Missing the Big Picture by Donovan, Luke (great book club books txt) 📕

the room. I was more nervous than I had ever been in my life. When I was called into the meeting, my supervisor said that she wanted to terminate me, which she had never mentioned in the two weeks prior. The internship was unpaid, so it wasn’t a financial loss. All I remember thinking was Thank God this is over. Instead of being a therapeutic experience for children with emotional disabilities, the group home was more like a prison for children. Having to listen to people getting restrained all the time only made some of the children angrier and more upset.

I finished my classes that semester but was convinced I wasn’t going to continue with the social work program. I went back to my old agency and applied for a job at a sheltered workshop, where individuals with developmental disabilities and mental health concerns did manufacturing work. I was disappointed when I was told that the job only paid twenty-three thousand dollars a year.

After I was let go from my internship, I had to go back to the Sanchez group home where I was working and give a speech to the children and the staff—one of the most humiliating things I’ve ever had to do. My professor told me that giving the speech would allow me to “exit professionally.” I really just wanted to tell my professor to shove my transcript up her ass, but then I thought about the children and realized that I wanted to say good-bye. All of the kids had been removed from their homes, and they didn’t have any control over who was in their lives. So I went back for them.

About ten minutes before I was going to leave my home, I got the call that I was offered the job at the sheltered workshop. The school told me that I would have to wait a year before I could resume my studies. The director of field education said that I would have to show growth before I could continue in the program. The security of having a job gave me confidence. I was so excited that I started dancing, and Jeremy, my mother’s boyfriend, looked at me like I was crazy.

About thirty minutes later, I had to face the ten staffers. I got there early and had to wait until they were ready for me. Finally, I gave my speech to the staff, saying, “Things don’t always go as planned, so I am not going to finish my internship.” I complimented them on their commendable work. They were helping give abused children who suffered from severe emotional and behavioral difficulties a chance to live in a safe environment. For very low wages and under unsafe working conditions, the staff there worked hard to try to improve the children’s quality of life. Most of the staff thanked me afterward, and a few minutes later, I had to say good-bye to the children.

I spoke first to each of the three clients I was meeting with on a weekly basis. One girl began to cry once I told her that I was leaving. She averaged about one physical restraint a week, and the longest she went without being aggressive was two weeks. Her father was a level-three sex offender living in upper New York State. I think that I learned the most from her. My first impression of her was when she threatened to break a lamp. A staff member actually removed his wallet and cell phone since he knew he was going to have to restrain her. I was initially scared to meet with her since she was rather large and intimidating.

Next up was Sage, the girl I used to tutor in math. After I told her I was leaving, she quickly said, “You’re great at explaining things.” She then proceeded to tell me that I made people feel really good about themselves. I was totally amazed and so glad I had come back to say good-bye. A few days earlier, I had basically wanted to tell my internship supervisor and the director of field placements to fuck off. Even to this day, what Sage told me then was the nicest compliment I have ever received. It made all the emotionally draining work worthwhile.

Throughout my time at the Sanchez group home, I would constantly hear “They’re just children.” All of the delinquent behavior, the tantrums, aggression, and fights were blamed on abuse or the kids’ ages. Most of the staffers were encouraged to ignore some of the behaviors. Children should never be treated lightly in terms of discipline. The only difference between children and adults are the rights that we give them. By correcting behavior, we are teaching new behavior and right from wrong. If we ignore behavior, such as acts of hatred or violence, the child isn’t learning anything new. I will never forget the time that two staffers started dancing to help a girl who was behaving violently. The trick might have helped the girl relax, but in the real world nobody is going to start dancing after she threatens or swears at them.

From my year in graduate school, I learned that empathy and compassion is social work’s greatest strength—and also its greatest weakness. I remember my field supervisor was filled with so much compassion for these children who were being abused mentally, physically, and emotionally. However, she would often dismiss their behavior as a result of their past histories and as something that couldn’t change. All children have to adhere to rules and learn to respect adults, no matter whether they have disabilities or have suffered from abuse. If we have separate rules for children based on their social histories, we’re labeling them as victims—not as survivors and people who can persevere.

In April 2006, I considered myself to be in the real world. I was afraid to graduate college and be on my own. I had felt the same way as a teenager. I was afraid to go to high school with