The common theme of mental health, human services providers and educators has become, for many, plan B or at least a perceived notion that one could be doing something else, if they only applied themselves. I take great offense to this as I move towards an age of reason and reflect on the themes of self-disparagement and regret that paints our fields. 

Mental health and self-care take a sidestep for many people and the importance of accepting help is low; and for many is an admission of vulnerability-and who could blame them when you yourself think of your career as a backup plan.

How many times have you heard a colleague talk about how they could have been a lawyer or a doctor? Leaving little room to explore the idea that, while it is possible that this could be true, is it possible for everyone to bring insight, explore resources and care for people when they need support the most? Who are the people in the trenches of crisis? Who are the first people at a disaster triaging? Who are your children’s first impressions and inspirations? Who is it you call when you’re at the crossroads of life and can’t seem to find an open door? It wouldn’t be a leap to say, it most likely isn’t a lawyer or doctor- and with confidence, I can say you may have been a wonderful dentist, but I have yet to meet a dentist or surgeon alike who could do our job. 

In a time when self-disparagement is the new humble, we have accepted the idea of being secondary; but like all societal constructs, we do not function in a silo. We all need, and we all need care. 

Agency work can be grueling, it can seem to be uninspiring and ironic in that our jobs are to do just that. That spark that brought us to where we are leaves just as quick as our bubble is burst by antiquated ideas of who we are told to be. We all started out our journey wanting to help someone and somewhere along the way, we became inferior and incapable. We’ve all seen images of the disorganized overworked case worker at the childcare agency and the buffoon like school principal fumbling and spilling coffee on themselves. It’s hard to imagine we would respect and value these character tropes when we are depicted as fools, not worthy of sufficient pay or equal treatment in a professional milieu. 

Leadership is defined by guidance, the very sentiment of our roles. Guiding where a person is to find their own solutions and promote critical thinking. It implies that though our work is not concrete, it is more likely that characters like us, set the path for many of our best lawyers and doctors; and maybe the next generation of helpers who set the bar way higher than ever before.

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When we meet clients it’s often that we meet them at their bottom or on their way down. Therapy generally starts later than ideal and clients frame their regret and challenges as problems. It’s more likely, they lacked the experience and the tools to cope with those circumstances. It is up to us to help redefine and reframe their perspective. Say the same thing differently and you change the flavor of the meaning. Seems obvious and rudimentary when said, but this kind of technique is only useful when we ourselves buy into its validity- and when helping build perspective, it’s our words that make the most difference. 

No one looks forward to revisiting pain, and for most of us we prefer to avoid and move along in the hopes we do not repeat negatives patterns. Even if we don’t, we find ourselves regretful for being the person we used to be and never giving any credit to our future selves. You are not your issues alone, you are not the problem, you are human and feelings change as do words. Though as fickle as they might seem, words cannot can’t be unseen, unheard, or unwritten. 

You are a better person today because you have had the luxury of time and practice than the person you were yesterday. It is this type of strength language we must use not only in our practice but in our lives. Life feels hard, and it is. We have little we control, but what we can control is the story we tell. Tell yourself a good story, one that gives you permission to move forward and help others do the same.

The post The Language of Moving Forward appeared first on Life By Samantha Leigh.

As well grow older we start reflecting. Reflecting on time. Reflecting on purpose. Reflecting on how significant our feelings were about seemingly menial events of our past. Reliving those not-so-great moments trying to understand them. Trying to understand how we allowed them to happen. For much of my career, I’ve played out the same scenarios in my head and how I could’ve been more effective in my role. We spend much of our lives and careers insisting on how we never want to feel those things again; and for some, the fear of moving past it is more crippling than the vulnerability of working through it. Many times, there is no outlet for us, but we are the outlets for everyone else around us. 

In my experience, supervisory was more of a didactic practice; supervisors were quick to point out my deficits while never paying any respect to the fact that another person could have actual good ideas that just differ. We’re made to feel our own feelings are wrong. We’re living under the illusion that another person in a power position has real control over your career. You’re left feeling incompetent at your job when your lack of insight and judgement may be attributed to lack of experience only aided by the support of others and exposure. 

When we feel wrong we experience shame, a far more devastating human experience than most of our indiscretions. We carry it, we act from it and our life choices can often be a result of it. It sets us all up to feel disappointment before we’ve even allowed ourselves to make an effort. It’s that cycle of low expectations that flavors our field and creates an environment of the lowest standards for the practitioner; and as a culture have internalized this and have allowed it to continue. Young professionals become so focused on not doing wrong that we forget about our purpose and lack the confidence to advocate for more. 

