Thursday, June 18, 2009

Rude Guy


I was asked if I was willing to take on a new client one with a reputation for being difficult. He had managed to alienate everyone including my care bear of a supervisor when she visited him by telling her he didn’t want her assigned to his case he wanted someone younger. “He asked for a young, smart, funny social worker and he wants them to visit him twice a week.” “And naturally you thought of me.” I joked. My official unofficial supervisor shrugged her shoulders. “No one wants him huh?” I asked. “No” she said and added that if he rubbed me the wrong way I could turn him down as well. “You know this guy” she said, “he’s the one who would call for the other intern and hang up on us the minute we’d tell him she wasn’t here.” “Oh the rude guy!” I replied. “Yeah him.”


Knowing who he was and who his social worker had been made his list of requirements in a social worker understandable to me. His last social worker unlike me had been tall, model thin, leggy, blonde and had boobs that would cause many an insecure woman to weep with envy. Her flirtatious personality combined with her sexy wardrobe made men stand up and take notice. I looked at myself in the mirror… dark jeans, black Reeboks, t-shirt, auburn curls pulled back into a pony tail and no make-up. I stifled a giggle; I was so on the opposite end of what the client wanted in terms of a social worker. I was tomboy when what he wanted was girly fodder for some masturbation fantasy.

His face betrayed no emotion when the correctional officer brought him in to meet me. If he was disappointed with what he saw he kept it well hidden. I laid my cards on the table. “First off the bat I’m not Burger King I don’t do things your way. I don’t visit twice a week, once a week is all you’ll get from me. Number two, I’m here to help you and I don’t take no shit so don’t give me any and you and me we’ll be fine. Got it?” He smiled and nodded his head.

The rest of our visit went smoothly I managed to make him laugh a few times and the conversation flowed freely. I even managed to reprimand him for being rude to the other social workers who had visited him. When our visit was almost over I let him know that I wouldn’t be visiting him the following week because I was taking the week off. “If you need anything call the office and they will hook you up. Oh and don’t hang up on them just because I’m not there….I will hear about it. You got it rude guy?” He laughed and replied that he’d understood all I’d said and was ready to go by my rules. “Good boy,” I said and pointed to myself, “Alright then, my name’s Mia and I’ll be your social worker.” which for some reason caused him to burst out into laughter.

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 12:46 AM
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Wednesday, May 13, 2009

XO...XO..Clark Kent

My eyes swept around the court room I was excited to be there. It was my first time in court as a forensic social worker and I got to sit in the lawyers section. Since court hadn’t began yet the court room was buzzing with conversation. Several feet in front of me a lawyer stood busily texting away on his blackberry. He glanced up at me realized I was on the job and smiled turning his attention back to his texting.

He was tall and dark haired, with a broad chest, strong square, flattering wire rimmed glasses perched on an aquiline nose, slight cleft in his chin, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Clark Kent. His resemblance to the fictional comic book character didn’t go unnoticed by my official unoffical supervisor.


Whatever he was texting seemed intense given the look on his face as he read his messages and responded. I nudged my official unofficial supervisor and began narrating Clark Kent’s messages. Well at least what I imagined him to be texting …

“Batman, my bad didn’t see bat signal from here.
No windows in court room.
X0 X0, Clark Kent”

My official unofficial supervisor giggled softly. Clark Kent frowned when Batman responded. He looked around and pounded the keys on his blackberry…

“Can’t save world, stuck in court.
No telephone booth to change in.
X0 X0, Clark Kent”


The next message came in quickly and Clark Kent seemed frustrated. I continued my narration with my official unofficial supervisor’s encouragement...


“Call Super Girl she owes me one.
You da’ man.
X0 X0, Clark Kent”

My official unofficial supervisor snorted. Her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laughter. “X0, X0, Clark Kent!” she snickered from behind her hand.

The next message came and Clark Kent paused for a minute seeming to think about his response before he responded…

“Wonder woman; don’t bother to send invisible jet no parking here. I’ll cab it when I’m done. BTW can I borrow your magic lasso for my date with Lois Lane tonite?
X0… X0, Clark Kent”

My official unofficial supervisor let loose an attention grabbing peal of laughter. When she turned to look at me she had tears in her eyes and was holding her side. “Stop Mia stop!” she gasped. “I can’t take no more…X0 X0… Clark Kent!” One of the court officers had been watching us and approached us…

“You ladies having a good time?” he said with a smile on his face.

“X0… X0, Clark Kent!” My official unofficial supervisor blurted out as she leaned into me.

I patted her back with a perfectly straight face which seemed to send her over the edge even more.

“There, there, woman calm yourself…X…0…X…0… Clark Kent.” I said just as the judge entered the court room.

Labels: clark kent, court room, internship, legal aid, text messaging

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Posted by @ 11:56 AM
1 comment from:  frum,

Friday, April 24, 2009

I Hate My Dreams

She bounced into the visiting room happy to see me. No, I'm not that popular with the inmates. My visit got her a momentary reprieve from her punishment, she was allowed out of her cell for the duration of my visit.


“How you feeling today?” I asked as she took a seat across from me. “Stressed out”. She replied. “I just want to go home.” By the time we were done with our business visiting time was almost over. We sat in silence for about two minutes. “Thanks for the visit,” she said quickly jumping to her feet. She leaned over and shook my hand. “At least I got out of the cell.”

As she walked away I noticed she seemed tired and I remembered she had mentioned having trouble sleeping the week before. “Are you sleeping okay?” She shook her head and continued to walk way, “I hate my dreams because when I wake up I’m in prison” she said.

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Posted by @ 6:55 PM
2 comment from:  Mia,  frum,

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Bitch Slapped By Life

I’ll admit it I have a bit of Countertransference when it comes to this particular client. It’s not that I see myself in him. Instead I see all of the homeless street kids my parents have taken in over the years and I know that if he’d been one of them his life would have been totally different.



At 21 he’s soft spoken, articulate, and intelligent. Until his home situation forced him out onto the streets he’d been a college student with good grades. But it’s kind of hard to stay in school when you’re scrambling for a place to sleep and food. I see the potential in him, if given the chance he’s going to go far in life. I am not alone in this; his lawyer sees it as well. I’ve worked out a plan that if the prosecutor and judge go for will keep him out of jail and give him the chance to develop his potential. I presented the plan to him and he liked it. I’d already spoken to his lawyer about it and she liked it as well. However I wanted to impress on him the importance of following it through.

“Sometimes life has to bitch slap you in order for you to get your act together. “ I said to him from across the visitor’s table and leaned back in my chair. I looked around the room, at the guards, at his prison uniform, and lastly at his face, “Consider yourself bitch slapped. Now it’s on you to slap it back and get your life together.”

He was momentarily stunned by my words, he hadn’t expected me to talk in the manner I did. He agreed with my sentiment and assured me that this was a wake up call for him and that he was going to rebuild his life.

Later on I bumped into his lawyer in the prison parking lot. “Mia, are you going back to the office or you heading out straight to school from here?” she asked.

I looked at the time, “Office, I’ve got a couple of hours to kill before I have to be in class.” She pointed to her car, “Come on I’ll give you a ride.” As soon as I was buckled in she started to laugh, “I can’t believe you told my client he’d been bitch slapped by life!” “He told you?” I asked. “Yeah he told me, you’ve made quite an impression on the kid.” I shrugged my shoulders, “Hey it’s true isn’t it?” She nodded her head. “You are just what we needed around here, a breath of fresh air. Welcome to legal aid kid.”

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Posted by @ 12:00 PM
4 comment from:  christina/ohio,  Mia,  Shea,  Darla,

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Fate Has A Twisted Sense of Humor

“Mia, if you know any of the clients you’re ever assigned here let me know because I’ll have to pull you off that case and assign you another one.” I thought about the two people I knew that were currently in jail. Neither of them were here I assured my supervisor. But fate it seems often has a twisted sense of humor.


