Towards Hope
As I write this, I am brokenhearted.
As I write this, I am angry.
As I write this, I am discouraged.
One of our residents has anger management issues. Soon after I started, she became outraged with me. I learned quickly to depersonalize her actions and to leave it at work.
Over the last few months, I have seen this resident grow tremendously; I don't remember her last anger outburst. She has become a leader in the house, holding other residents accountable and communicating with the staff. She wrote me a note that included both "please" and "thank you"! I have even seen her smile at my jokes on occasion. We are all very proud of her progress.
Then, one evening, she went AWOL and relapsed. According to our policy, if you go AWOL at night, you are immediately dismissed.
The next day was a hard and somber day at work. It felt like a funeral.
We are so sad to see her relapse. We are so sad to see her go.
While I say that I learned to depersonalize, I didn't. I empathize too deeply for that to be possible.
But honestly, I wouldn't want to remove all feelings.
I will miss her.
When I updated some of the interns, we spent some time to process the information.
We talked about how recovery is not linear. Relapse is often part of recovery.
We talked about how to cling to the progress: she only got high once before realizing her mistake, she came to us immediately for help, she accepted responsibility instead of blaming others. There is a bigger picture of recovery than this one night.
I spoke about my hope in having a higher power: I am not individually responsible for her recovery, but my God cares about her infinitely and is holding her.
We talked about the importance of feeling our emotional response. It is sad. Being sad means that you care about her and it means that you are invested in her recovery. Feeling that sadness is part of the work we do.
We talked about how we cannot be frozen by sadness because there are other women in the house who need us to continue our work.
We talked for 45 minutes about how to continue in the work and have hope alongside the deep sadness we feel.
At the same time, this resident isn't an anomaly:
We had a resident run away over Thanksgiving and relapse.
One of our recent graduates regressed in her recovery.
I find myself angry: at a society that allows and even facilitates the violence and traumas that our residents have gone through, at a society that makes recovery hard, if not impossible, at a society where drugs are too easy to come by.
I find myself discouraged: is the work that we do worth all the time and effort and resources? Are we having any effect at all? Is there such a thing as a person who is just too broken?
In this moment, though I know the right things to say, I don't know how to hope.
As I write this, I am angry.
As I write this, I am discouraged.
One of our residents has anger management issues. Soon after I started, she became outraged with me. I learned quickly to depersonalize her actions and to leave it at work.
Over the last few months, I have seen this resident grow tremendously; I don't remember her last anger outburst. She has become a leader in the house, holding other residents accountable and communicating with the staff. She wrote me a note that included both "please" and "thank you"! I have even seen her smile at my jokes on occasion. We are all very proud of her progress.
Then, one evening, she went AWOL and relapsed. According to our policy, if you go AWOL at night, you are immediately dismissed.
The next day was a hard and somber day at work. It felt like a funeral.
We are so sad to see her relapse. We are so sad to see her go.
While I say that I learned to depersonalize, I didn't. I empathize too deeply for that to be possible.
But honestly, I wouldn't want to remove all feelings.
I will miss her.
When I updated some of the interns, we spent some time to process the information.
We talked about how recovery is not linear. Relapse is often part of recovery.
We talked about how to cling to the progress: she only got high once before realizing her mistake, she came to us immediately for help, she accepted responsibility instead of blaming others. There is a bigger picture of recovery than this one night.
I spoke about my hope in having a higher power: I am not individually responsible for her recovery, but my God cares about her infinitely and is holding her.
We talked about the importance of feeling our emotional response. It is sad. Being sad means that you care about her and it means that you are invested in her recovery. Feeling that sadness is part of the work we do.
We talked about how we cannot be frozen by sadness because there are other women in the house who need us to continue our work.
We talked for 45 minutes about how to continue in the work and have hope alongside the deep sadness we feel.
At the same time, this resident isn't an anomaly:
We had a resident run away over Thanksgiving and relapse.
One of our recent graduates regressed in her recovery.
I find myself angry: at a society that allows and even facilitates the violence and traumas that our residents have gone through, at a society that makes recovery hard, if not impossible, at a society where drugs are too easy to come by.
I find myself discouraged: is the work that we do worth all the time and effort and resources? Are we having any effect at all? Is there such a thing as a person who is just too broken?
In this moment, though I know the right things to say, I don't know how to hope.
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