Feeling insecure and mostly insignificant early in my career, I found the most anxiety leveling activity was to work a string of low paying social services jobs. I talked to everyone that would listen. I asked all the questions, and I modeled my behavior and work ethics based on my superiors. The need to feel trusted by my predecessors far exceeded any compensation for me. I would idolize supervisors and accepted that what they suggested was fact. It would take years for me to accept that if something made me feel awful, it likely was. The very concept of supervision became dreadful, and I felt less supported to make sound decisions about how to handle serious cases because the focus was on my naïveté rather than encouragement and exploring solutions. 

As helpers, we try to empower others and use our skills to help people break cycles of abuse. We look at the holistic picture of our clients and give all of ourselves to boost the lives of others so that they can live well. We are independent and resilient; but in our shell you’ll find the most vulnerable and sensitive of people who require just as much support as the populations they serve. It is my goal to not only protect the dignity of the next generation of workers but also educate and empower them to affect change not only in their communities, but to also create communities of support. 

Let’s talk about what makes you uncomfortable, what seems wrong, what you fear, and why you think your fears might cost you your job; with some certainty I can assure you that it mostly never will. I can assure you that by not talking and questioning authority, it can cost you dignity and limit you from being the role model and game changer that you really are and were always meant to be. 

The post How Does That Make You Feel…? A Message To Supervisees appeared first on Life By Samantha Leigh.

I worked full time in college and most of graduate school, a work ethic I would have a hard time relinquishing even to this day. I appreciated having no time for anything else and the grading system for me was validating. Maybe after all, I could be great at something and surely a 4.0 GPA was something my parents could brag about. Yet, I had no idea about the real world, in fact I was street smart and completely clueless. 

A ball of anxiety, I found comfort in comforting others. A seemingly natural pivot from my initial school endeavors in the performing arts, I enrolled in social work school. By hope and faith, I was accepted to a competitive program, feeling like a complete imposter. A feeling I couldn’t shake even after I graduated. On my first day of classes the well-meaning professor in her quintessential social work clogs pulled her glasses off her face and stared. “If you think you will ever make money in this field, this is not the place for you,” she said with such seriousness, I expected at least the one male present in class to walk out. I was baffled. Why was I there? Was I expected to just love serving people so much I was not to be compensated for? Was I not worth it? 

While still studying, I took a job for a well-known social services agency. We were still in an era where asking salary was tawdry, and we compulsively checked our answering machines for word of an interview from a classified ad you saw in your local newspaper. The 12 dollars an hour might as well have been 200. I had it made, and with paid time off. I quickly made an impression on my supervisors and was given additional responsibilities well beyond my counseling job descriptions. I will never know if it was because I was more capable, or if it was because I was gullible enough to take on extra. Either way, for the first time I felt needed. I was worth it.  

Staff of the residential program were required to take a weeklong crisis intervention and restraint training course. We had a great trainer, and for the first time, I felt inspired and maybe one of the first if not only places I belonged. This was it. I had found some purpose. 

During restraint training, we were all asked to wear sweat clothing for the physical training portion. All staff and supervisors alike were engaged in learning the current safety of having to restrain an aggressive client in crisis. Later in the day, I was asked into supervision and was told that I should not be allowed to wear sweatpants, as my large backside was distracting to the staff and was accentuated by my grey champion pants. A requirement insisted upon by a male director and carried out by my female supervisor; a request that I realize now should have never been verbalized to me. 

All my hard work, all my efforts were taken from me in a moment of poor supervision. An old narrative of the expectation of women to react and feel shame. I did nothing wrong. My body did nothing wrong. I’d be paid lesser, expected more from, and now had to be responsible for men’s inability to tolerate the distraction of my oversized derriere too. I was humiliated. 

Throughout my career, these kinds of stories would play out over and over; along with the idea that women, that mental health providers, deserve less. It’s an idea that many of us have bought into again and again not questioning and never advocating for more. We’d suffer through converted broom closets without windows, insufficient health insurance, and wages so low it couldn’t make a dent in any college tuition high interest loan. Things we’d never settle for when it came to defending someone else. 

I often think about the first day of grad school. I often think about how that professor had a platform to have not scared us off by a life of debt and servitude. I think about my former supervisors and how they had the opportunity to change the course, change the narrative, tell a different story for a young impressionable social worker to buy into. Today, I am writing my own narrative; one that will empower others to follow. A story in which, success is defined by integrity and character. A story where, we as helpers set our standards and not be influenced by the expectations of others behaving badly. 

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