I feel like a broken record in saying that this semester has been overwhelming and crazy. But last night I got a little reminder about why I push through and what inspires me.
I had a sit down with a family member who has been struggling with many obstacles in life and I was able to use some of the micro-level practice skills I’ve learned over the past year and a half. Talking to substance abuse, withdrawal, loneliness, transition, sobriety, moving, new experiences, change of environment, etc. Although a sensitive and tough subject to face with a loved one, it requires open arms and an ability to listen, process, and respond slowly. Today I run on minimal sleep, practically no coffee, and a headache from crying when that Greyhound bus drove away. It’s incredibly important to be vulnerable and transparent when appropriate, so here I go.
I have poured years of heartache and emotion into seeing this family member get healthy again. I have stayed up at night worried about their safety. I’ve spent many nights crying myself to sleep because I didn’t know if they were safe, warm, or even alive. I’ve not been a bystander watching and judging from afar, instead, I’ve carried some of the burden, embodied some of the pains, and felt what they were going through so I could be more effective in my approach. There are many times I’ve felt helpless, but I have never felt hopeless. Probably one of my greatest attributes is that when the going gets tough, I typically use that as fuel to find a way to keep going. I believe in people and believe in their ability to regain wellness. I don’t believe in giving up on people, to a degree, because giving up on people and brushing them aside is too easy. When I dedicate my energy to helping someone, and the relationship was ever severed, I would want to be able to stand before God someday and know that I did everything in my strength and power to help that person. That’s my mentality.
Three days ago, I received a plea for help. A very transparent plea, which involved this family member needing to remove themselves from the environment that introduced them to hard drugs and homelessness. Three days ago, this family member reached out with a need, that as a social worker in-training I was able to recognize as the family member recognizing the ecological factors contributing to their current situation. There was a solution, which was having this family member move half-way across the country to live with another family member. Arrangements were made, joint efforts immediately purchased a one-way ticket, and the sense of urgency got the family member on a Greyhound headed for a fresh start.
As a social worker in-training, I can only be inspired by the recognition and strength of this family member. To see five steps into their future and recognize that as someone they don’t want to be, to assess the current situation and recognize what got them there, to muster the strength to say they need to get out of that environment if they intend to thrive, and then to take every ounce inside them to say they wanted to move to a new environment in a place they’ve never been, with the intention of starting over. I’m tearfully inspired by the gumption of said family member to take everything they own, dwindle it down into three luggage pieces, and board a bus for a fairly isolated two-day journey to a place they can start over. They're going to go and do great things, I feel it.
The easiest way I could explain the withdrawal symptoms this family member was struggling through was that they had fed one wolf for so long, and starved the other. That now that they’re trying to feed the starved wolf, the fat one is angry and wants attention. It’s an old analogy that I don’t remember where I heard it from, but I feel it helped in giving the shakes, the voices, the aches, and the pains a name: addiction. I explained that it’s ok to talk to the addiction and tell it you’re through with it and that you’ve moved on. Addiction had been the mask for pain, for heartbreak, for abuse, and sadness for a decade, that it was strong. “But you’re stronger,” was the three words I kept reinforcing.
I’m exhausted today. I’m mentally, emotionally, and physically drained. I really want a nap and a gallon of coffee, no preferential order. But I’m proud. And I’m inspired. You don’t have to be in a fancy setting with bells and whistles to help someone, because sometimes the person who needs your help the most is sitting right there.