She'd just introduced me to my first client and he excitedly exclaimed,“Hey I know you!” My supervisor looked from me to him and waited for my response. “From where?" I asked. He couldn’t remember from where but he was certain he’d met me. “Maybe you met someone that looks like me.” I offered. He shook his head and pointed to my tattoos. "No way it was someone else, I recognize the tattoos. You have a fairy on the back of your neck too." The only way that tattoo is visible is if my hair is up and the fact that he knew about it meant that he was telling the truth.

“Maybe you’ve met a another girl with the same tattoos?” my supervisor asked. “He’s right I do have a tat on the back of my neck.” He seemed familiar to me too but I couldn’t place where I'd met him I told my supervisor. She decided that the fuzzy meeting didn’t warrant me being taken off his case although she did find it kind of funny that I hadn’t been in the prison for half an hour and already one of the inmates had claimed to know me. Meanwhile she’d been working in the system for years and neither she nor the other workers had come across anyone they knew. “The weirdest things always happen to me.” I grumbled as I wracked my brain trying to remember where or when for that matter I’d met the inmate. She laughed as she saw me struggling to remember, “It’s going to drive you crazy you know trying to remember.” She was right, it is driving me nuts. Fate really does have a twisted sense of humor.

Labels: internship, tattoos

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Posted by @ 11:47 PM
3 comment from:  Mia,  Sunny Nites,  Mia,

Sunday, April 05, 2009

Time For Me To Fly

“Pick your battles, kiss his ass for a little while, it’s almost over, you need his recommendation for grad school, and he determines your grade so just go along with whatever he says.” This was the advice I was being given by staff and interns alike on the best way to deal with my tyrannical mentor.


I was at a cross roads in my life. I stuck my head out the window to look up at the sky, it helps me think. Mom was blasting REO Speedwagon’s Time For Me To Fly singing along as she cleaned the kitchen.
time for me to fly
Oh, I’ve got to set myself free
Time for me to fly
And that’s just how its got to be
I know it hurts to say goodbye
But its time for me to fly

Oh yeah man it was definitely time for me to fly, time to set myself free. With less than six weeks left until graduation I decided to drop out of the social work program. My sensei had started with the best of intentions but he’d bitten off more than he could chew. We couldn’t go on like this or rather I couldn’t go on like this dreading Monday’s because it meant I’d spend the week in the presence of my sensei walking on egg shells awaiting his next explosion.


My mentor had attempted to mold me in his image.I wasn’t allowed to have an opinion that contradicted his if I did then I was in the wrong and not seeing my faults. “Pick your battles” became my mantra. I passively resisted his efforts to change me. I’d rather be a first rate version of myself than a second class version of someone else. My resistance angered him and he’d lash out. He mistook my silence for weakness and became arrogant because of it, so certain of his domination over me. I won’t lie he did manage to break me. I was furious with myself because I’d allowed him to make me doubt myself then I recalled a quote I'd read somewhere, “Anyone worth knowing has been broken at one time or another.”

I informed the school of my decision to drop out and was met with resistance. I told them that under no circumstances would I return to my mentor once spring break was over. I’d made up my mind and that was it. I am notoriously stubborn. “You know things are pretty bad when you get stomach cramps at the sight of his number on your caller ID.” I’d told them. After sorting through the facts they finally understood where I was coming from and scrambled to find me a new internship not an easy feat with the end of the semester so close. It struck me as funny when they informed me that despite his constant criticism of me his reports about me to them had been complementary. Didn’t I tell y’all once he was nuts?

One of the therapists heard of my plight from another intern. “Tell Mia I’ll mentor her. I can use her here.” The therapist had wanted me to work with her since last year but my mentor had refused her request along with the requests of others who’d asked to have me work under them. When my school informed my mentor that I’d quit him he was angry. When they told him someone else had offered to mentor me he was livid and said that having me work at another department in the clinic was a conflict of interest. It made no sense to me or anyone else. Knowing him the way I do it boiled down to this…payback and pride. My presence at the clinic would embarrass him and be a constant reminder that I’d walked out on him. He knew that without the internship I would fail to meet the necessary requirements for my degree. This was his way of getting back at me for leaving him. The coup de grâce was his refusal to allow me to terminate with my clients. I was concerned about a paranoid physcophrenic client who'd become very attatched to me. I didn't want her to think that I was abandoning her because of anything she's done. My school and the other therapists were shocked by his refusal.Sadly it came as no surprise to me. My experience with him had taught me that he’s really big on retribution.

Everyone was worried about my future except me, I was at peace. I’d switch my major to clinical psychology I decided. It would delay my plans by a couple of years but in the end I’d reach my goal. Deep in my heart I knew everything would turn out fine. I am also an optimist. At the very last minute I got a call from the director of my program. My field supervisor was doing something unheard of; she was going to be my mentor. “You’re going to be working in legal-aid” I was informed. I laughed softly. Funny how one door closes and another opens bringing you exactly what you’d been dreaming of. I’d studied criminal law while working towards my forensic psych degree. It has always been my goal to work with teenagers and young adults in the prison system and my dream was being handed to me. I start Tuesday.

“Mia, has he called you?” my supervisor asked the other day. “No, he hasn't.” She suggested I call my mentor and end things on a civil note. “He won’t take my call,” I warned her, “he’s angry at me. Rumor has it he’s not handling me leaving him well and the staff and patients are mad at him because I left."

I e-mailed my former sensei a note expressing my regret that we had not been the right fit for each other professionally and thanked him for having invested the time in mentoring me. I wished him continued success in all of his endeavors. He hasn’t replied to my e-mail nor do I expect him to. I am for the first time in a long, long time at peace and looking forward to Monday's.

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Posted by @ 11:49 AM
2 comment from:  christina/ohio,  Mia,

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Purple Tutu

The day ended pretty much as it had begun…with a man rubbing up on me and the vision on an old woman in a purple tutu.


Morning :
It was 6:30 am when I pulled my hair back into a pony tail and frowned at my reflection in the mirror. “Rise and shine sunshine!” my mom chirped as she entered my room cup of coffee in hand. I blinked away the vision of the old woman in a purple tutu balancing a cheese danish on her nose. She was a product of the all nighter I’d pulled. I may have looked and felt like warmed over crap at the moment but dammit my 22 page paper on interpersonal obstacles was looking like beauty queen material.

Procrastination was not the one to blame for this one. I’d been swamped with back to back papers and between school and the demands of my internship there had been little time to dedicate to this last minute paper, hence the all nighter. Bleary eyed I tried to smooth the crown of my hair down and quickly gave up after the second try. I’d only had 2 hours sleep and I still had a full day at my internship and school to get through. The old lady in the purple tutu winked at me as I headed out the door.

Dorogaya:
I boarded the crowded bus and headed towards the back where the college students tend to sit. As I started to slide into an empty seat my bag struck the shoulder of my potential seating partner. He turned to face me and swept me from head to toe with his gaze. I apologized to him and began the task of removing my bag and unzipping my coat. He stood up and smiled at me. God had been kind to this man in the looks department. I smiled up at him and apologized again.

The Lehman College logo clued me in to his student status the psych book in his hand confirmed it. Lehman’s very big on foreign students. He said something unintelligible to me in heavily accented English followed by “Dorogaya” which a friend later told me meant my darling in Russian and held out his hand for my bag which I promptly declined. He smiled at me again and when he saw that I’d settled in he sat down next to me and resumed his conversation with this friend. The Russian said something to his friend about me. I assumed it was about me because they were both looking at me and the friend smiled and nodded at the Russian student. For all I know they could’ve been plotting my death or maybe they’d spotted the old woman in the purple tutu as well.

I was lost in thought when a few moments later I felt the Russian’s thigh press against mine. Thinking I must be crowding him I moved over…he moved over as well.I moved again until I was pressed against the metal arm rest. He moved over again.
He seemed to want to sit as close to me as possible. Maybe he was cold and I was keeping him warm. Every now and then he’d say something to his friend and look at me. I was in no mood to attempt to tackle our language barrier and ask him why the hell he was sitting so close. I ignored the length of his thigh pressing against mine. I started to rise as my stop approached and he did too. Despite my protests he scooped up my bag from the floor and settled it on my shoulder and slid the hood of my coat onto my head. “Uh thank you.” I said not knowing what else to say I mean it was freezing outside.

