It has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
"At the end of every night a new day grows."
I'm ready for my new day.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Status Updates
Me: Mom, would you freak out if I moved to Africa for a year?
Mom: Not at all but you need to know your dad and I will be visiting and you will need to arrange a wildlife safari for us. I've always wanted to do a safari. This could be my chance.
Sometimes my job is hard, but sometimes it is so freakin' awesome. Today I reconnected a teenager with his dad whom he hasn't had contact with in 17 years.
I never realized just how much of my life facebook took away until the last two weeks. My facebook cleanse was a wonderful idea.
No diet coke= headache.
I'm ready for warm weather because it brings everyone outdoors again. I've seen more of my neighbors in the past week than I have since November.
My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Yea for him.
My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Boo for me. When I wake up tomorrow I'll be completely in charge of 16 teenagers and 8 staff. Aughhh!
It's amazing how well a sticker chart works, even for adults. My roommates and I are actually working out because we like to reward ourselves with stickers. Ridiculous, I know.
Mom: Not at all but you need to know your dad and I will be visiting and you will need to arrange a wildlife safari for us. I've always wanted to do a safari. This could be my chance.
Sometimes my job is hard, but sometimes it is so freakin' awesome. Today I reconnected a teenager with his dad whom he hasn't had contact with in 17 years.
I never realized just how much of my life facebook took away until the last two weeks. My facebook cleanse was a wonderful idea.
No diet coke= headache.
I'm ready for warm weather because it brings everyone outdoors again. I've seen more of my neighbors in the past week than I have since November.
My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Yea for him.
My boss goes on vacation tomorrow. Boo for me. When I wake up tomorrow I'll be completely in charge of 16 teenagers and 8 staff. Aughhh!
It's amazing how well a sticker chart works, even for adults. My roommates and I are actually working out because we like to reward ourselves with stickers. Ridiculous, I know.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Puzzle
It's taken a long time, but I am starting to see the image formed as the puzzle pieces connect...
- many years ago I watched the documentary Invisible Children and the stories of child soliders in Uganda tugged my heart strings.
- I read a book called The Middle of Everywhere about refugees in America. I was intrigued on many levels but put the book aside after reading it and gave it no more thought.
- 4 years ago I met Sitey, a Somali Bantu refugee. I tutored her in English and got to know her family. The book I had previously read was incredibly helpful.
- 2.5 years ago I started my current job as a mental health therapist. My organization requires more than behavior modification. Instead, we deal with deep trauma.
- this fall I started volunteering with two Congolese refugee families by transporting them to/from church. Over the last few weeks I have spent a lot of time researching the Congo and what they may have experienced. I've looked at horrific pictures and read traumatic stories.
- this fall I met "Grandpa Bill" when he joined my community group. The night I met him and heard about his heart for Uganda, I told a friend "I'm going to Uganda with this man".
- I am reading a book called Radical. It's messing with me on multiple levels.
- I stumbled across a blog written by a young woman from Uganda. She went for a short-term missions trip and then never left. She is now raising 13 girls who call her "mommy".
- Last week I read Mark 8:35- "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it."
- Saturday night I journaled about trauma and how much trauma work I've done recently with my clients. Trauma often causes therapists to burn out. Instead, I see hope and am encouraged by the work that my clients do.
- I sat down at church on Sunday and sitting in front of me was Grandpa Bill. He introduced me to his friends- a couple that works for Global Refuge International. After learning what I do, one of the first questions the man asked was "do you do trauma work?" He then proceeded to tell me about his organization and the need for trauma workers.
It's a glorious mess. Jesus is wrecking my life, one puzzle piece at a time. I am confident the final picture will be beautiful.
- many years ago I watched the documentary Invisible Children and the stories of child soliders in Uganda tugged my heart strings.
- I read a book called The Middle of Everywhere about refugees in America. I was intrigued on many levels but put the book aside after reading it and gave it no more thought.
- 4 years ago I met Sitey, a Somali Bantu refugee. I tutored her in English and got to know her family. The book I had previously read was incredibly helpful.
- 2.5 years ago I started my current job as a mental health therapist. My organization requires more than behavior modification. Instead, we deal with deep trauma.
