My 18-year-old client gave me permission to post his poem here. It inspired me.
"My Only Confession"
Life is tough, just ask me why...
Things are complicated, and then you die...
Reality is, most people don't care...
They mock, they laugh, they just point and stare...
But things don't always stay that way...
I'll~try and live life day by day...
There's plenty of times I've been happy...
If being stoned wasn't fun, then fuckin smack me...
I really wanna let people know...
I want a good life, does that not show?
I want a woman with beauty IN heart...
Accept me who I am, part for part...
I'm not crazy, I just want to live...
To grow old with someone and maybe have kids...
Get me a job and work my way higher...
Lay down with my love when I get tired...
Why should I hide my face from success...
I'm gonna take failure and put him to rest...
I'll chop off his head and bury him deep...
Then me and my future can get a good night's sleep.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
feelings soup
I currently work part-time at a day treatment program for mentally ill adults. Every Monday, I lead a drama group where I lead activities and self-expression through drama. This group has been a stretch for many of the clients, as a lot of them carry a lot of anxiety, particularly social anxiety. Also, no one had done a group like this before at the program so it was new to everyone. Nevertheless, they have taken many risks and had fun. When we processed how the group was going, it was difficult for people to articulate, but I still sensed a lot of anxiety. I went home that night, thinking about how I could address this ongoing issue that causes people to isolate. That’s when I thought of the “feelings soup”.
The next week, I asked the group to think of a feeling they had that morning. About 80% of the group said they were feeling some form of anxiety, although one said he’s feeling hopeful and another said he’s feeling optimistic. I instructed the group to take that feeling and hold it in their laps. It now had a physical shape and form and they had to hold it accordingly. For example if it was really big, or really hot, it needed to be held that way. Some people’s feelings were liquidy and needed a container, one person’s feeling took the shape of a little turtle that he could carry on his shoulder, and one feeling was prickly and sharp. I asked people what they wanted to do with their feeling and most said they wanted to put it in the trash or stomp on it. I did not encourage that, as they have to live with their feelings and manage them. But I did have them pass their feelings around so others could hold their group members’ feelings. They passed them around until they eventually got their feeling back. Some people expressed their feelings were starting to change shape.
After that, I placed an imaginary magic bowl in the middle of the room and one by one each group member placed their feeling in the bowl. One person had a pretend spoon available and she mixed the feelings together. Then I had each group member take out a part of the “soup” that they chose without further instruction or prompting. Each group member spontaneously took out a positive emotion; they took the hope and optimism that was in the mix. As they described their reformed emotions, they expressed feeling connected to others in the group. One group member took out “happy”. I asked her to think of what her happy looks like if it could take a shape or form. She answered by saying she is not good at these things. However, in actuality, she had a wonderful visualization for her “happy”. She described a helmet that helps protect and shield against overwhelming problems and helps her manage them. Other people in the group expressed they wished they had a “happy helmet” too. At the end, they each had their part of the soup and they now could carry it with them. I concluded the group by having the client with her helmet give each of her group members a helmet of their own to wear. This was particularly inspiring because this client often does not recognize her tremendous value. Meanwhile, her great idea was validated and the group appreciated receiving a helmet to help them manage their negative feelings.
This was an activity I had thought of on my own and had not done before with another group. I was impressed by the spontaneity of the clients. I had no plan that the group would find all of that hope and happiness in the soup. I was amazed and inspired by the power of the group process to help people feel connected with each other around similar feelings.
The next week, I asked the group to think of a feeling they had that morning. About 80% of the group said they were feeling some form of anxiety, although one said he’s feeling hopeful and another said he’s feeling optimistic. I instructed the group to take that feeling and hold it in their laps. It now had a physical shape and form and they had to hold it accordingly. For example if it was really big, or really hot, it needed to be held that way. Some people’s feelings were liquidy and needed a container, one person’s feeling took the shape of a little turtle that he could carry on his shoulder, and one feeling was prickly and sharp. I asked people what they wanted to do with their feeling and most said they wanted to put it in the trash or stomp on it. I did not encourage that, as they have to live with their feelings and manage them. But I did have them pass their feelings around so others could hold their group members’ feelings. They passed them around until they eventually got their feeling back. Some people expressed their feelings were starting to change shape.