At the Internship :
I dialed my sensei’s office extension as I made my way to the student office this is his version of me clocking in. He hadn’t arrived yet so I left him a message. I let out a breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I was glad he wasn’t in yet even though it was just putting off the inevitable. He’d been really angry at me the day before. We’d had an appointment for 4 pm but when he didn’t show up by 4:40 I left assuming he’d forgotten about it as he often does. Unfortunately he’d managed to reach me by phone on the way home and had ripped me a shiny new one. But that wasn’t the real reason he was angry. He kept harping on the real reason and it was that my school supervisor had informed him I would no longer be able to accommodate him by coming in on Fridays because that was supposed to be my day off. I knew that would cause trouble and had told my supervisor so.

My head was throbbing, from the corner of my eye I spotted the old woman with the purple tutu. I started to feel a little shaky, saw spots before my eyes, those were real and not due to lack of sleep.I remembered that I’d skip dinner the night before and hadn’t had any breakfast. I promised to take better care of myself. The lack of sleep and stress of this place was really getting to me.

Afternoon :
My sensei tracked me down and asked to speak in private with me. A huge verbal beat down was launched my way. Over and over again he brought up the fact that I was no longer available on Fridays. The truth is I need that day to focus on school work; he tends to forget that I’m a full time student. I can’t continue to burn my candle at both ends eventually the dripping wax is going to ruin my t-shirt. I rubbed my at my irritated eyes, no way in hell had an old lady in a purple tutu just skate boarded past me but then again this was New York so who the hell knew.

When it was over and he was gone I sat back and decided I’d had enough of his abuse. I gathered my things determined to leave. I didn’t care if it wasn’t quitting time I was done and I wasn’t coming back. Except I couldn’t leave, my bag and lap top were in the other room and there was a session going on. I wanted to curl into a fetal position somewhere and sleep. Yeah I’d had enough. My sensei had finally succeeded in breaking me. I made called my school supervisors and left them a message, “I’m done, I can’t take it no more. I am dropping out." I said.

On My Way To School:
I was replying to my text messages angrily hitting the keys on my phone when I heard people yelling, “Call 9-1-1, call 9-1-1!” I looked around to see what all the excitement was about and noticed that the man who’d been standing behind me at the bus stop was laid out on the sidewalk. He’d fallen and appeared to be having some sort of seizure.

All of a sudden I became bilingual and began issuing orders in English and Spanish. Lucky for them my Arabic is not up to snuff otherwise I’d been issuing orders in Arabic as well. Someone asked for something to put in his mouth in case he swallowed his tongue. I glanced at my brand new phone Oh hell no! I patted around my coat pockets until I found something. I tossed a pack of Orbit Gum at the person nearest person and instructed them to put it in his mouth, the entire pack, not a piece. I wasn’t worried about the state of his breath or his teeth. I knelt beside him to check on him and noticed blood coming from a head wound no doubt from when he’d hit the sidewalk. When he came to he was pretty much out of it. Someone asked if he spoke Spanish and he said yes.

A middle aged woman approached him speaking Spanish.

“Tu esta bien?” (are you okay?) she asked.

“What is she saying? I don’t understand you!” he yelled at the woman.

“Ju okay, ju okay don’t worry day call day police.” She replied.

“I don’t understand you!” he yelled again this time with a nastier attitude.

The woman sucked her teeth in disgust, “Pues jodete!” (well screw you then.)


As the crowd around him tried to comfort him by telling him the police and ambulance were on their way he snapped at them to leave him alone, to get away from him. After several minutes of this they happily complied. Someone handed me my pack of gum back…I wasn’t so sure I wanted it back. damn I just brought this pack of gum! Then I realized I’d spoken Spanish. Damn yo I just spoke fluent Spanish! No gringo accent either! Go me!

The man struggled to his feet and then struggled some more to remain on them, “Stay down, I told him “the ambulance is on their way. “You hit yourself pretty hard I think you might have a concussion.”

I expected him to snarl at me as he had done to everyone else but instead he looked at me and shyly smiled.

“What happened ?” he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders, “One minute you were standing behind me and the next you were passed out on the floor.” I replied.

“Me? Nah, man nah.”

“Yes, you. You were knocked the hell out. ”

“For reals I was knocked out?”

“Damn skippy you were. Look you even puked.” I said pointing to the sidewalk.
When the ambulance arrived he started giving them a hard time. l I shook my head at the EMS worker and got ready to leave my bus was arriving,

“Don’t leave me” the man pleaded. “Fine, I’ll stay but you have to let them look at you.” I said as I watched the crowd board the bus. I knew I was cutting it close but couldn’t in good conscience leave the man.

The Bus Ride To School:

He looked around the bus and despite all the empty seats near him walked to where I was sitting in the back. He smiled at me before he sat down. Something about him made the hair at the back of my neck stand up. He held a bag on his lap. For the next 40 minutes or so as the bus navigated out of the city his leg constantly rubbed against mine. I put it down to the fact that the roads were full of bumps, twist and turns. Then I noticed that even when the road had smoothed out he was still pressing his leg against mine. I glanced at him and noticed he kept applying pressure to the bag on his lap. By this time we were the only ones on the bus. I slid away only to feel him against my leg a few seconds later Holy monkey the bastard is masturbating ! He pressed his leg against mine harder and his leg started rubbing faster and faster. I shot up out of my seat and walked across the aisle. Part of me just wanted to slam my 45 lb book bag onto his lap as hard as I could and make his privates shrivel up in pain. He gave me a big smile. I started to slide my bag off my shoulders. Oh it was so on luckily for him my stop had come up.

The news of my intended action had reached my classroom before I had. Everyone agreed my sensei was the scum of the earth and that they weren’t allowing me to drop out. I was too exhausted to argue. The old woman in the purple tutu stood nearby with her hands on her hips, she was in complete agreement with my fellow students and professor.

Home

My heart did the running man dance of joy in my chest when I spotted my father and the old woman in the purple tutu waiting for me in the student parking lot. The ride home was a quiet one my dad understood my need for silence; we’re kindred spirits in that way. A hot shower and a meal later I padded into my room with my beloved dog Cleo at my side. The old woman in the purple tutu stood beside my bed and lovingly patted my pillow beckoning me to lay my head on it. I gladly obliged, seconds later as I teetered between the worlds of nod and reality my last vision was of the old woman in the purple tutu blowing me a kiss good night.

Labels: a day in the life, internship

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Posted by @ 5:45 PM
3 comment from:  Mia,  Unknown,  Mia,

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Go n-eírí an bóthar leat

It’s been a sad week at my internship some of us as get really emotionally involved with our clients something my sensei does his best to discourage. I guess this is his way of making sure we’re emotionally protected. A couple of events this week made me understand his reasoning. Personally it's not a reasoning I can embrace as my own. All of the people I deal with in my life become part of my heart only time proves whether that's a wise choice or not. Sometimes the end result makes my heart sing other times it weeps.



My sensei interrupted Wednesday’s staff meeting with the news that one of our clients had been found dead in her apartment. We weren’t told the cause of death but sometimes what isn’t said speaks volumes. All eyes turned towards her therapist. The client had come in the day before needing to talk but the therapist had called out sick. The therapist who had once been my sensei’s mentee seemed to take the death in stride. If she had any emotional attachment towards her client she’d hid it well. I wondered if the therapist felt remorse over her client’s death… you know one of those ‘if only’ moments.


While everyone gathered around the therapist and offered her their condolences I walked out of the meeting with an aching sadness in my heart. My thoughts turned to the other clients who’d been her friends. I worried about how they’d take the news. For the next couple of days sadness hung in the air, we were all affected by the beautiful singer’s death. The therapist who has taken me under his wing was angry; “some one should have seen her.” he’d fumed. Later on during a group session he addressed his clients “If I’m not here and you need to talk to someone don’t take no for an answer, ” he said as he turned his head to look at me, “you find someone. You all have my number call me if you need me.”

