews, etc.

These are all common symptoms of burnout. They are also the things management traditionally associates with “bad workers”. What ends up happening is that in response to these symptoms, management is often unsympathetic, which adds to the stress-load placed on the worker. Submitting to a performance review in a large boardroom table full of supervisors and HR personnel can be traumatizing in it’s own right.
Here is the absolute worst aspect of looking incompetent or cynical as a helping professional: you look this way to yourself. As I have said in previous posts, the worst effect that trauma and burnout have on us is that they make us believe (falsely) that we are losers based on seemingly tangible feedback (poor reviews, knowing we have avoided a client, etc.). We see ourselves failing and our self-concept drops from a 7 to a 4. I believe that many leave social services each year because (consciously or unconsciously) they are trying to recover their identity and their sense of self regard.

3. The powers that be cannot know or relate to what’s happening on the ground

I don’t blame the managers. I really don’t. Are they responsible? Yes they are. Should they know what’s happening to us front line workers on the ground? Yes, they should. I don’t want to make excuses for them, but let’s just think about their jobs a little. Maybe you have a program manager working at a high level in an agency. This guy is really the person who can help- he has both the authority and dollars to make changes. First of all, he may not even have a relevant (read: helping profession) degree. How is he supposed to know about clients and vicarious trauma and all of that stuff? He may have been hired for his MBA or HR degree or because he has a lot of experience managing people…in other industries.
Second, he may have never worked in the mucky and mired trenches with down-and-out people. Or maybe he did 20 years ago. When was I most empathetic toward new parents? When I was a new parent! I finally got it! But even now, even though my youngest is only 5 years old, I can feel my memories (and therefore empathy) fading away… It’s just as simple as that. The fact is that this unempathetic dynamic, combined with the desire by the professional not to look bad and a “no-talk” group culture means that our needs will more often than not go unaddressed.
It shouldn’t be this way, but when it comes to healing ourselves from burnout and trauma:
We must assume that we are on our own.
We cannot wait to be rescued. That’s not to say we shouldn’t reach out. Rather we must take actions to try to improve our own situations. We are the best people to assess and meet our own needs. That’s what this blog is all about. That’s what my course is all about. I have built my course to answer these questions:

Where do I start in order to begin the healing process?
What is the low hanging fruit? In other words, what are the few things I can do that pay the highest return with the lowest expended energy?
How are my beliefs holding me back and what beliefs will lead me to a place of calm, even when I am in the middle of the storm?
Most importantly, how do I recover my resilience so that I can live a meaningful and fulfilled life?

These questions are not questions of privilege. Every human is entitled to ask them and vigorously pursue the answers. There’s no guilt here because this is about your emotional safety, and safety is a right. Everyone has permission.
You have permission.

The Best Social Workers are a Mess, and That’s Just How it’s Meant to Be

I hope that you are having a great week.
As promised, I want to tell you about that light at the end of the tunnel I mentioned. The truth is that this light isn’t on the outside, it’s on the inside. When we find that light in ourselves, we become truly free- free from chronic anxiety and worry, free from the pressure of others’ expectations to perform, and free from the continued denial of our own joy.
Now stay with me…I know that last paragraph may seem a little new-agey. A little puffy. Sort of pie in the sky-ish. If you’re reading my blog you’re a little suspect- I get it. But frankly I don’t know how to put it much differently than that. However, let me expand it for you.
What I am about to describe is the one belief on which most helping professionals’ wellness rests. This is the best I have. When this single belief truly shifts, the whole game changes from an emotional health standpoint. I hope you’ll let me explain myself over the next few paragraphs.
I’m a big faker. I always have been. I always describe myself as a duck on a pond. Have you ever watched a duck? Outwardly they look very serene and calm, but underneath the surface of the water, their little webby feet are frantically thrashing around. What’s happening underwater is the truth of the matter, not the seemingly-peaceful exterior.
As a social worker I have been absolutely terrified in meetings, but have learned how to appear calm and collected. Those faker skills actually took me pretty far. What no one ever taught me, however, was that this chronic disconnect between our emotional state on the inside and what we communicate and do on the outside (along with some pretty serious misbeliefs, ongoing stressors, and general lack of self care) were literally killing me. They were burning up my vital and precious supply of life energy.
Where did this mess come from? What caused this chronic state of life-sapping anxiety and stress? That’s actually a very long and nuanced story- a story that I have shared parts of in some of my blog posts and that is woven into my online burnout and trauma recovery course. Yet in a nutshell I found I could boil this emotional agony down to a simple and sinister misbelief, and some faulty logic, presented in three parts:

I must perform perfectly to be worthy/loved/happy

I am inadequate to perform the way I need to, therefore:

I am not worth anything or deserve good things

That’s it. 90% of my job (and life) anxiety and depression is wrapped up in this faulty line of thinking. My guess is that many of the rest us who work in the helping professions are caught in a similar cognitive dynamic. Many of you already know that according to the tenets of cognitive-behavioral therapy, our irrational beliefs drive our negative moods. In order to fix those troubling emotions we must seek out their root cause and squash it. Let’s pick these off one by one:

I must perform perfectly to be worthy/loved/happy

This belief is very basic to Western thought. It is a message that is overtly or covertly encapsulated in nearly every sport, every competition, most love stories, and in the ethos of most nation-states. It is a fundamental understanding that there are winners and losers, and by gosh, you had better be the winner. In addition to the idea of “perfection-as-winning” is the notion of “perfection-as-flawlessness”. We have this constantly modeled for us: in TV shows where no one ever stutters and in magazines where everyone is perfectly beautiful. We also see this on facebook. Most status updates are happy and shiny and depict joyful and fully realized people who are living their dreams.
As social creatures, we cannot help but compare ourselves to others. This is pretty natural. The trouble for us comes when we experience the greater pressures of being inducted into a large social service agency or when starting a high-demand career. Think about what it was like when you went from elementary school to high school. In one moment, you went from the top of the pile (meaning you were the oldest, largest, fastest, smartest, most powerful) to the bottom. Suddenly, everyone else seemed more capable.
You know the exact same thing happens with new workers too. Maybe they’ve just finished a four year degree. By our graduation year most of us had a good system for getting our assignments finished. We probably had a good sense of the “game” of school. Once you get the rules figured out, stress levels go way down. Having the rules is a form of control that makes our lives easier.
But then we get a job at a hospital or as a child protection worker or as a trauma counsellor. Maybe in some other demanding field that requires high performance. Suddenly the game changes. Now the rules are different and everyone around you knows the new game better than you. The pressure to measure up is tremendous. New workers put up with all kinds of abuse, unfairness, and just plain awfulness in the name of fitting in and being seen as a competent professional. In many cases these new workers are saddled with huge workloads by desperate agencies. They have the academics, but they still need time to grow into the job. Their expectations for mentoring (that were often met in school) are often not fulfilled.
Where new workers really take a hit is when they start seeing real clients. Some have never worked in a helping profession before. Think about this. The helping industries typically hire recent graduates into jobs with a heavy emotional demand, even if they have no experience. This is like asking someone to run a marathon even though they’ve only ever taken a few short jogs. They can’t know how well they will do- everything has been theoretical up until now. But now reality is here. In summary, If you are a newer worker but unwittingly maintain the belief that you must perform at an expert level to feel deserving, then you are in trouble! “Anxiety” will soon be your middle name.

I am inadequate to perform the way I need to

In most helping fields the clients don’t change. Or maybe they change in a way or at a pace that is different than what we expect. The work of social work is often drudgery. The pressure from management is usually subtle but high nonetheless. After a few months slogging in the field, the gap between the demand of the job and the capacities of the professional quickly become apparent. We can start to experience a major shift in our self-concept and identity. We were optimistic going in because we were hopeful that we had what it takes, but now we have seen how we fall short, and it’s painful. One recent study (Gibson, 2014) suggested that many social workers would rather face high risk of physical assault rather than participate in a performance review!
Feeling inadequate doesn’t always mean feeling really bad about ourselves. Sometimes the idea that we are not performing well enough is an intolerable thought. Our taxed egos can’t handle it. Often we simply start to feel bad about our clients, about our colleagues, or about the world in general. Becoming disillusioned and jaded is very common for helping professionals. In child protection, some places experience a yearly turnover of 70%! In many of these helping offices, morale is very low.
This sense of professional incompetence is so common that Maslach has included it as a major component of burnout. But here is the rub….no one is good enough to do the job. No one. The thought that you can solve even a quarter of your client’s problems is a glaringly painful error. No, you’ve been tricked by years of TV shows with happy endings and dreams of “helping people”. I am not saying that you can’t make a dent in the lives of others. Rather, that fledgling professionals’ expectations are not yet calibrated with reality. Unfortunately, what results in the hearts of nascent workers is the idea that there is something lacking in them rather than in the system they’ve been plunged into.
In turn, what results from this misbelief- the idea that we are deeply inadequate- are feelings of grief, shame, and insecurity. Grief comes from the loss of the image we had of ourselves, about what we thought the work would be like, and about the nature of the world. Maybe we had this picture of ourselves standing in the gap and helping people or of forming strong emotional connections with clients as we help them with the difficulties of life. But then as we see our work for what it is we realize that those visions were just hopeful fantasies. When you add a strong sense of inadequacy to a perfectionistic or performance-based character, look out! This can become a hotbed for irrational fears and insecurities.

