Can you believe this baby punk-ish little weirdo became a therapist?

Yeah, me too.

I don’t talk much about my job, apart from the stress it gives me on the weekly, because in my position, not only is confidentially ethical, it’s a goddamn legal mandate. Not to mention that I work with a fairly prominent organization in SLC, and I’d rather not have my clients read my stuff…not ashamed at all, mind you, but personal expression has its place. Of course, this is a public blog, but one of those pesky little ethics include not making clients your friends on social media of any sort, so I don’t. Wouldn’t if I could.

So after crying during my manager’s meeting, which we do weekly (and believe me, talking with your boss for an hour a week is just fodder for the anxiety monster), I decided to take off Thursday next week, possibly plan a trip, and get my head screwed on straight. Because I’m burning out hard and fast, and never let anyone tell you social work is an easy, carefree job. I believe the expression ’emotional prostitution’ came up at one point during the last week, and that’s not terribly far from the truth.

It’s an incredibly hard job, and I keep trying to convince myself that I could have taken an easier route than substance use counseling, but it turns out that clients lie, and clients don’t listen to good advice, and clients aren’t always ready to make healthy changes in their lives…on a good day, for any therapist ever. On a bad day, it feels like the world is ending and it’s all your fault, and you go home to cry and eat quesadillas and sugar cookies until you’re regretful and miserable and then cry some more.

I get now why Deanna Troi is so very fond of chocolate. it’s all she can do. I’m aware that there’s no money in the future, but that lady is almost certainly underpaid. Because who would properly compensate someone in a position where the emotional dregs of the human experience are an expected and constant part of their job? No way. Pay the lawyers! Fuckin’ America.

So yeah…I don’t talk about my job that much. Unless you ask me, in which case, grab a floatie, the floodgates will open.

(10 minutes later)

Hot Springs getaway booked for next Thursday night, thank you very much. it’ll be cold but I’m bringing the Puppy with me to cuddle, it’s only 1 night so the Kitty will be fine at home, and no-one is invited because I need to forget how peopleish people can be.