- this fall I started volunteering with two Congolese refugee families by transporting them to/from church. Over the last few weeks I have spent a lot of time researching the Congo and what they may have experienced. I've looked at horrific pictures and read traumatic stories.
- this fall I met "Grandpa Bill" when he joined my community group. The night I met him and heard about his heart for Uganda, I told a friend "I'm going to Uganda with this man".
- I am reading a book called Radical. It's messing with me on multiple levels.
- I stumbled across a blog written by a young woman from Uganda. She went for a short-term missions trip and then never left. She is now raising 13 girls who call her "mommy".
- Last week I read Mark 8:35- "For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it."
- Saturday night I journaled about trauma and how much trauma work I've done recently with my clients. Trauma often causes therapists to burn out. Instead, I see hope and am encouraged by the work that my clients do.
- I sat down at church on Sunday and sitting in front of me was Grandpa Bill. He introduced me to his friends- a couple that works for Global Refuge International. After learning what I do, one of the first questions the man asked was "do you do trauma work?" He then proceeded to tell me about his organization and the need for trauma workers.
It's a glorious mess. Jesus is wrecking my life, one puzzle piece at a time. I am confident the final picture will be beautiful.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The "T" Word
Once upon a time ago, I left work at work. Sure, I shared stories about the craziness that is my job, but the details were left at work. I could effectively leave the heartache, the pain, the trauma at work.
Not so much these days. Trauma sits in the passenger seat during my drive home. Trauma makes itself at home in my mind and settles in my heart. Trauma teases my tear ducts. Trauma haunts my dreams. Yes, I'm a therapist that specializes in trauma but I wasn't prepared for the amount of trauma my kids are dealing with right now. They share stories, poems, collages, journal entries. Sometimes it all feel surreal- almost like I'm watching a movie. But when I focus in on the voice and the eyes in front of me, it is all too real.
I don't believe that Trauma is leading toward burn-out. Instead, Trauma is reminding me why it is I do what I do. I have created a safe place where teens can share the worst of the worst. I have been gifted with the ability to ask the right questions, and to keep my mouth closed when I need to listen. And I have hope- hope that one day Trauma will no longer win.
Not so much these days. Trauma sits in the passenger seat during my drive home. Trauma makes itself at home in my mind and settles in my heart. Trauma teases my tear ducts. Trauma haunts my dreams. Yes, I'm a therapist that specializes in trauma but I wasn't prepared for the amount of trauma my kids are dealing with right now. They share stories, poems, collages, journal entries. Sometimes it all feel surreal- almost like I'm watching a movie. But when I focus in on the voice and the eyes in front of me, it is all too real.
I don't believe that Trauma is leading toward burn-out. Instead, Trauma is reminding me why it is I do what I do. I have created a safe place where teens can share the worst of the worst. I have been gifted with the ability to ask the right questions, and to keep my mouth closed when I need to listen. And I have hope- hope that one day Trauma will no longer win.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
When Worlds Collide
"Can I go to church with you?" What a simple question with an answer that should also be simple. Instead: "Uh, yes. I guess. Okay. Are you sure? It's a long service. Really? Oh shit."
While in college, both undergrad and grad school, it was drilled into me to set firm boundaries with my clients. This meant no contact with clients outside of the work setting. If I see someone in the grocery store, just walk on by and don't acknowledge them. Don't let clients know anything about me. If they ask a personal question, turn it back on them. Keep my personal life personal and my work life completely separate. I was taught that this was necessary for my own sanity and a way to practice self-care. So that's what I've done for many years.
Until now.
As far as I can tell, Jesus would tell me what I learned in school is crap. How can I love people and minister to them if I don't know them and they don't know me? How can I point people to Jesus when I don't let them know that incredibly personal part of my life? So when one of my clients asked me if she could come to church with me, I said yes. And then I invited another kid. And then I almost hyperventilated.
When I walk into PBC on a Sunday morning, it's more than just a gathering of believers. It is time to reconnect with my family. It's time to be okay with not being okay. There are tears and laughter. I question, I am challenged, I learn. I have responsibilities, I have people to minister to. I open my heart and am vulnerable. Allowing my teenage clients into this part of my life was almost too much. I questioned where I sat, what I said, what I did. I was afraid of being me in some ways. And then I got mad. I was mad because they were intruding on my life, in my space, with my people. So then I felt guilty. Guilty because of my attitude and my actions. I recognized my selfishness and it cut me to the core. How dare I miss the opportunity to point people to Christ because it makes me uncomfortable. Jesus clearly said that following Him meant giving up one's own life.
