Raise me up

Sorry I haven’t written in a bit – life has been changing before I had a chance to pull my pants all the way up.

While I’m waiting for my therapy appointment to start, I figured I’d do my own version of Throwback Thursday. I remember my first client. Without violating HIPAA, my profession’s ethical code, my agency’s code, or my own personal ethical code, I’ll spare you a vast amount of detail.

At the time, I worked as a student/counselor-in-training in a very underprivileged yet urban setting. My caseload: 4 clients (now: 92, but I digress). Anyway, my first client and I worked together quite well.

Then they stopped showing up to treatment altogether.

I always wondered what happened to them. Did they ever find their way back into treatment? Did they ever find what they were looking for? Happiness? Hope? Love? Acceptance? Peace? Or just being?

I am well aware of my limitations as a clinician. I can’t force help on another; I can’t force wellness on anyone (myself included). I am just a part of someone’s toolbox; the issue is that I can’t fix anyone or anything, despite my best intentions on trying.

I’m like a jack. Yeah, see, jacks lift cars to help remove a tire; someone else has to remove it and use other tools to aid in the process.

I like that.


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