After that, I placed an imaginary magic bowl in the middle of the room and one by one each group member placed their feeling in the bowl. One person had a pretend spoon available and she mixed the feelings together. Then I had each group member take out a part of the “soup” that they chose without further instruction or prompting. Each group member spontaneously took out a positive emotion; they took the hope and optimism that was in the mix. As they described their reformed emotions, they expressed feeling connected to others in the group. One group member took out “happy”. I asked her to think of what her happy looks like if it could take a shape or form. She answered by saying she is not good at these things. However, in actuality, she had a wonderful visualization for her “happy”. She described a helmet that helps protect and shield against overwhelming problems and helps her manage them. Other people in the group expressed they wished they had a “happy helmet” too. At the end, they each had their part of the soup and they now could carry it with them. I concluded the group by having the client with her helmet give each of her group members a helmet of their own to wear. This was particularly inspiring because this client often does not recognize her tremendous value. Meanwhile, her great idea was validated and the group appreciated receiving a helmet to help them manage their negative feelings.
This was an activity I had thought of on my own and had not done before with another group. I was impressed by the spontaneity of the clients. I had no plan that the group would find all of that hope and happiness in the soup. I was amazed and inspired by the power of the group process to help people feel connected with each other around similar feelings.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
The Day The Voices Stopped
I spent much of this weekend quietly reading the book “The Day the Voices Stopped…” by Ken Steele. In two days, I read the 200 pages cover to cover. It is a memoir of a man who suffered from Schizophrenia for 30 years. His voices began talking to him at age 14 through his radio. They terrorized him, told him he was worthless and regularly gave him ideas and strategies to kill himself. However, with the proper therapy and medication, he became an inspiring advocate for people with mental illness. As a mental health professional that does not have schizophrenia, his story helped me have a glimpse of the worldview of someone suffering from this illness. The book included the specific terrorizing words the voices said to Ken everyday. It described several near death experiences (some were directed by his voices), a brutal rape and prostitution. He also wrote about the many state hospitals he was involuntarily committed to in different cities including New York City, Hawaii, San Francisco and Chicago. He listed the routine of meeting with the different doctors, social workers and being watched closely by the orderlies. He described the restraints, the seclusion rooms, and the wrong medications which caused him to drool or appear catatonic. Very often, he would stabilize, be discharged to a program, start working, but when things appeared to go well, it was too much pressure, the voices would get louder and he would run away and revert to his homeless lifestyle.
Mr. Steele also talked about his ‘institutionalization’. He had been in so many hospitals and halfway houses, he could write a national directory, he once joked in his book. He wrote about knowing the script to get hospitalized, and knowing the correct behaviors to earn privileges. He discussed his needed “toughness” to manage around other patients in these unsafe settings. Also, he wrote about his fears of getting better after being in the sick role for so many years. Finally, talked about his lack of much needed support from his family and how social support was one of the key factors to his eventual stability.
As I was reading, I was thinking of clients I’ve had the privilege to get to know at a locked residential treatment center for emotionally disturbed adolescents. The book gave me an insider’s perspective on some of the behavior I observed including running away, cheeking meds, manipulation of rules and other institutionalized behavior. I thought about the secret voices they hear and the pressure they have to “be normal” when they are seeing and hearing delusions. Because Mr. Steele narrated his story with both reality and voices, it helped me get a better picture of what someone who appears to be talking to themselves might be experiencing. As I was reading Ken Steele’s story, I had tremendous empathy for him, just as I felt strongly connected to several of my clients.
I began to think of one client in particular who graduated from the adolescent treatment center I used to work at. She was a resident at the facility for over a year. She struggled with a severe drug addiction, delusions and paranoia. In fact, her symptoms were so severe; she had to be spoon-fed when she first entered the program. However with treatment and medication, she evolved into a role model for other residents and positively influenced several other younger girls. She was a staff favorite due to her positive outlook and genuine kindness.
