This morning I walked out of my door into freezing cold. I almost walked into him or her. It was a little bird, on the sidewalk in front of our apartment. He was just sitting, and I almost walked into him. There’s no way something wasn’t wrong, because he didn’t fly away. I thought something was wrong and he was probably dying. I looked at him as I walked away, and as I drove away. I couldn’t think of anything to do. It is the circle of life that sometimes birds die, but I also felt like I should do something. I wanted to save the bird. I couldn’t bring it inside, because – well, her name is Rory. Bring the bird to the vet? I don’t think so. So I drove away.
And I cried. I cried. I thought- I don’t know what to do. I want to save you, or be there with you, but I don’t know what to do.
When I told co-workers I was leaving, I tried not to show how happy I was. I was so ready to be done. So tired. So burnt out. So, so, so tired.
Then I started telling my kids. One after one- I have something I need to tell you.
One after one, the next question was always the same.
Why?
It’s one thing to explain it to coworkers and foster parents. They may be sad, but they can understand. They understand burnt out. They get emotionally drained. They tell me you need to do what you need to do. I would nod my head and agree. It was time. I told myself you need to go before one of your kids or families pays the price for you being burnt out. My foster parents had a range of reactions- tears, lots and lots of questions, disbelief at my next move (insurance?!?!?), and understanding, compassion, and support.
It’s one thing to tell them.
It’s a whole other thing to answer why from my kids.
How do you tell them? How do you explain to a six year old that you can’t walk around carrying his pain anymore? The pain that he deals with personally every day- how do you explain that?
How do you tell a fourteen year old you can’t fight for him anymore? That you’re running out of energy and can’t fight his battles for him? How do you explain that you are scared that you won’t be able to fight the way you have for the last two years and that he will end up paying the price for that?
How do you explain to a thirteen year old that you are leaving, again, and that she’s going to have to have a new worker, again. How do you respond when she tells you how much she hates changing workers, and tells you that she tells you everything, and won’t have anyone else to do that with?
How do you help an eleven year old understand that you can’t finish the work you’ve started with her, because it’s time for you to go? What do you say when she asks why? I just don’t know.
I don’t know what to tell them. I don’t know how to explain that I can’t carry their pain and fight their battles anymore. I don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I can’t be there for them, yet I ask them to live with their histories and their pain every day of their lives. I don’t know how to explain the personal toll that my attachment to them, my passion for helping them, changing their lives, has had. I don’t know how to help them understand that the toll has become too great, at least for a time.
I’ve always wanted to be a social worker. There’s never been anything else for me, besides mom. I knew I wouldn’t fit anywhere else. I just knew. There’s always been a passion inside me to fight for those who are helpless. The bird, the children. I’ve always wanted to rescue them. As I became a little more experienced, a little less naive, I realized that I couldn’t rescue them. But I could show them someone who cared, I could be someone who was willing to fight for them, I could advocate for them. If I changed their lives in some small way, if I saved one of them in one way, it would be worth it.
I feel like I’m not only leaving a job, but that I’m cutting off a limb. I feel like I’m walking away from a part of me that has always been there. People joke that I am going to the “dark side” and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I’m walking away from such a huge part of who I am, in order to save the rest of who I am. This is something I still don’t completely understand. I know on several levels that it’s time to go, that I personally need a break and a change. I know that I need to focus on other parts of my life right now, and that while I am still pouring my heart and soul into these kids I cannot focus on the things that I need to elsewhere. I know, but I don’t understand.
I know. It’s a lot of emotion for someone changing jobs. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I’m overestimating the impact that me leaving is going to have. But I see the look in their eyes as they asked why. I hear the frustration they feel at finally finding someone they trust, only to lose yet another social worker. I feel the pain of having to say goodbye to someone yet again.
I feel guilty for causing any of them any kind of pain. It’s one thing to be the bearer of bad news, it’s another to be the cause. I know, I know I need to do what I need to do.
I want to save you, but I don’t know how anymore and I’ve run out of energy trying.
Why, indeed?
