All the Fuck you signs (thinking of Catcher in the Rye)

Caring for people is both my job and my work.

I love the way that sounds

I didn't say it, or think it up.

My old lover and boss Jonathan did.

He said a lot of deep shit, which is what made me love him.

He had one of those magnetic personalities and a wit so sharp and devastating you could not help but be riveted to everything he said.

I was won over to the notion of service, way before I met Jonthan Feldman, in 1987.

I had been a bleeding heart liberal for many years before that, but when I spent time with a grown up that was both an intellectual and a do-gooder, who was not religious, my mind was blown.

I am dangerously susceptible to having my mind blown.

I love intelligent people.

If you are a good talker, witty, and funny, your chances with me are good.

Great.

Excellent.

I used to be much more hardcore.

I worked in the most dangerous sort of Domestic Violence program, with mandated women, who had lovers that were rapists and violent offenders.

I got a big rush from the success I had as a group facilitator.

I loved to be popular with the clients.

I loved to spout a bunch of trauma informed support and advocacy and make people love me the way I loved Jonathan.

When I got pregnant with Freyja, I could not longer listen to the stories of these mandated women.

I could not listen to them rattle off the details of their neglect and abuse of their minor children.

I could not, not judge.

So I bailed, and went back to caring for children.

Most of the people I care for now are healthy.

Their trauma is tiny.

Their hearts and minds are bubble wrapped and safe from harm.

Today I had a child that is going through a big family change.

The child is very angry.

Today it came out as

"FUCK YOU!"

"POOP" 

"POOP"

"Your are a dirty diaper, you are mean, you're a just a SKIP, I am SKIPPING YOU!"

I did everything right.

I redirected, I gave space, I offered choices, and when none of that was working, I moved the other children away, to a safe space and offered the child space to vent and scream and be angry.

The child followed me, because despite being POOP, I am also the safe person, and the person that can take the heaping pile of anger, as it builds up, and up, and up.

Then I catch when the pile topples.

Here is the thing with managing anger and big feelings, it is a delicate balance, because it can spiral and turn into abuse.

I had other children to consider, and so I called the parent to come pick up, when there was no clear stopping point coming.

By the time the parent arrived, the child was eating, asking me for seconds, delighted with the food.

It was hard.


Earlier in the morning there was a knock on the door.

It was a little old man, so I stepped outside to talk, locking the door behind me, which surely looked unfriendly to my visitor.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Ron, I live in that white house, and I need to apologize, I put a note on that blonde lady's car and I feel bad, I asked her not to park there, because I used to have people leaving needles..."

"It's ok Ron, I am sure she understood your frustration, no big deal!"

"It's a big deal to me! I am working a 12 step program and I need to make amends!"

Ron proceeded to pull out a little cotton purse, and explain to me that he is bipolar, "I am manic depressive", and that sewing calms his nerves.

He gave me the purse for Ms. Teresa.

He told me that the lord is looking out for me, and that he is praying for me.

I thanked him for the bag.

It was nicely sewn, beautiful straight stitches.

I felt a bit gutted by Ron, with his sun hat, the huge jagged scar across his neck, his manic depression, and his prayer, and remorse.

Yesterday when I work up and checked my messages there was one from a stranger, that simply said "Fuck U"

Upon digging around on Facebook, I learned that the sender is a Jugalo and into monster trucks.

I blocked her, but then later in the day unblocked her and sent a reply that said

"Who are you, and why fuck me?"

I got no response.

All of the demands of the day, and the screaming and the weird external stuff made me decide to send the child home today.

I have to evaluate what is best.

All the time.

All the time, I have to make sure I am doing my best and giving the most, and sometimes that means giving up temporarily.