In addition, I was always moved by the support this client’s family provided. She and her family struggled through tremendous hardships. Her mother had difficulty parenting due to her own addictions and mental illness. She and her sisters were placed in foster care and had to be independent at young ages. However, her aunt was always available and attended her treatment team meetings and her sister took her out on passes regularly. At her graduation, I was very moved and inspired by her family’s strength and loyalty to one another. She and her family were special. I felt honored to know them and work with them.
Shortly after Ken Steele finished his book, he died in October 2000 at age 52. In the few short years he found peace from his voices, he had become a strong advocate for mental health patients’ rights, a support for the mentally ill and their families and a spokesperson for Schizophrenia. I went online and read what people who knew him had to say, and how he touched them. (http://www.newyorkcityvoices.org/ken.html) I could never know him, but the book he left behind made a difference for me by emphasizing hope and giving me new appreciation for my clients who struggle with Schizophrenia.
Mr. Steele also talked about his ‘institutionalization’. He had been in so many hospitals and halfway houses, he could write a national directory, he once joked in his book. He wrote about knowing the script to get hospitalized, and knowing the correct behaviors to earn privileges. He discussed his needed “toughness” to manage around other patients in these unsafe settings. Also, he wrote about his fears of getting better after being in the sick role for so many years. Finally, talked about his lack of much needed support from his family and how social support was one of the key factors to his eventual stability.
As I was reading, I was thinking of clients I’ve had the privilege to get to know at a locked residential treatment center for emotionally disturbed adolescents. The book gave me an insider’s perspective on some of the behavior I observed including running away, cheeking meds, manipulation of rules and other institutionalized behavior. I thought about the secret voices they hear and the pressure they have to “be normal” when they are seeing and hearing delusions. Because Mr. Steele narrated his story with both reality and voices, it helped me get a better picture of what someone who appears to be talking to themselves might be experiencing. As I was reading Ken Steele’s story, I had tremendous empathy for him, just as I felt strongly connected to several of my clients.
I began to think of one client in particular who graduated from the adolescent treatment center I used to work at. She was a resident at the facility for over a year. She struggled with a severe drug addiction, delusions and paranoia. In fact, her symptoms were so severe; she had to be spoon-fed when she first entered the program. However with treatment and medication, she evolved into a role model for other residents and positively influenced several other younger girls. She was a staff favorite due to her positive outlook and genuine kindness.
In addition, I was always moved by the support this client’s family provided. She and her family struggled through tremendous hardships. Her mother had difficulty parenting due to her own addictions and mental illness. She and her sisters were placed in foster care and had to be independent at young ages. However, her aunt was always available and attended her treatment team meetings and her sister took her out on passes regularly. At her graduation, I was very moved and inspired by her family’s strength and loyalty to one another. She and her family were special. I felt honored to know them and work with them.
Shortly after Ken Steele finished his book, he died in October 2000 at age 52. In the few short years he found peace from his voices, he had become a strong advocate for mental health patients’ rights, a support for the mentally ill and their families and a spokesperson for Schizophrenia. I went online and read what people who knew him had to say, and how he touched them. (http://www.newyorkcityvoices.org/ken.html) I could never know him, but the book he left behind made a difference for me by emphasizing hope and giving me new appreciation for my clients who struggle with Schizophrenia.
