I learned many years ago when I
made a woman cry (at a party no less) that sometimes even the mere mention of
what I do for a living can shut down just about any conversation. I
was at a friend’s baby shower, and we were all recent college grads. The
hostess asked me if I was working, and I told her I was a child protection
social worker. She dissolved into tears as she described a story she had
just read in the paper about a baby being abused by a parent. It
was a terrible story, but she immediately associated me with that story and
spent the rest of the shower tearfully telling me that she didn’t know how I
could possibly do my job.
I’m never sure how to take that
comment, and I get it all the time. Sometimes it’s spoken with a
bit of awe: “I don’t know how you do your job!”
Other times, it comes across with a bit of a tone: “I could never
do your job.” I understand that it’s usually meant as some
type of compliment, but I also wonder if the unspoken question is, ”What
kind of person chooses to be around such misery every day?”
There are other professions that
involve varying degrees of sadness, stress, overwork, and worry, but they are
usually viewed with more admiration. Oncologists, fire
fighters, police officers, NICU nurses…usually these people are admired and
honored, and they are often portrayed in the media as noble, self-sacrificing
warriors.
Social work is rarely portrayed in
the media, but when it is, it is almost universally
negative. Usually, the social worker is the cold and
unfeeling. Oftentimes the “real hero” of the story tries to protect the
child in question from “the system” out of fear that the child will get lost or
abused even worse if that nasty social worker gets her hands on him.
It is even more negative when there
is a high profile child abuse case in the news. These cases
are often the only time that child protection gets any media attention, and the
story is usually about whether the system did enough. At
worst, the stories attack and blame the local child protection agency for
failing to protect the child. And because of data privacy laws, the
local agency can say nothing more than, “no comment,” which in this day and age
is often taken as an admission of guilt.
So back to the question: “How do
you do your job?” I can only speak for myself, but I have learned
to accept the reality that sometimes Bad Things happen to
kids. It’s a truth that feels wrong to accept. For one, adults are supposed to be the protectors of children, and if we accept
that child abuse happens, then doesn’t it mean that the adults have
failed? Second, most people who hurt
their children don’t look the part. There
are a thousand reasons why a parent abuses a child, but it is rare that a
parent hurts his child with no guilt, shame, or remorse. The vast majority of parents who hurt their
children also love those same children dearly. It is a paradox that is hard to grasp in a
black and white world.
The grimace that I get from people
who ask about my job comes from not wanting to think about or hear about child
abuse. And I get that completely. There are days that I
don’t want to think about it either. In our office, we talk
about how nice it would be not to know what we know. I’m
guessing it’s that feeling that leads to the burnout that is common in the
profession.
But to be honest, there’s not a lot
of turnover at my agency, and that’s because we also laugh a lot—not at our
clients’ expense, but we do laugh about almost everything else that comes with
our jobs—awkwardly observing urine drug testing, getting chased by mangy dogs,
playing cards with hilarious grade schoolers. So sometimes all we can do is
laugh. And many times, my clients and I laugh together.
So my usual answer to the question that brings a hush
over the room is that I have learned to accept, to do the best I can, to be
kind, and to laugh.
Kristin Johnson has worked for nearly 20
years at Goodhue County Social Services in Red Wing, MN. She has recently published a novel based in
the child protection system called “unprotected.” Find more information at www.kristinleejohnson.com.