When the meeting was over he pulled me to the side, he was angry and needed to talk. He was angry about the emotional detachment towards our clients that is encouraged in the name of maintaining boundaries. My protector likes my style of therapy it is similar to his own except I don’t cuss while in session. My style is a constant source of irritation to my sensei. He’s trying to mould me into his image; I fight him all the way. My protector grabbed my hand and jerked his head in the direction of my sensei’s and former mentees offices, “Mia, don’t you ever become like those assholes. No matter how hard they try to change you. You hear me?” I nodded my head. I thought of the client. “I promise.” I repeated.

The world is a sadder place without her she added beauty to it and now she’s gone. She was well known on the indy music scene, one of her songs,“Under My Skin” had even been featured on an episode of Dawson’s Creek. I’d loved the song when I’d heard it and years later when I met her I never connected her with it. She was a singer was all she’d say. She was a beautiful woman with the voice of an angel,but more than that she was a beautiful soul in a world that is always not so pretty.

I’d met the Irish woman named Maura during my second semester when I was shadowing the man who would become my mentor. From the very start we’d connected through our love of music and our twisted sense of humor. She’d always send me into fits of laughter with her funny stories. My favorites were when she’d talk about her family “I’m going to go all Lucky Charms on you Mia.” She’d warn whenever she was about to launch into a flawless imitation of her mother’s Irish accent. I’ll miss her. Her parting has left a void but I’ll always fill it with remembered joy. I know I’ll never forget her. Whenever we parted for the day she’d lay an Irish blessing on me. Now it’s my turn. Maura, Go n-eírí an bóthar leat. (May the road rise with you.)

Labels: death, internship

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Posted by @ 2:17 AM
2 comment from:  Unknown,  Mia,

Saturday, February 28, 2009

A Matter of Principle

If it seems I’ve been bitching about my internship alot lately forgive me, this is yet another one of those venting posts. I promise next week I’ll be back to posting about some of the funnier moments of my life.

I enter this place and a dark ominous cloud settles shrouds me. My salvation lays in my clients, a clinician that has befriended me and a therapist I highly admire. Luckily for me I remind him of his daughter and he has appointed himself my protector. I feel imprisoned. I’m counting down the days until I am out of there. If it weren’t for the clients I feel I'd be abandoning I would’ve gladly risked injury and climbed the barbed wire fence and escaped months ago.

Can someone please remove the hair shirt this female is rocking? My gawd she's all doom and gloomish!


Hi y’all we’re The Supremes no, no, not those Supremes. None of wear wigs and we abhor those shiny dresses. Allergies you know, the fabric gives us a rash. We are the voices in Mia’s head. We say the stuff she wants to say aloud but because she’s on her best behavior decided to keep to herself. We’ll be hijacking this post at will and providing side commentary because poor Mia has been stressed lately which means we got alot to say.

Allow us to formally introduce ourselves to the newer readers (even though you leave no comments we do see you return again and again) and re-introduce ourselves to the regular crowd. Collectively we’re known as The Supremes but individually we are…
Conscious, Subconscious, and Superconscious.


My sensei had just left the room he was frustrated with me. I hadn’t given him the answers he’d wanted. I had refused to go along with what his interpretation of things. I had held my ground. He hates when I do that.

That’ll teach your ass to tell the truth. What can you say about a place where the therapists make fun of their clients behind closed doors in front of your sensei their supervisor and he says nothing? Lovely ain’t it?

As punishment he decided that I was to redo all of the paper work I’d done last week, work that he'd gone over and approved. It's an action meant to intimidate me to show me who is boss. Just like refusing to allow me to type the paper work. He insists I write it manually.

If you ask me that damn cracker is control freak. He had you walking around for 2 weeks with a bunch of folders in your hand. You had to take them with you every where including your lunch break. And what did these precious folders contain? A sheet of paper with the client’s name, one fricking sheet of paper, one single sheet of paper that served no purpose. He made you schlep those folders around simply because he could.

I think he’s trying to break me. To him I am too sure of myself, too proud.

(Russian accent) He will not break you!


He’d just read my process recording notes about a client (The Clementine Orange man ) I’d helped earlier in the week and was questioning my true motive for helping the man.

Dude sometimes a cucumber is just a cucumber and not a sex toy.

Sensei: Why did you help him? What did you gain from it?

Mia: I helped because no one else was around to help him. I gained nothing from it.

Sensei: No Mia what I am asking is what motivated you to help him. What counter transference caused you to help him?

The sensei was trying to say that Mia helped the man out of her own need that she helped him because she identified with an emotional need of the clients. Therefore by helping him Mia was actually helping herself. The concept of helping someone out because it’s the right thing to do and not because of some psychobabble is a foreign concept to this man. Mind you Mia’s the one who actually has a BA in psychology and counseling not him.

Mia: There was no transference. It was just that he needed help and it’s in my nature to help people.

Sensei: No, Mia I want you to examine the real reason you helped him.

(sigh) You’re absolutely right sensei. Mia helped him because no one helped her when she was 8 years old and her mother made chicken gizzards for dinner.Mia hates chicken gizzards! She’s never gotten over the great chicken gizzard tragedy of 1990, when she was forced to consume chicken gizzards because no one reached out to help her and hand her a fucking hamburger. That’s why Mia helped the man it was the inner child in her craving burger but forced to eat chicken gizzards instead. It was that child’s need that Mia was actually responding to when she helped The Clementine Orange man.

Mia: The reason I helped him was because he needed help. Period, no ulterior motive.

Sensei: How did you feel when he said he wished there were more people in the world like you?

Horrified. We shudder to imagine the word filled with a bunch of 4ft 11 smart mouthed, sarcastic individuals like Mia .

Mia: I was surprised and touched.

Sensei: Did it boost your ego?

Oh yes indeed sensei (inhaling deeply) his words stroked her ego to the nth power. At that moment Mia felt like a God capable of vanquishing legions of evil from this earth with a mere glance of her amber colored eyes. Go stand over there in the corner like a good sensei so she can vanquish you.

Mia: Sensei my ego is not so famished for praise that it sucks it up like a hungry babe at a lactating teat.

(snicker) Got Milk? Whoa. Keep up sensei!

Sensei: You’re not understanding what I am telling you.

Here we go again. It’s the same old crap. Since Mia doesn’t agree with him something must be wrong with her. She’s dense.

Mia: I understand what you’re telling me sensei it’s just that in this is not a case of counter transference.

Just tell him it’s about the chicken gizzards girl, ‘cuz you know damn well it is!

Sensei: What about your ego?

What about ego? He’s not here at the moment he’s watching ESPN.


Mia: Look what I got from his comment was this. He was grateful to me for helping him. In his life not too many people have taken the time to help him out when he’s needed it.

Sensei: What makes you think that?

oh shit now done did to yo’self. You gonna make her get all insightful on your ass.

Mia: Well, if he was used to having his needs being met consistently in terms of receiving help he wouldn’t find it so amazing when someone does takes the time out to help him.

Uh huh it’s like if you’re used to meat on a regular basis it’s not a big deal when someone puts a steak in front of you. However if you rarely eat meat the day you get a steak you’re damn skippy you’re going to be happy as all hell. Shit you might even do Michael Flatley’s River Dance.

Sensei: He said that he saw the offering of the orange as an offering of friendship. You do know that you’re not his friend don’t you? He’s just a patient. If a clinician can’t differentiate between the two they are ineffectual.

Ho-ho snap she narrowed her eyes and is shifting in her seat. She’s getting ready to educate your ass son so pay attention!

Mia: Sensei I am aware that I am not his friend in the sense that outside of this clinic we will not be hanging out but while we are in this setting I am his friend. At John Jay…

Oh shit she’s whipping out her psychology training.

Mia: At John Jay we were taught the newer methods of psychology. We were taught that while you’re treating and interacting with your client you are their friend . The reason behind this is that when you treat your client as a friend it promotes bonding and trust between the client and therapist thereby facilitating treatment. It makes it more effective if they can relate to you as a friend rather than a clinician. Research has shown that therapists viewed as friends are seen as warm, caring and inviting whereas clinicians are the opposite and that is when they are ineffectual.

Booyah! Take that homeboy. The girl made the Dean’s list after all. 4.0 baby 4.0 ! Oh man look at the way he stiffened up like someone rammed a poker up his butt. He looks mad.