Monday, September 10, 2007
September 11, 2001
As the 6th anniversary approaches, I wanted to share some of my personal and professional memories around September 11th. Every New Yorker has their story about where they were when it happened. This is mine: In 2001, my office was eight blocks away from the World Trade Center. Although, as a social worker, I did home visits and Tuesdays were my day out “in the field”. I was lucky to be on my way to the Bronx that morning and was about one mile away from the Twin Towers when the subway system shut down. I came above ground among the chaos and I vividly remember my view of the buildings falling. I remember the sounds of the people screaming around me and the ambulance sirens. I won't forget the crowds gathered around cars with their radios blasting the news, the long lines at pay phones and the smell and taste of the smoke and dust that covered lower Manhattan. I walked uptown with the massive crowd up to my cousin’s apartment through Times Square where they broadcasted the image of the buildings collapse on the large screens over and over again. I rode the subway back home to Brooklyn the next day, everyone was quiet, solemn and in shock. I was still numb.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I noticed how the trauma affected me. I felt myself dip into a semi-depressive state in October. I didn’t need to turn on the news; I had reminders in my daily life that New York City was recovering from a deep wound. The subway did not stop near my office anymore so I had to walk an extra 10 blocks, which let me know my world had been seriously disrupted. Plus, everyday to get to work, I needed to show ID to get past a blockade. Helicopters were constantly flying overhead. I looked down the street and there was a clear view of the twisted metal of what used to be the Twin Towers. The media let the country know that it still may be under attack and NYC was a prime target. People were walking around with gas masks on, as if it were normal. The distinct smell of the smoke was overpowering. It was smoldering for months and I could feel it in my throat. There were bomb threats regularly and we were told Anthrax was going to poison all of us. There were signs posted all over the city by loved ones hoping to find their missing friend or family member. Memorials were everywhere large and small. Whenever a fireman’s body was retrieved, there was a large ceremony and more of the neighborhood was blockaded. Every subway train now had an American flag on it. Signs with little slogans such as “These Colors Don’t Run” were posted all over. Even the rescue dogs were commemorated with dog statues in front of select fire stations. Meanwhile, Rudi Giuliani was king of the world announcing how strong and resilient New Yorkers were. However, I was struggling among most New Yorkers trying to make sense of my environment and what I was feeling.
Nevertheless, I was working hard as a social worker, listening to client stories and trying to help others. I did groups with children, answered their questions and helped them feel safe. I met with my clients and helped them process their emotions around the event. I also began working with a few select families who lost a family member in The World Trade Center. One of the most difficult sessions I had was when a man described his experience searching for his sister’s DNA in a pile of body parts. He told the horrific story with little emotion while I listened and absorbed the feelings that were difficult for him to express. I remember having a terrible headache that night. 9/11 happened to all of us: the whole city, the whole country so it was difficult for me to stay in touch with my personal experience. I was simply grateful to be alive and unharmed. I didn’t recognize how I was affected.
I experienced several emotions that year. I was relieved and grateful, I was scared and vulnerable, and I was sad and depressed. But one major emotion I experienced was anger. I was angry with all the people profiting from tragedy. I walked down Church Street and observed vendors selling booklets with 9/11 photos. They were also selling images of the Twin Towers and NYPD/NYFD hats and T-shirts. Every time I saw a “United We Stand” T-shirt I was irritated. They were even selling banners with the names of the deceased on it. I remember their laptop computers scrolling images of the day with the Jewel song “My Hands” playing in the background so they can sell their merchandise. That made me angry also. And I couldn’t believe the crowd…people were coming from all over the country to get a peek at “Ground Zero”. For months it was a mob scene until the city built a wooden viewing platform. Also, a store actually framed their products with the white dust on it and it became a tourist attraction. I felt angry, angry that it was so sensationalized, angry that it became a source of profit for people, simply angry.
Over time, I was able to let go of some of my anger and come to acceptance. I moved out of New York City in September 2003 and being away from New York has been both difficult and a relief. I miss being around others who were a part of the community I was in, while it was good for me to have some distance from it. Six years later, I have been able to heal and I will forever carry with me the empathy I gained from being so close to a large national disaster.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later that I noticed how the trauma affected me. I felt myself dip into a semi-depressive state in October. I didn’t need to turn on the news; I had reminders in my daily life that New York City was recovering from a deep wound. The subway did not stop near my office anymore so I had to walk an extra 10 blocks, which let me know my world had been seriously disrupted. Plus, everyday to get to work, I needed to show ID to get past a blockade. Helicopters were constantly flying overhead. I looked down the street and there was a clear view of the twisted metal of what used to be the Twin Towers. The media let the country know that it still may be under attack and NYC was a prime target. People were walking around with gas masks on, as if it were normal. The distinct smell of the smoke was overpowering. It was smoldering for months and I could feel it in my throat. There were bomb threats regularly and we were told Anthrax was going to poison all of us. There were signs posted all over the city by loved ones hoping to find their missing friend or family member. Memorials were everywhere large and small. Whenever a fireman’s body was retrieved, there was a large ceremony and more of the neighborhood was blockaded. Every subway train now had an American flag on it. Signs with little slogans such as “These Colors Don’t Run” were posted all over. Even the rescue dogs were commemorated with dog statues in front of select fire stations. Meanwhile, Rudi Giuliani was king of the world announcing how strong and resilient New Yorkers were. However, I was struggling among most New Yorkers trying to make sense of my environment and what I was feeling.
