Last Thursday was a day that I was glad I keep this blog to remember happy and good things about the job. Because that evening, I was not feeling a bit of it, neither happy nor good. I had just returned from a trip to the police station with a client, Maria, who was raped several weeks ago. A report was filed that night, and a week later, as the rapist was lurking around her, she called them again, added to the report and a warrant was issued for his arrest. As it happens, this rapist was my client about a year ago, so I knew his name and information, but was kept by HIPPA laws from providing it to the authorities. Instead, I merely stood by her and prompted her to provide useful details she omitted.
Over the weekend, the guy was found and brought into the police station. When they tried to find Maria, however, they were unsuccessful, because she's homeless and wanders. Since they couldn't find her, they let him go. Last week, she and I went to the police station to learn what her options were, but we didn't hear any possibilities. In fact, it sounded like it was just dropped. Just closed. Like it was nothing, nothing at all.
I found myself doing what social workers shouldn't do - take something like this personally. I kept thinking, "This could be me. But for the grace of God, this could be me." It got to the point that I couldn't think about any way to help my client, because any time I thought about it, I felt helpless and weak, and I was so frustrated. I felt further disempowered because I couldn't help her in her case, even though I knew the information she needed.
The turning point came when I read responses to my frustrated post on Facebook. As a social worker, I have a number of social worker friends, and they are connected with resources that I can't think of in the moment. Furthermore, they could offer support, even over a digital medium, and their words were encouraging. The following morning, armed with resource names and contact information, I began making calls to sexual assault and legal advocates, and was immediately lifted up. They were extremely helpful and uber informative, and I was quickly armed with several options for empowering and assisting Maria.
But it didn't end there. Later that morning, I met with another woman I've been working with for about a year. She'd recently left a long-term relationship she was no longer happy with, but this day, she disclosed how controlling and abusive he's been to her, something she'd not before let on to me, I think out of embarassment. He's slapped her several times, and he threw a brick into her father's window, almost hitting her. As she was sharing this with me, I could see the shame that had been wrapping around her for so long, finally being a little bit released because she could share it with someone. Because of the the research I had done for Maria, I immediately provide her with phone numbers, talk to her about different options and -most importantly - reassure her that she was not to blame.
I almost have chills when I think about how all of this came together. As dreadful as these circumstance are, I can't help but, when I think about them, marvel how the seemingly unrelated events harmonized. Through the discouraging day of bottomless frustration, an evening of tears, then loving support and suggestions, a morning of furious searching and information-gathering, and then - right when it was needed - hope. Beautiful hope.