It's still a battle waging war in my mind and in my heart. Jesus is wrecking my life... thank goodness.
While in college, both undergrad and grad school, it was drilled into me to set firm boundaries with my clients. This meant no contact with clients outside of the work setting. If I see someone in the grocery store, just walk on by and don't acknowledge them. Don't let clients know anything about me. If they ask a personal question, turn it back on them. Keep my personal life personal and my work life completely separate. I was taught that this was necessary for my own sanity and a way to practice self-care. So that's what I've done for many years.
Until now.
As far as I can tell, Jesus would tell me what I learned in school is crap. How can I love people and minister to them if I don't know them and they don't know me? How can I point people to Jesus when I don't let them know that incredibly personal part of my life? So when one of my clients asked me if she could come to church with me, I said yes. And then I invited another kid. And then I almost hyperventilated.
When I walk into PBC on a Sunday morning, it's more than just a gathering of believers. It is time to reconnect with my family. It's time to be okay with not being okay. There are tears and laughter. I question, I am challenged, I learn. I have responsibilities, I have people to minister to. I open my heart and am vulnerable. Allowing my teenage clients into this part of my life was almost too much. I questioned where I sat, what I said, what I did. I was afraid of being me in some ways. And then I got mad. I was mad because they were intruding on my life, in my space, with my people. So then I felt guilty. Guilty because of my attitude and my actions. I recognized my selfishness and it cut me to the core. How dare I miss the opportunity to point people to Christ because it makes me uncomfortable. Jesus clearly said that following Him meant giving up one's own life.
It's still a battle waging war in my mind and in my heart. Jesus is wrecking my life... thank goodness.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Those Eyes
Those eyes captured my heart the first time I looked into them. Those eyes are full of life and still have the twinkle of innocence that can only be seen in a child. Those beautiful brown eyes are always watching, taking in the world. Those eyes belong to my sweet niece.
As adults, we are aware of what children hear. We listen more closely to television and radio stations and change the channel if the content isn't appropriate. We whisper. We spell out words. We filter what we say. And we expect the same from others.
Somehow, we forget about those eyes and what they see. Today, I was reminded just how much young eyes see. Malaya and I were talking about smoking cigarettes and how gross smoking is. I casually asked her if she was going to smoke when she grows up. Although I expected her "no" answer, her reasons shook me to my core. She doesn't want to smoke because I don't smoke. Not only that, but she is not going to drink coffee or wear much make-up because I don't do those things. And even more, she is going to be a "regular adult" like me and not have children. I laughed and hugged her tight, but there were tears in my eyes. Those eyes are watching everything I do, even the mundane details of my life. What am I showing her? What does she see as my priorities, what I value?
As I've processed through these thoughts, I'm painfully aware of the areas in my life in which I'm not showing her good things. She doesn't see me pray. She sees me spend too much time on the computer. She doesn't see that I care about others (outside the family). She sees my frustration with my brother. She sees too much diet coke.
She sees. She watches. She learns.
As adults, we are aware of what children hear. We listen more closely to television and radio stations and change the channel if the content isn't appropriate. We whisper. We spell out words. We filter what we say. And we expect the same from others.
Somehow, we forget about those eyes and what they see. Today, I was reminded just how much young eyes see. Malaya and I were talking about smoking cigarettes and how gross smoking is. I casually asked her if she was going to smoke when she grows up. Although I expected her "no" answer, her reasons shook me to my core. She doesn't want to smoke because I don't smoke. Not only that, but she is not going to drink coffee or wear much make-up because I don't do those things. And even more, she is going to be a "regular adult" like me and not have children. I laughed and hugged her tight, but there were tears in my eyes. Those eyes are watching everything I do, even the mundane details of my life. What am I showing her? What does she see as my priorities, what I value?
As I've processed through these thoughts, I'm painfully aware of the areas in my life in which I'm not showing her good things. She doesn't see me pray. She sees me spend too much time on the computer. She doesn't see that I care about others (outside the family). She sees my frustration with my brother. She sees too much diet coke.
She sees. She watches. She learns.
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