Nevertheless, I was working hard as a social worker, listening to client stories and trying to help others. I did groups with children, answered their questions and helped them feel safe. I met with my clients and helped them process their emotions around the event. I also began working with a few select families who lost a family member in The World Trade Center. One of the most difficult sessions I had was when a man described his experience searching for his sister’s DNA in a pile of body parts. He told the horrific story with little emotion while I listened and absorbed the feelings that were difficult for him to express. I remember having a terrible headache that night. 9/11 happened to all of us: the whole city, the whole country so it was difficult for me to stay in touch with my personal experience. I was simply grateful to be alive and unharmed. I didn’t recognize how I was affected.
I experienced several emotions that year. I was relieved and grateful, I was scared and vulnerable, and I was sad and depressed. But one major emotion I experienced was anger. I was angry with all the people profiting from tragedy. I walked down Church Street and observed vendors selling booklets with 9/11 photos. They were also selling images of the Twin Towers and NYPD/NYFD hats and T-shirts. Every time I saw a “United We Stand” T-shirt I was irritated. They were even selling banners with the names of the deceased on it. I remember their laptop computers scrolling images of the day with the Jewel song “My Hands” playing in the background so they can sell their merchandise. That made me angry also. And I couldn’t believe the crowd…people were coming from all over the country to get a peek at “Ground Zero”. For months it was a mob scene until the city built a wooden viewing platform. Also, a store actually framed their products with the white dust on it and it became a tourist attraction. I felt angry, angry that it was so sensationalized, angry that it became a source of profit for people, simply angry.
Over time, I was able to let go of some of my anger and come to acceptance. I moved out of New York City in September 2003 and being away from New York has been both difficult and a relief. I miss being around others who were a part of the community I was in, while it was good for me to have some distance from it. Six years later, I have been able to heal and I will forever carry with me the empathy I gained from being so close to a large national disaster.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Why I enjoy family therapy
There is nothing more rewarding than helping families as a unit. I enjoy helping families communicate better, understand difficult patterns, and help them heal together from a major loss. I help family members recognize how important they are to each other, express what they need from each other and how to transition to new life stages (i.e. going off to college). I validate experiences and gently help people express themselves constructively. Many therapists shy away from family therapy because they fear the conflict or it is difficult for them to stay neutral. I have a natural ability to tolerate conflict and help manage it. Plus, I never over-identify with the child or with a parent. These are skills I have and I use them well. What is most rewarding is to observe a family come together and express their love for each other genuinely. As a therapist, I will only be in people's lives temporarily but families will be with each other long-term. Obviously, clients need to trust and feel comfortable with their therapist in order to heal. However, it is more therapeutic when people learn to connect better with the important people in their lives.
I remember working with a family, a grandmother and two adolescent children. The children were grieving the loss of their mom and the grandmother was grieving her daughter. I met the family a few months after her death from lung cancer. The grandmother suffered from depression and from physical ailments that prevented her from being mobile. In addition, the grandmother and the kids did not always get along well. I made home visits to this family and I worked with them individually and together around their grief and family issues. The week before the one-year anniversary of their mother's death, I brought the family together to discuss what each person's expectations were for the day. The son talked about his need for quiet and need for space. The daughter talked about her wish to look at old photographs together. They thought about visiting the grave together, something they hadn't done since the funeral a year ago. They also agreed they would like to do a ritual together to commemorate their mother's death, such as lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Each family member had different needs and expectations. With my help, they were able to talk about different options and come up with a compromise.
