Social Work Month: Why Social Work Is Sexy Part Trois

I love my job. I cannot say it enough. We are a ways away from the soup kitchen, child snatching images that have been society’s idea of what we do. I shun family member’s hidden disappointments of nursing/lawyering/doctoring dreams deferred. Rather, I embrace days and hours that never look the same.

Today I sat with a client and watched her mind go from zero to one-hundred in one hour. It was refreshing to have someone hear her out for a change. Someone who “gets it” in a judgment free zone; someone who walks away making no promises other than “let’s do this again next week.”

Today I sat stunned to watch the face of a former client caught in a hale of bullets now laying in a hospital bed tonight. The picture on my phone of a youthful face, whose tomorrow is now uncertain. I recall an unmet need and the limits of my willpower and my reach.

An exhilarating and ever humbling experience is my norm as a social worker. No two clients, story, life, moment is ever alike.


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