I am not worth anything or deserve good things.

This is the result for many of us. If we must perform to have value, and our level of performance is inadequate, then the natural conclusion is that we must not be worth very much. Of course many others don’t even reach this stage- they either get out or are able to see this misbelief for what it is- a big, stinky lie.
You may be thinking, “Sean, that all sounds a little dramatic. I’m not sure that I think all of that stuff.” Fair enough, you may be right. I truly hope you don’t. Everyone is different. But let’s consider the emotions for a second. Why do helping professionals feel anxiety? Why do they feel grief and loss? Why do they feel disillusionment? Most feelings of anxiety come from some sort of threat, real or imagined. I contend that the biggest threat we face as helping professionals is actually a fear of being unable to handle difficult client situations. It may also be a fear of what clients will say to us, a fear of what our supervisor will think of us, or a fear that we will be shown to not have the solution to the problem in front of us. These fears all stem from one place- the greater threat that we might be revealed as incapable and therefore unworthy.
If anxiety is based in the fear that will be unable to perform, then depression is based in the (untrue) realization that we didn’t have what it takes to win. But as I said, it’s a rigged game- nobody wins.
Okay, let’s turn the corner. I don’t know about you, but I am starting to feel depressed just writing this (though I know that some of you guys live for this heavy stuff- that’s why you do what you do). So what is the solution? Where is that light I promised? The light is actually the result of a standoff. It is the product of standing your ground, pushing back, and fighting the lies with the truth.
Remember how CBT works? We are supposed to confront our misbeliefs with a rational belief. That doesn’t mean we fill our heads with puffed-up positivity and false flattery- no, we cannot combat self-told lies with equally untrue self-platitudes. Our minds are too smart to put up with self-beliefs that aren’t true- whether nice or nasty. So let me offer you the belief that I think leads us to the light. Ready?
“I am a mess, but I am enough”
This belief has two parts. Let’s consider them one at a time. “I am a mess” is not meant to be negative or pathologizing, but it is instead meant to suggest a sense of humility or groundedness when referring to one’s own capacities.
One fellow social worker took issue with the term “mess”, saying that it sounds too self-condemning. But really the word is meant to be a bold affront to the facebook-fueled “I have it all together” nonsense that we often feel compelled to post. The statement “I am a mess” simply means that we are human beings and therefore we have rough edges. We are forgetful. We don’t always make sense and we’re not always logical. We have feelings. We get mad at clients. We can be judgy. We can be selfish. We are works-in-progress and will always make mistakes. And that’s ok. No really, it is. You are allowed to be who you are. You don’t have to live up to your facebook posts to be worthy of acceptance.
The “messy statement” also means that it is a crazy idea that we could somehow be equipped in advance to work in social services. We’ve brought a knife to a gunfight. We have stepped into a raging inferno with a water pistol. How could this somehow reflect on us? We hold this little light inside of us, not a laser beam. That light can do a lot of good, no doubt. But our lamp only lights the way for ourselves and maybe if we’re lucky, a few others close by.
The magic is that when we adopt this humble stance, we find a kind of freedom. This freedom comes from letting go of the claims of “expert” and renouncing an “all knowing” attitude. Think about what it means to possess something. I used to give money freely to the poor when I had nothing. I could sit with $4 in my bank account and feel totally secure. But now that I am relatively flush, I think about my money in a much more guarded way. I fear losing it to bad investments. I fear that I won’t make enough. I used to rent and didn’t care much about the apartment I lived in. I knew I was just borrowing it. Then I bought a house and everything changed. Owning a house came with some prestige, but the cost was that I am ultimately responsible for each bill and every leak, and I therefore fear that something will happen when I am away. The things we own own us back.