Sensei: Mia, I feel you’re too casual and informal with the clients. From now I want you to be more formal with them.

Mia: Formal?

Sensei: Yes, you heard me.

Mia: Sir are you asking me to change my personality when dealing with the clients?

How the hell is she supposed to do that? She is supposed to be someone else, someone that’s not her? What the hell ever happened to thine ownself be true?

Sensei: Yes. You’re too informal for a clinician.

Mia: Is that all sir?

Brrrrr is it us or is it freezing in here?

Sensei: For today, yes.

My sensei left the office satisfied with my punishment. He can kiss my hybrid ass if he thinks I’m changing the way I treat the clients. I’m pretty sure my grade will suffer for it but something’s are just a matter of principle.

Labels: internship, the supremes

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Posted by @ 1:51 AM
2 comment from:  christina/ohio,  Mia,

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

You Know Nothing About My People

I’m learning a lot from my internship. Things that I’d never been exposed to before as a student.Now that I am considered one of "them” therapists and the likes let their guard down around me and honey, let me tell you the things I’ve seen in this place have saddened me. Racism,class bias, and stereotyping the likes of which I've never seen run rampant in this place. I’ve even been the victim of it myself but when it’s directed at me I shrug it off. I actually don’t mind shattering people’s perception of who and what I am supposed to be like based on my ethnicity. My sensei by the way is one of the people whose perception of me as a Hispanic I am constantly shattering but that's for another post,a funny one.


The thing is that this is coming from professionals who’ve supposedly know better. Who've dedicated their lives to‘scuse me while I twist some of Lady Liberty’s words here… to helping the poor, the disenfranchised,and the huddled masses yearning to be something or other than dysfunctional. As students we’re obligated to take cultural awareness classes and told that we must check our prejudices at the door. I get the distinct feeling the group I work with skipped those classes.

Other than the clinical diagnosis of the clients they service they make no effort to learn about their clients or their culture. They keep themselves apart and ignorant. The result of this is that they aren’t able to connect with the minority clients. Naturally they blame the clients for this,citing it as a lack of trust. They ignore the fact that they make their clients feel way small. They talk in big words on purpose, it's an intimidation tactic. I know because they tried it with me and were stunned to find that my vocabulary was just as extensive as theirs. I don't feel the need to flaunt my education. I'm just Mia from the block and I revel in it and my clients know this which is why they seek me out and open up to me. My superiors are amazed this. I try to tell my superiors that the clients accept me because I am one of them. I know their stories; I have borne witness to them my entire life.

My superiors have never gone to bed hungry because the pantry was bare; they’ve never had to wear third or fourth hand clothing. They’ve never had to pack up their stuff up and move because they’ve had a 72 hour eviction notice taped to their door. They’ve never had to “borrow” electricity because Con Ed shut off their electricity. I may have never gone through this personally but I grew up in a neighborhood where this was a part of every day life for some. Where we were often the one who "loaned" electricty, made care packages for those who were short on food, and gave the evicted a place to sleep until they could get back on their feet. I try to educate my superiors so that they'll better understand our clients but all I get is a patronizing smile and a pat on the head. Screw them.

The other day during a group session we were talking about defining moments in our lives; moments that made us realize that we’d grown up. One of our clients shared her story with us. The young woman revealed that as a homeless teen mother she was once forced to degrade herself for a box of diapers and a couple of cans of infant formula.

Her baby’s father had abandoned her with no warning and she had no family to turn to for help. She couldn’t stay in the furnished room they’d been renting because she didn’t have the money to pay the 75.00 weekly rent. She was dead broke and not due to get paid for several more days. She tried getting a loan from her fellow employees but no one could spare the cash. She'd only been working there for a week so most likely it was a trust issue she figured. Still she counted herself as lucky because she at least had a friend who was willing to let her stay with her and take care of her infant daughter for free while she was at work. Unfortunately her friend was as broke as she was at the moment and couldn’t help her out with what the baby needed. She didn’t want to go to social services and ask for help because she'd run away from the group home she'd been in and afraid they’d put her back in the system and take her baby away from her.

She’d gone to her local bodega hoping to establish a line of credit something bodegas do for good customers. Since she’d been a steady customer, lived on the block, had a job, and a gold chain to leave as collateral she figured it wouldn’t be a problem. She met all the bodega’s requirement for credit. When she’d explain her situation to the owner of the store instructed her to get what she needed.

She only took enough items to hold the baby off until she got paid. When she was done the bodega owner took the formula and diapers from her and motioned her to come to his office in the back of the store. She figured he'd brought her back there to sign a page in the black and white marble composition notebooks that bodegeros used back then to keep track of running tabs. Instead when they got there he locked the door to his office and unzipped his fly. "You know what you have to do.” He told her and motioned for her to get on her knees in front of him. She had no choice, so she did. That’s was when she knew she’d grown up, she was all of 15 years old. “I did what I had to do for my baby. I closed my eyes and pretended it was an ice cream cone.” She said and shrugged her shoulders.

As she told her story I saw several of the women nod their head knowingly. Sadly it's all too common women bartering their bodies and pride for material gain. When they do it for drugs we can shake it off after all it's their choice but when they do it to ensure the well being of a child well that's different. That wounds to the heart. Some of the men hung their heads, anger and shame playing on their faces. I wondered if some of them had abandoned their babies or had taken advantage of woman’s desperation like the bodegero had. I looked up at my so called superiors and saw the look of horror and revulsion on their faces. To their credit they quickly wiped the looks off but I’d already seen it and it made me mad that sympathy had not been one of the looks on their faces. The girl head her head high, as well she should. She looked defiant as if daring anyone to say anything bad about her. I reached out and grabbed her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "If I had to do it all over again I still would've gotten down on my knees." she said.


Later on alone in our office my superiors discussed the young woman’s revelation not bothering to hide thier feelings from me. They were disgusted. The things that were said weren’t pretty and do not bear repeating here. They mistakenly assumed that the young woman’s revelation would affect her negatively with the other clients in her group. That somehow her story would make them think less of her. They were judging my people by their standards. Even though it was unsaid it was obvious that in their eyes she’d gone down a notch. “How could she?” they asked. “How could she not?" I replied. "You know nothing of my people. No one will shun her. On the contrary they'll treat her with respect because she made the ultimate sacrifice for her child." Of course they didn't believe me.

When we stepped out of the office the group was sitting together having lunch. Some of the older women were around her fussing over her like mother hens. Even the men were being extra gentle with her. I could tell that the group’s behavior towards the young woman surprised my superiors. It wasn’t what they’d expected. The young woman looked up when I came into the room and beamed at me, “Come on Mia come eat with us” she called out to me. “Yeah Mia we’ve got plenty to go around get your ass over here little girl.” One of the older men added. I looked up at my superiors before walking away, “Like I said you know nothing about my people.”

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 1:01 PM
3 comment from:  Anonymous,  Anonymous,  Mia,

Friday, February 20, 2009

The Clementine

In her quest to make us better people my mother has always taught us that for every action there is an effect. People are affected by what we say and do no matter how inconsequential we consider our actions.Yesterday I had viable proof that the woman knows what she's talking about. So take heed people!


Last year I was walking down the hall of the clinic I intern at and I spotted one of our older clients. I’ve always liked the man he is sweet and soft spoken and every time I see him he makes me smile. I admit it I have a soft spot for the man. From the very first time I’d met him I’d sensed an aura of sadness and loneliness around him and because of this always went out of my way to greet him and talk to him before the start of our group sessions.

On this particular day I was rushing to a session when I saw him. As we walked past each other I pinky waved and smiled at him, “Hey would you like a Clementine?” He stopped dead in his tracks and seemed hesistant. “Stay right there” I told him as I ducked back into the office. Several seconds later I popped back out with a beautiful Clementine orange and handed it to him. “Here ya go, enjoy!” I said. He looked at the Clementine and then at me and gifted me with one of his rare smiles as I walked away.

Yesterday as I was getting ready to sit in on a group he came in looking for my mentor or his primary therapist, either one suited his purpose. I asked if he needed something and he explained that he’d been instructed by his group counselor to look into some support groups. I offered to help him since both his primary therapist and my mentor were busy elsewhere.