The following visit, two days after the anniversary, I checked in with the family about how their day went. They all said the day went well; they supported each other and gave each other the quiet and space they needed to mourn. They also followed through with all of their plans of lighting a candle and looking at photos. Also, they visited the grave, which was challenging due to the grandmother's mobility limitations, but it was important to all of them. Because they thought it through ahead of time, they got the necessary help and it went smoothly. They thanked me for helping them acknowledge the importance of that day and for assisting them to mourn together peacefully and supportively.
--Pam 8.28.07
I remember working with a family, a grandmother and two adolescent children. The children were grieving the loss of their mom and the grandmother was grieving her daughter. I met the family a few months after her death from lung cancer. The grandmother suffered from depression and from physical ailments that prevented her from being mobile. In addition, the grandmother and the kids did not always get along well. I made home visits to this family and I worked with them individually and together around their grief and family issues. The week before the one-year anniversary of their mother's death, I brought the family together to discuss what each person's expectations were for the day. The son talked about his need for quiet and need for space. The daughter talked about her wish to look at old photographs together. They thought about visiting the grave together, something they hadn't done since the funeral a year ago. They also agreed they would like to do a ritual together to commemorate their mother's death, such as lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Each family member had different needs and expectations. With my help, they were able to talk about different options and come up with a compromise.
The following visit, two days after the anniversary, I checked in with the family about how their day went. They all said the day went well; they supported each other and gave each other the quiet and space they needed to mourn. They also followed through with all of their plans of lighting a candle and looking at photos. Also, they visited the grave, which was challenging due to the grandmother's mobility limitations, but it was important to all of them. Because they thought it through ahead of time, they got the necessary help and it went smoothly. They thanked me for helping them acknowledge the importance of that day and for assisting them to mourn together peacefully and supportively.
--Pam 8.28.07
Sunday, August 26, 2007
poem on loss
This poem was given to me by the Chaplain at orientation for the hospital volunteering. I really liked it and it speaks to my philosophy on loss:
Dont' tell me you understand.
Don't tell me that you know.
Don't tell me that I will survive,
That I will surely grow.
Don't tell me this is a test,
That I am surely blessed,
That I am chosen for this task,
Apart from all the rest.
Don't come at me with answers,
That can only come from me.
Don't tell me my grief will pass,
That I will soon be free.
Don't stand in pious judgement,
Of the bounds I must unite,
Don't tell me how to suffer,
And don't tell me how to cry.
My life is filled with selfishness,
My pain is all I see,
But I need you, I need your love,
Unconditionally.
Accept me in my ups and downs,
I need someone to share,
Just hold my hand and let me cry,
And say "My friend, I care."
Dont' tell me you understand.
Don't tell me that you know.
Don't tell me that I will survive,
That I will surely grow.
Don't tell me this is a test,
That I am surely blessed,
That I am chosen for this task,
Apart from all the rest.
Don't come at me with answers,
That can only come from me.
Don't tell me my grief will pass,
That I will soon be free.
Don't stand in pious judgement,
Of the bounds I must unite,
Don't tell me how to suffer,
And don't tell me how to cry.
My life is filled with selfishness,
My pain is all I see,
But I need you, I need your love,
Unconditionally.
Accept me in my ups and downs,
I need someone to share,
Just hold my hand and let me cry,
And say "My friend, I care."
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
No Day But Today
In the years 2001-2003, I worked at an agency called The Family Center. This was an organization that targets families with a parent who is terminally ill. (www.thefamilycenter.org) It served some families suffering from Cancer and other illnesses, but 80% of the families served by The Family Center had a parent with HIV or AIDS. The early 2000’s was a time when HIV/AIDS was still on the frontlines of social issues. There was a tremendous amount of funding for HIV/AIDS related medical and social programs. Also, it was all over the media: on the evening news, in well-known magazines like Time and Newsweek, and it was in several Hollywood movies and TV shows at the time. It is still a very important issue, but with all the new advancements in medication and treatments, more people are living longer and healthier with the virus in the United States, and it appears less on the front-page news.