The same holds true when acquiring professional stature or a reputation. If you are known for being a fit, sporty person, the pressure is on to stay fit and to win at all the sports you play. When we become social workers or counsellors and are given positions of esteem or great responsibility, we can find ourselves equally subservient to the demands of the maintenance of those positions. In other words, we must perform each time, perhaps not primarily for the good of our client, but in order to satisfy the persona that we seek to uphold.
And that’s exhausting. It’s hard to keep adding fuel to a light that isn’t supposed to burn so brightly for so long. I remember when I was deep in the child protection trenches and I started longing to drive a produce truck again, like I had decades prior. I wanted to live a simple existence again. What I didn’t realize was that my ego was blocking that simple existence, not my station in life.
The best helpers tend to take a “not knowing” stance. This is a place of humility that invites people in. I remember a time once when I rambled on to someone about some fancy social theory. I wanted to impress him with my vast knowledge and show him that I was a competent academic. Later on, I learned that he had literally written the book on the stuff I was spouting off about. But he never said a word. He never corrected me. He never showed me up, though he could have. He could have out-shone me in that moment. But he just listened. Afterward when I learned the truth, I was deeply moved by his self control and his graciousness. During our interaction he stood free in his “non-expert” stance, yet I was enslaved by a need to come across a certain way.
So I say: accept the mess. Don’t take yourself too seriously. When the storms come, your humility will protect you. And if it doesn’t, then your humility will allow you to recover much more quickly because your ego cannot be dealt a fatal blow. When you keep your feet on the ground, metaphorically speaking, you can never fall too far. Remember: “I am a mess, but I am enough.”
Let’s look at the second part of that light-giving statement: “…but I am enough”
The fact is that you ARE enough. Not only are you enough, but you are so very and deeply precious to us. Your life matters profoundly. Your value comes from just having shown up. You have what it takes to make a difference- maybe not in the same way your co-worker does but in a way that is unique to you. You have been blessed with the gifts and talents needed for you to get by. We don’t want what you know. We don’t want what you can do for us or how you can perform. We just want you, as you are. You are the gift.
Now I can am able to say these things because I can see the good in you. As a third party observer it’s obvious to me. I could go all day! But, alas, that’s not enough. You see, YOU need to see the good in you. You must believe and embrace the truth that you have value even when you feel like a failure. You have worth even when you suspect (or are quite confident) that your efforts just aren’t enough to bring about the changes you desire (in yourself or in your client).
I have watched so many new social workers crash and burn because they couldn’t get their heads around one or both parts of the statement, “I am a mess, but I am enough.” Sometimes new professionals come in with something to prove. Sometimes they just have really high expectations about how much they will be able to achieve with clients. Other times, new workers start well, but soon succumb to extreme agency pressures or begin to recognize the gravity of their role and begin to take on burdens that aren’t theirs to carry.
My hope for you is that as you walk through your vocational life, you will be reminded that superheroes are a myth. There is no superman. No one is bulletproof or can leap tall buildings with a single bound. Our outward capacity is minimal- we are, after all, mere mortals. However in spite of our weakness, we can be light-keepers. You can humbly offer the little light that is inside of you.