“Aren’t you busy?” he asked. “I’d rather help you” I said, “Come on let’s go into this empty office. I have my laptop with me.We can Google what you need.”

As we researched the support groups he was interested in and Googled directions he paused to look at me. “You know Mia I still remember the time you gave me that Clementine.”

To be honest I had forgotten all about it, to me it wasn’t a big deal. I'd remembered he loved oranges and because he adheres to a Kosher diet he couldn’t eat a lot of the snacks we keep on hand at the clinic that was all.

“ It tasted so good." he continued “But it was more than just an orange to me. It was the symbol behind it. I needed that that day. Seeing that you took the time to think about me and go back and get the orange just for me touched me. To me the act was an extension of friendship; it was an offering, physical proof about how much you truly care about us and I thank you for that.”

“It was nothing” I replied. He shook his head and smiled, “No, it was something and the fact the you do things like that all the time without realizing how you affect people makes it all the more special." The way he said it made my heart shift a little.


“Mia, you’re very helpful to people and there should be more people like you in this world. The world would be a much better place if there were more Mia’s in this world.”

That statement pretty much did me in.You have to realize that this was coming from a man who rarely speaks. He prefers to sit silent in the background as if he's afraid to be noticed and here he was sharing his feelings with me out of the blue. I had to look away and focus my eyes on the laptop screen because his words touched me so deeply I felt tears forming behind my eyes. My first impluse was to hug him but you know we have boundaries at my internship, things like that aren't allowed so instead I touched his shoulder and smiled. "Thank you" I said he ducked his head and smiled at me, "It was nothing." he replied in yiddish.

But it was something to me. His words came at a time when due to sensei I'd been filled with doubt about my choice of profession. Later on when he'd gone and I'd reflected on our conversation I realized that his heartfelt words had left an imprint on my heart. I knew that I’d remember that moment for the rest of my life. Just as my simple offer of the Clementine had affected him the sentiment of his words had affected me.

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 12:45 AM
2 comment from:  Mia,  Anonymous,

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

If You Can Laugh At It, You Can Survive It

One of our support group clients sat across from me casually discussing her sister’s drug addiction. “I’ve got a funny story to tell you.” She said reaching for my hand. She squeezed my hand and closed her eyes recalling the event. I knew it was going to be a good one, she hadn’t even started her story and she was already laughing. Her laughter was infectious.
I smiled in anticipation.



Her sister’s drug addiction had gotten so bad that she was not above stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down in order to get drugs. My client had been in a deep sleep when she awoke to the sensation of one of her eyelids being pried open. My client looked up at her sister and asked “What are you doing?” the sister responded that she wanted to borrow my client’s contact lenses. My client was shocked that despite being caught her sister continued to calmly poke her in the eye in an attempt to fish the lens out. My client yelled at her sister,“Well can you wait 'til I’m up to get them; they’re still in my eye?”

My client knew that her sister didn’t actually want to borrow the lenses she knew her sister wanted to sell them for drugs.“I can’t believe she wanted to sell them for drugs.” She said and laughed. By the time she’d finished her story everyone in the group were howling with laughter so much so that one of the other therapists at the clinic came into the room and asked that we keep it down. Slowly the other members began opening up and shared some of their funnier moments in dealing with addicted family members.

Even though the circumstances that had brought them together were sad they were all able to laugh and I admired them for that, it reminded me of a Bill Cosby quote, “If you can laugh at it, you can survive it”.

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 12:46 AM
2 comment from:  Goggles Piasano Ritardo,  Anonymous,

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

I’ve Got Some Real Good Second-person Singular Pronouns For Sale

“The patient can’t be seen here he doesn’t speak a word of English and none of the social workers speak Spanish.” My sensei informed the substance abuse counselor at our weekly staff meeting. “I’ve been saying this all along we need to refer him somewhere else. We’ve wasted valuable treatment time here.”

There was no mistaking that when the counselor said “we” he actually meant “you”.
My sensei didn’t take kindly to that. He ordered the new counselor to write a letter in Spanish no less to the client referring him to another treatment center. The counselor glared at my sensei, “I don’t know any Spanish. No one here knows Spanish.” He muttered. “Just do it.” My sensei replied.


When the meeting was over we all spilled out into the hallway. The counselor was fuming.
I had to do something for him because he's a good guy. He's the type of therapist I aspire to be. I had to do something because time was of the essence for the client seeking treatment. He'd hit rock bottom.

I cleared my throat to get the counselor's attention and motioned him to follow me to the other end of the “L” shaped hallway where it was dark and we were certain to be alone.

“What’s up?” he asked.
I glanced around making sure no one was within ear shot. I didn’t want us to be over heard.

“I can help you with the letter. Write down what you want to say and I can translate it into Spanish for you.” I whispered.

His eyes opened wide, “You speak Spanish?!”

“Shhh keep it down. I don’t want,” I jerked my head in the direction of the program director,
“ her to know.” I whispered.

“Oh my god”, he whispered back, “you speak Spanish?”

The level of astonishment in his voice made me smile.

“I read it and write it too.”

His eyes were about to pop out of his head.

“You’re bi-lingual!” He said with a huge grin on his face.

He made it sound as if it was something exotic. Hiding in the shadows of the hallway and whispering made me feel anything but exotic, I felt down right criminal.

“Shh!”

My eyes darted nervously around the corridor.

“Uh yeah I am. Don’t tell anybody. ”

He gave me a look of pure reverence. I swore he was going to go down on a knee and kiss my ring.

“Shit you’re like gold in this place. Why are you keeping it a secret?”


Several months ago the director rounded up all of the interns with Spanish surnames like cattle and locked them away in the in-take office. The majority of the interns protested that they weren’t fully bilingual they couldn’t read or write it but she didn’t care. If you could string more than 5 sentences in Spanish it was good enough for her. When she approached me my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I had a feeling she was up to something so I fibbed, I said I didn’t speak a word of Spanish.

Look I know it wasn’t right but c’mon I haven’t busted my butt in school for all these years just to sit in a poorly lit office filling out paper work because no one had the foresight to hire bilingual staff to work that department. It seems I made the right choice when I fibbed, the interns with the Spanish surnames haven’t been seen since. Oh sure occasionally one will wander out of the in-take office in search of a signature shielding their eyes with paper cut scarred hands but as of yet not one of them has worked with an actual patient.

“Seriously why are you keeping it a secret?” he asked again.

I arched an eyebrow at him. He looked over to where my sensei and the director stood talking.

“Do you see any other Hispanic intern at this staff meeting; heck do you see any them at any staff meeting? For that matter how many are actually treating patients? ”

His mouth formed a perfect “O”. I watched as his thoughts flittered across his face. Finally it dawned on him.

“Oh shit they’re all doing in-take.”

I slowly nodded my head and smiled.

“It’ll be our secret.” he said. " I promise I won't tell you're bi-lingual."

"Thank you."

We stopped talking when one of the interns walked past us.

"I'll be in touch." he whispered.

I nodded and left him standing alone as I walked away from him and deeper into the shadows of the hallway. Our transaction was done. I felt like a drug dealer. Pssttt oye, mira tu I’ve got some real good second-person singular pronouns for sale.

Labels: education, internship

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Posted by @ 11:01 AM
2 comment from:  Anonymous,  Anonymous,

Friday, January 30, 2009

He's Nuts

I’d been so angry the first day I’d busted a blood vessel around my eye. We’d been arguing for two days. Well actually he was arguing I was fuming.He refused to let me talk each time I attempted to make a point he raised his voice and spoke over me. “You’re not hearing what I am saying!” he yelled. "I am hearing what you’re saying; I’m just not saying what you want to hear.” I calmly replied. "I sense a power struggle here." he said through tightly pressed lips. His hands were fisted at his sides. His knuckles were drained of color. "No power struggle here." I replied.

He was so angry he was shaking; his voice had gone all southern on me. He’d spent years as an actor taking voice lessons to hide his southern accent. I’ve noticed it only makes an appearance when he’s angry. He was mega angry now his accent was as thick as molasses. With any luck he'd be the one to pop a vessel.