During this era, I was lucky to be in New York City and young in my social work career to gain valuable experience with families affected by HIV/AIDS. One major topic I discussed with HIV clients is their identity, and how it changed once they learned they contracted the virus. They discussed their overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame. I once asked a client to draw all of the parts of her that make her who she is. She wrote that she was a woman, a mom, a wife, but an overwhelming percentage of her identity was her HIV positive diagnosis, which she kept secret from most of the world. Many clients kept their diagnosis hidden; including from their bosses, their friends and their children. I helped my clients decide if they should disclose, or if remaining private about this stigmatized disease was the best choice. It was never an easy decision.
One of the most powerful tools I used to help clients who feel marginalized was a therapy group with other moms who were HIV+. In the safety net of a group, the women could get together and discuss their worries, feelings of isolation and shame and take comfort that their fellow group members were experiencing similar feelings. As peers, they gave each other advice and support and respected the bounds of confidentiality. This group of women became a tight network and in the 3 years I worked there, I observed them maintain that bond long after the formal group sessions ended.
One of my favorite memories of The Family Center was when I was given the chance to take these women to see the musical “RENT”. All of the women had lower incomes and never been to a Broadway show before. This play is set in the mid 90’s in downtown Manhattan. It is about a group of young people struggling with poverty, drugs, and lessons of love and loss. Several of the characters are HIV+ and one dies of AIDS. One of the major themes of the play is to live and love, despite fears of loss. The finale song “No Day but Today!” illustrates that. I vividly remember looking over at my clients as they watched the play, seeing them so engaged, and seeing the tears roll down their faces as they watched the characters mourn the loss of their friend. As the group leader, my clients' collective experience gave this show a new dimension for me. I’ll never forget that experience, nor will I forget those women who gave me the rare opportunity to let me know their real strengths.
--Pam 8.15.07
During this era, I was lucky to be in New York City and young in my social work career to gain valuable experience with families affected by HIV/AIDS. One major topic I discussed with HIV clients is their identity, and how it changed once they learned they contracted the virus. They discussed their overwhelming feelings of guilt and shame. I once asked a client to draw all of the parts of her that make her who she is. She wrote that she was a woman, a mom, a wife, but an overwhelming percentage of her identity was her HIV positive diagnosis, which she kept secret from most of the world. Many clients kept their diagnosis hidden; including from their bosses, their friends and their children. I helped my clients decide if they should disclose, or if remaining private about this stigmatized disease was the best choice. It was never an easy decision.
One of the most powerful tools I used to help clients who feel marginalized was a therapy group with other moms who were HIV+. In the safety net of a group, the women could get together and discuss their worries, feelings of isolation and shame and take comfort that their fellow group members were experiencing similar feelings. As peers, they gave each other advice and support and respected the bounds of confidentiality. This group of women became a tight network and in the 3 years I worked there, I observed them maintain that bond long after the formal group sessions ended.
One of my favorite memories of The Family Center was when I was given the chance to take these women to see the musical “RENT”. All of the women had lower incomes and never been to a Broadway show before. This play is set in the mid 90’s in downtown Manhattan. It is about a group of young people struggling with poverty, drugs, and lessons of love and loss. Several of the characters are HIV+ and one dies of AIDS. One of the major themes of the play is to live and love, despite fears of loss. The finale song “No Day but Today!” illustrates that. I vividly remember looking over at my clients as they watched the play, seeing them so engaged, and seeing the tears roll down their faces as they watched the characters mourn the loss of their friend. As the group leader, my clients' collective experience gave this show a new dimension for me. I’ll never forget that experience, nor will I forget those women who gave me the rare opportunity to let me know their real strengths.
--Pam 8.15.07
Friday, August 10, 2007
introduction/my recent volunteer experience
Hello! I've decided to start a blog on my website. I wanted a forum to give updates, express my professional experiences, ideas and insights. Also, for those considering me as your therapist, this blog may help you get a sense if I would be a good fit for you and your family.