You are enough.

The Most Vulnerable Part of a Social Worker’s Body…

We are the only species on the planet that make use of story. I read once that the reason human beings emerged from among other primate species (like the Neanderthals) was because of their special superpower: the ability to use story and language. Neanderthals, as the story goes, could only coordinate among small, familial groups. Therefore their cumulative strength was only as powerful as the size of their family.
Homo sapiens, however, developed a keen ability to enthrall and motivate much larger groups via shared themes and collective narratives. That’s why they came out on top. Using stories, they could gather massive numbers of people and dominate their surroundings during times of war.
Think about all the world’s religions. At their core, they are really just powerful stories that people have embraced and internalized. I am not challenging the veracity of these tales, but rather making the point that for a human brain, hearing a story about something is pretty close to experiencing it directly. In fact, our brains light up in virtually the same way regardless.
ice_cream_sundae Think about a scoop of ice cream sitting in a cold dish with hot chocolate fudge oozing down the sides. Can you taste it? You may be salivating already. Imagine that you are hiking at the grand canyon and that you are cautiously stepping toward the edge. You can see straight down to the river valley 4000 feet below. Did your feet start to tingle? Your rational mind knows that you are at your desk or on your phone sitting in your car, but your body doesn’t know that! It’s already preparing to hold onto some little tree should you spill over the edge.
In addition to being susceptible to other people’s narratives, we also have a set of stories we tell ourselves. For us, these stories are “truth”. That is, we have confidence that our stories are “actually” real. In fact, these stories are undoubtedly based in reality and and serve us well. For instance, we usually go to the trouble of showing up for work because we understand that if we do, then twice a month the electronic number in our savings account will bump up, and that somehow that electronic number means that if we show someone a little piece of plastic we can get a cup of coffee or a new dress.
We may not understand all of the mechanics of this because most of it is very complex, behind the scenes, and completely abstract. But we have enough faith in the “truth” of this story that we take on work tasks we don’t necessarily like and drive to the mall with the firm belief that someone will let us leave with that new dress in hand.
Sometimes our stories don’t serve us very well…or at least not anymore. Maybe we believe that we’re bad at math, so we never bother taking on projects that require it. That happened to me. I hated math because I had tried and tried as a kid, and never seemed to “get it”. Years later, I decided to take a chemistry course purely out of curiosity- to test the belief that I was math-challenged. The result? I aced the class. It seems that my belief was wrong– or at least it became wrong at some point.
That wrong belief is why I didn’t go to medical school. My life could have been totally different if I had just challenged that no-longer-true belief just a few years earlier. I read once that if you believe that you are a “7” out of “10” in a particular area of life, and if you find yourself performing at a “5”, you will naturally bring up your game so that your perceived performance matches your self concept. In the same way, if you find yourself operating at a “9”, you will unconsciously dial back your efforts or self-sabotage until you think you are back at a solid “7”.
Ok, Sean, thanks for the pop psychology class. But how do these ideas actually help me in my social work practice? Why does any of this matter? It matters for this reason:
The lives of social workers are decimated by stories.
How can that be? Well it’s actually quite basic. So basic, even, that we can be harmed over time without even noticing. When we hear stories of trauma again and again, it affects our own story- our greater life-story. Have you ever heard of “suspension of disbelief”? It is the idea that we allow ourselves to believe that a story is real so that we can get into the action and enjoy the film or book or play. Then why is it that when we watch movies we are not traumatized by the horrible and often graphic human destruction we see? It is because our brains aren’t so easily fooled- they can tell what is real and what is pretend. Since we were toddlers we learned to use make-believe to entertain ourselves, to learn about the world, and to build bridges with the children around us. So we are good at suspending disbelief.
sadkid Trouble ensues when we know that the story is real. We sit with a mom as she tells us how her partner came home two days ago and hit her with a chair. We can see the defensive wounds on her arms. We watch the tears stream down her face. We believe her. We accept her story as truth. This is not CSI or Law & Order- it’s real life. And because we believe her, we open ourselves up to a kind of trauma- the kind of harm that comes from knowing at a deep level that there is actual wrong and strife in the world. We are unsafe. We and those we love can actually be harmed.
So it seems that our ears are our most vulnerable bodypart as social workers.
Maybe the vicarious “harm of hearing” is more easily understood in other contexts. It happens all the time with phobias. Mom is scared of dogs, so her son develops an aversion to dogs- a vicarious aversion. Have you ever seen a startled baby held by a parent? What happens when a book falls off a shelf or a big laughing stranger walks into the room? Baby never reacts immediately- she will always look to mom or dad first. Mom and dad provide the context that baby hasn’t developed yet- she learns to be afraid (or calm) vicariously. Mom and dad know if this is normal or something to freak out about. We do it as adults too. We look at the sudden thing that happened across the road then we look back at each other for the collective reaction. We are relational beings.
Here’s where the real harm happens. The research tells us that when these traumatic tales are multiplied many times, our worldview bends and buckles. Our stories about ourselves shift. This is especially true when we work in fields where we don’t often see a lot of hope and change in people. Most of us graduate with our degree being fairly certain that we are a solid “7” or “8” in terms of being able to “help”.
Yet after months or years of traumatic exposures, witnessing chronic pathologies, and seeing our very best attempts have little to no effect on our patients or clients, our helping score starts to tank. Our sense of professional self-efficacy drops. Our own story can become impoverished and darkened. If we already struggle with depression or anxiety, those symptoms can be exasperated.
What’s your story? What beliefs have shifted for you since starting in your profession? Maybe you feel as though you are doing fine. That’s awesome! Maybe you’re struggling. That’s okay too. The good news is that there are solutions for vicarious trauma that work for most people. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Next week I am going to talk little about that light.
If you want a taste of what I am going to talk about, sign up here to get a free sample from my course and figure out your story.