"But I won't be there to supervise you!" he yelled.
"Newsflash sensei you haven't been supervising me for months."
“Dammit Mia, I’m your boss!” he snapped.
“Excuse me? You are not my boss let’s get this straight right now you are my teacher.” I said.
“Well, I am like your boss!”
I shook my head at him. “You are my mentor, not my boss and guess what this place is full of mentors."

I glared at him, I was not backing down.I could see the wheels in his head turning. He threatened me with a student’s biggest fear.

“I’m going to call your field supervisor, it’s obvious we can not resolve this. We need a conference.”

I crossed my arms defiantly, “I already called her. She’ll be calling you.”

He was shocked. I’d surprised him, he’d just discovered his little grasshopper had the heart of a lion and didn’t take kindly to being used as a whipping boy.

“Oh and another thing I don’t want you wearing jeans anymore!” he yelled and then stormed out of his office.

My sensei has been acting like an ass lately. He started out with the best of intentions but he’s obviously overwhelmed by all the additional responsibilities his recent promotion has heaped on him. As a result I have been left to fend for myself and am not being used to my full potential. The sensei seems to think I am a china doll that'll break if I do anything without him being present. I try to be understanding and have bent over backwards to accommodate him something that he has obviously taken for granted. Somewhere along the line within his mind I went from being his student to being his property, he forgets that I am there to learn.

He has refused to let me work with other departments despite the fact that it would be an excellent learning opportunity for me. In each case he refused the request refusing to give either me or the department head a reason for his refusal. When I was offered a position within a department whose target population is what I intend to be working with when I graduate I decided to do it on my own time. I’d come in on my day off and work with them that way he couldn’t object. He was less than happy about that and now we were arguing.

Jeans, he said I can't wear jeans anymore?! Ha! That's supposed to be a punishment? I collapsed into a chair trying to center myself to let my anger wash away. One of the counselors had heard us arguing and walked over to me.

“Mia, are you okay sweetheart?”
I nodded my head. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My face was flushed it looked as if I had a sun burn.
“Do you need to cry?”
I shook my head.
“Do you need to talk?”
I shook my head.
“My office is empty if you need to cry go ahead and lock the door no one will bother you.”
“No, I’m fine but thank you anyway.” I said my voice betraying how not fine I was.

The counselor’s voice was gentle and soothing the more he spoke the more choked up I became. He pulled me to my feet and hugged me, “It’s okay baby.” He said as he rubbed my back, “It’s not your fault something’s going on with him and he’s taking it out on you.”

That pretty much did it my tears began to flow and I squeaked when I tried to speak. He led me into his office a couple of other counselors trailing behind us. One of the counselor’s spoke. “It’s not your fault Mia. He’s an ass. He’s been on a power trip lately.” She said. “He’s jealous Mia he doesn’t want you working with any one else he’s afraid of losing you to another department.”

When I was finally calm I glanced at the pile of paper work on the desk. The counselor smiled at me, “I’m really behind in my paper work.” He said and shrugged his shoulders. “I could use some help here.” “I’ll come in on my day off and give you a hand with it.” I replied. He embraced me again and wiped the tears from my eyes. “ I’m proud of you for standing up for yourself. Watch yourself now and choose your battles wisely.” I nodded my head; he bent down and kissed me on the cheek, “No more crying okay? I can’t stand to see you cry it breaks my heart you remind me so much of my daughter.”

The next day I came in expecting another argument and was shocked. “Morning Mia!” my sensei said, “ would you like some coffee, or tea?” “No, thank you." I replied warily. For the rest of the day my sensei followed me around assisting me in all my tasks. I wondered what had happened to the angry sensei. This one was charming, witty, and jovial. I’ve decided the man is nuts.

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 10:36 PM
1 comment from:  Anonymous,

Friday, January 16, 2009

Promotional Tool

Once upon a time tattoo’s were considered a liability by every job I held and I was instructed to keep them covered, a habit I’ve continued even now while at work. My mother has always insisted that given the population I want to work with (teens and cons) my tattoos are actually an asset and has always encouraged me not to cover them. I will never doubt her again.


Yesterday my sensei suckered me into delegated the responsibility of assisting one of our counselors at a health fair being held at a local school. While all the other tables were mobbed none of the teens seemed interested in our table at all despite the fact that I’d designed some pretty adorable fliers advertising our services.

When the heat in the school gym finally kicked in I pulled off my sweater in order to adjust the short sleeved shirt I was wearing under it. The counselor I was assisting stared at my tattoos, she’d never seen them before. “Holy shit Mia!” “Don’t worry I’m going to put the sweater back on. I don’t want to scare the kiddies.” I joked. “No leave it off maybe it will draw the teens to our table.” I shrugged my shoulders and hung my sweater on the back of my chair.

Sure enough several minutes later our table was mobbed by teenagers wanting to get a closer look at my tats. As they oohed and ahhed over my tats and asked questions about them the counselor took the time to explain our program to the kids and give them fliers. “Is she one of the counselors there?” one of the teenagers asked pointing at me. The counselor nodded her head and the teen smiled.

I was informed this morning that I will now be attending more health fairs. In addition to a therapist I am now a promotional tool. I wonder if I can claim the cost of my next tattoo on my taxes as a work related expense?

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 2:34 PM
1 comment from:  Anonymous,

Friday, November 07, 2008

Mia, Thug Therapist

The other day I was sitting in on a group therapy session when one of the patients who was visibly upset became agitated after the therapist continued to press him as to sharing why he was upset.


The more the therapist pressured him to reveal his feelings the angrier he got until he just exploded and began punching himself in the face. The violent outburst took us all by surprise because he'd never done anything like that before. His therapist instructed me go get one of the male therapists to subdue him. By the time I came back into the room with the male therapist in tow one of the other patients had managed to calm him down.

The next day I found myself sitting next to the guy as I waited on my ride to school. He seemed embarrassed so I took the first step.

“What the hell was that about yesterday?” I asked

“I’m so sorry Mia I didn’t mean to scare you. I would never hit you. I’d never lay a hand on a woman. I know I was acting crazy.”

“Don’t worry about it, shit happens. You should’ve handled that way differently.”

“Yeah I know." he replied

We discussed some of the alternate ways he could’ve handled his anger and he promised me that if he saw himself going down that road again he’d handle it differently. He studied me for several moments his eyes resting briefly on my tats and smiled.

“Mia, I saw you throw your hands up in the air like you were getting ready to throw down. What kind of therapist are you?”


“The kind that wouldn’t have hesitated to beat the crazy out of you if you’d tried to attack me or anyone else there. Client or no client I would’ve kicked your ass.”


“I’ve got mad respect for you ma. You’re a thug therapist. ” He said as held out his fist and tapped it to mine.

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 10:26 AM
3 comment from:  Anonymous,  Anonymous,  Mia,

Thursday, October 23, 2008

I Passed Their Test

Our session was minutes away from being officially over. My patient had just made a major disclosure about the permanent medical impact of her sexual activity on her life. There was no way I was going to end the session on time. Freak it I thought I’ll skip lunch, this is important. My stomach growled in protest. I had skipped dinner the night before too exhausted to eat and had dashed out of the house without breakfast. It had really been looking forward to lunch. I’ll grab a croissant and some orange juice on my way to campus when my shift here is over I thought to myself.



She sat back in her chair and stared into my face. She’d been hearing voices all morning that much I’d figured out since she kept asking me if I’d heard them as well. Whether she’d made the stunning confession out of her own free will or if it had been at the urging of one of the voices remained unclear to me.

I noticed the twitch in her face, the way she tilted her head as if listening to something. Her voices were with her again and they were obviously interested in what my reaction to her statement was going to be. Her body was tense as she attempted to drill a hole into my face with her stare. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. “Do you think I’m a whore now?” she asked with a trace of hostility in her voice.

I leaned forward in my seat and gave her an equally gimlet stare.

“No, I don’t." She seemed shocked.

She sat back deep into her chair and breathed deeply. Her hands uncurled and she placed them face down on her thighs.

“Did you think I would?”

“Everyone else does.”