I have lots to share in these blogs! I've had vast experience working in different settings including schools, residential treatment centers, a community-based organization, and now I have the freedom to be on my own. I've grown tremendously from each place and would love to write about it.
In addition, I have recently begun volunteering at El Camino Hospital. Each week, I visit the medical floor where mainly Cancer patients stay. It is wonderful program led by the Chaplaincy of the hospital. The Chaplain, Reverend Maryellen Garnier, is an incredible woman who has a gifted ability to really be present with people while they are struggling with illness and loss. She leads a special program of spiritual healing. What I like about this program is the multicultural philosophy of being open to all different beliefs. The volunteers bring their kindness and openness to help patients and families feel hope while they cope with illness. I participate in this program as a member of the community, not as a therapist, but I feel the experience is making me a stronger therapist. Personally, I am not a very religious person and religion has not been a central part of my lifestyle. However, for the first time, I've been asked by patients--young, old, male, female, different race, class and cultures--to hold their hands and pray that they get better, that they get through a certain surgery or procedure, that their families stay strong, that they can enjoy more days of sunshine, etc. I was very uncomfortable doing this at first, as I don't pray on a regular basis. However, to join hands with a person and bring them hope is an amazing feeling. More importantly, it is not something I would have done on my own if I hadn't been stretched to do it.
Although, my time there is not all so serious! With patients I talk about the weather, celebrity gossip, living in NYC and other topics. Once I had a playful argument over the Mets vs. The Yankees. (Of course the Yankees are cooler!) One day, I had an extensive conversation with a woman about our cats. She missed her 2 cats at home very much since she needed to stay at the hospital. I told her all about my young feisty kitten at home. From one cat lady to the next, we had a connection.
So every Tuesday afternoon, I meet new people working hard at healing. It's a humbling experience and I enjoy being more connected to my community. (If anyone is interested in joining this program, call 650.988.7568)
Thank you for reading my thoughts, I will continue to write about old and new experiences here on this blog.
--Pam 8.10.07
I have lots to share in these blogs! I've had vast experience working in different settings including schools, residential treatment centers, a community-based organization, and now I have the freedom to be on my own. I've grown tremendously from each place and would love to write about it.
In addition, I have recently begun volunteering at El Camino Hospital. Each week, I visit the medical floor where mainly Cancer patients stay. It is wonderful program led by the Chaplaincy of the hospital. The Chaplain, Reverend Maryellen Garnier, is an incredible woman who has a gifted ability to really be present with people while they are struggling with illness and loss. She leads a special program of spiritual healing. What I like about this program is the multicultural philosophy of being open to all different beliefs. The volunteers bring their kindness and openness to help patients and families feel hope while they cope with illness. I participate in this program as a member of the community, not as a therapist, but I feel the experience is making me a stronger therapist. Personally, I am not a very religious person and religion has not been a central part of my lifestyle. However, for the first time, I've been asked by patients--young, old, male, female, different race, class and cultures--to hold their hands and pray that they get better, that they get through a certain surgery or procedure, that their families stay strong, that they can enjoy more days of sunshine, etc. I was very uncomfortable doing this at first, as I don't pray on a regular basis. However, to join hands with a person and bring them hope is an amazing feeling. More importantly, it is not something I would have done on my own if I hadn't been stretched to do it.
Although, my time there is not all so serious! With patients I talk about the weather, celebrity gossip, living in NYC and other topics. Once I had a playful argument over the Mets vs. The Yankees. (Of course the Yankees are cooler!) One day, I had an extensive conversation with a woman about our cats. She missed her 2 cats at home very much since she needed to stay at the hospital. I told her all about my young feisty kitten at home. From one cat lady to the next, we had a connection.
So every Tuesday afternoon, I meet new people working hard at healing. It's a humbling experience and I enjoy being more connected to my community. (If anyone is interested in joining this program, call 650.988.7568)
Thank you for reading my thoughts, I will continue to write about old and new experiences here on this blog.
--Pam 8.10.07
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