“I’m not everybody else. Do you think you’re a whore?”

“No”

“Then who cares what the hell anyone else thinks. You know why you did what you did. You were in love right?"

She nodded her head.

I told her she wasn’t alone in her situation. Many have walked in her shoes and until the end of time many more will walk the same path with the same results. That’s what support groups were for I explained.

“They have support groups for this?” she asked incredulously. I nodded my head and smiled.

"They have support groups for everything. People are not alone as they seem to think. How about I find you a support group, would you like to meet other people in the same situation?”

“Yeah”

I moved my chair besides her and opened my lap top and we surfed the net. She was amazed by the number of support groups available to her and began talking to me about her situation. I was the first person she’d opened up to about this she’d informed me. I thanked her for her trust.

“Sex doesn’t always hold the same meaning for men as it does women. It’s not your fault the guy turned out to be a jerk. You live and you learn right?”

She nodded her head again.

“I really thought you were going to think I was a slut.”

“Why?”

She patted my desk with her hand. I turned in my seat and looked at her pointing at my desk.

“Who am I to judge you? Do you think that because I sit on that side of the desk that I’ve never made my share of mistakes? Honey trust me I have made my share of mistakes. Big ones. Huge. Take me off the pedestal you’ve place me on because you and I are not so different. I’m human just like you and unless I ever develop the power to raise the dead I have no right to judge you or anyone else and even then I’d hope I’d be wise enough not to. ”

She laughed, she was definitely more relaxed. She tilted her head listening to the voices and she nodded her head in agreement with them. I guessed I had passed their test. My stomach growled at me. I owed it big time.

Labels: internship, mental health

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Posted by @ 11:11 AM
4 comment from:  Just Jane,  Mia,  Anonymous,  Mia,

Saturday, October 18, 2008

I Hope It Goes Over Well

One of our clients was rehearsing a song she planned on singing that evening, the evening of Chol HaMoed (Jewish holiday) for our financial patrons at a dinner in their honor.


As soon as she began to sing about Jesus washing her sins away I was mesmerized. The beauty of her voice was indescribable, it gave me goose bumps. One of the counselors at the clinic approached me as I watched, “Beautiful isn’t it?” I nodded my head. “It’s always been one of my favorites.” I replied.
“I hope it goes over well.”
“Why wouldn’t it?
“She’s singing a gospel song…they’re all Jews .”

He looked at me from the corner of his eye and we both burst out laughing.

Oh, Happy Day

Labels: internship

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Posted by @ 10:57 AM
3 comment from:  Anonymous,  Mia,  christina/ohio,

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

A glimpse

Here is a glimpse into some of the funnier moments of my day yesterday at my internship…

Bring back the change
There’s this one social worker who just irks me. Every single time we hold a group session I am the one asked to go out and get the snacks and sodas. I don’t mind, it’s what she always says after giving me the shopping list that irks me. “Make sure you bring back the change and the receipt.” You would have thought that between last semester and this one she would have figured out that I’m not a thief. Until today she’s never done this in front of people today she did it in front of my mentor but she acted as if she were joking around when she handed me the ten dollar bill. She was still standing with my mentor when I walked in from the store. “Good lord you don’t know,” I said as I handed her the store receipt and $3.30, “I was tempted to run away to Atlantic City and play the slot machines with all this money! You’re lucky my mama raised me right! Pheww that was a close call!” I finished with a sweet smile. My mentor laughed while she appeared to be stunned. See, I can act like I’m joking around too.



We already signed up for the Berlitz classes

Despite the fact that only the grad students are allowed to process intake patients one of the directors was desperate enough to bend the rules for me when she took note of my surname. She needed someone who was bilingual to work intake with one of the other students. None of the Latino students were ‘fessing up to being bilingual. We all know what happens to the bilingual students who get sucked into doing intakes. They never see the light of day again. They never get to work directly with patients instead they get stuck doing administrative work. “Mia can do it .” the director told the social worker. As I stammered my mentor jumped in to save me, “No she can’t she doesn’t speak Spanish.” He told her “Right Mia?” I nodded my head earnestly. The director sighed in frustration. “I’m sorry Mia I just assumed you spoke Spanish.” I felt bad. “I do speak Spanish but I wouldn’t feel comfortable translating I don’t think I’m fluent like that.” “Don’t feel bad Mia I don’t speak Spanish either!” my mentor joked. The director smiled at us and said, “I guess the both of you will be busy learning Spanish for the next couple of weeks.” “Sure thing, my mentor replied “We’ve already signed up for the Berlitz classes.”


Grasshopper and Sensei
I was part of a group of NYU grad students discussing the lecture that had just finished when my mentor approached me, “Are you ready to leave Mia?” he asked. One of the students I’d been talking to asked, “That’s your boss?” “Na I’m his grasshopper, he’s my sensei.” I replied. My mentor burst out into laughter at the look of confusion on the student’s face. “He’s my mentor.” I clarified. Another student laughed and asked, “How will you know when you’re ready to go into the world grasshopper?” “When I’m able to snatch the paper clip from his hand.” I teased as I walked towards my mentor. “C’mon my little grass hopper."Grass hopper?” “Yes sensei?” “Did I mention you’re getting your own office?” I shook my head, “No, they just told us that we’re all going to be sharing office space. I’m getting a cubicle.” “No, no my little grasshopper your sensei will not allow you to share space. I got you your own office.” “Seriously?” “Yeah." “Thank you.” “Grasshopper?” “Yes sensei?” “I think you’re going to like it. It’s a really groovy office.” “Groovy huh?” “Oh yeah, only the best for my little grasshopper.”

I’m going to have to teach this man some up to date slang.



I want to try something with you.
We’d just finished the group therapy session when my mentor asked me to follow him to his office. “Mia, sit down I want to try something with you.” He gave me some minimal details on a schizophrenic patient we’d just seen. “How do you think she feels Mia? Can you describe it for me?” “Dude, you’re doing a ‘ tuning in’ exercise aren’t you?” “Yes” “Home work?” “Kind of” “Testing the theory?” “Yes.”

I took a deep breath and thought about the patient putting myself in her place I began to speak as if I were really her. When I was done my mentor sat back and his jaw dropped. “Shit Mia that was incredible. You nailed her dead on without even reading her file!” My mentor was impressed and I was proud of myself I can’t lie. “How did you do that?” I shrugged my shoulders. “ You can see it on her she has this aura of sadness it just seeps out of her pores. “Really?” “Yes” “She gives off this feeling that she feels she doesn’t believe she belongs anywhere. She’s happy just to sit in a room full of people and not be noticed. She doesn’t want to be noticed. A lot of the clients in the groups give off the same vibe.”

He asked me how I felt about her; he had seen us talking to each other before the start of the group therapy session. “ I like her, she’s very sweet.” He handed me her file and informed me that he had been treating her for 3 years and that as of today she was my patient as well. When he started the next group therapy session he looked at me and then at the patients sitting in a circle and asked “How many of you feel like you don’t belong anywhere? How many of you are happy not to be noticed?” Nearly all of the clients raised their hands. My mentor was taken aback. He looked over at me and winked, “the sensei learns from his grass hopper.” I smiled.

Labels: education, internship

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Posted by @ 1:00 PM
3 comment from:  Anonymous,  christina/ohio,  Mia,

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Energy Vampire

The last group therapy session over several of the clients at the place I intern at stayed behind socializing. The topic of discussion was an article one of the clients had read on negative people and how emotionally and physically draining they can be on others. She had just finished reciting the tell tale signs of being a victim of the energy vampires when I added my two cents.


Mia: I know those feelings well.

Client: You been through that too Mia?

Mia: Oh yeah. I knew this girl once and every single time I spent time with her the air seemed to get sucked out of the room, time moved slower... the earth’s axis seemed to stop revolving and the thought of poking eyes myself in the eyes with a red hot poker actually seemed appealing. After a couple of hours with her I’d feel all out of it and in need of a serious nap.

Client: You see that’s what I’m talking about! She was an energy vampire!

Mia: Na she was just incredibly boring.

Labels: energy vampire, internship, smartass

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Posted by @ 12:06 AM
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