I used to work with this kid who was the textbook example of what the "fight response" looks like. Award for the most and severest suspensions in a school year---check. Award for the most expulsions without actually ever being expelled---check. My agency uses an assessment that has a designated rating in order to reflect that he caused others in his life fear due to the intensity and frequency of his rage. He was in Kindergarten but he had experienced a grown person's life and then some. He had a great personality, easy to relate to, would give you the shirt off his back. Nobody could help him and some wouldn't.
There is a particular fear that comes with helping a child with extreme behavior, specifically if you are directly intervening. I think someone would prefer it to be called "anxiety" because that is prettier but the whole business is messy, and I think fear is appropriate to the mess. Safety issues for all involved, policies, procedures, politics, not to mention which approach to use and to switch to when the first couple don't work, worst case scenarios---oh, and that's in the first 10 minutes. Luckily, for both of us, my fear response is "freeze."
I don't like to freeze. (Reference my last blog post in which I wrote an ode to my love for planning...and the one before that in which I compared control to a parachute). I was convinced for the longest time that freezing made me a weak person. I don't automatically have a response. I'm not sure right away. I would prefer to let you go first. I'm not going to jump yet and maybe not ever.
I spent the day making feeble attempts to decipher what I was reaching for in my day to day, in response to a prompt from a writing course I'm taking. Much of my energy during the day is spent in deciphering the motivations, reachings of other people; parents, children, teachers, colleagues. It was an interesting challenge to expand that to myself whilst continuing the pursuit in others. I think in an effort to guide my ambition, my caseload decided to throw a few curve balls.
Peace. As a social worker, that seems a bit of a no brainer, but its just not that simple. The words that are burning...it's just not that simple. I'm not that simple. The conflict is not that simple. The resolution is not that simple. God is not simple. My lack of prayer life is not that simple. Condemning domestic violence between two adults with mental illness...its not that simple. The really hard battles are not clear cut between one thing and the other; they are clearly covered in shit on both sides. I love words. Words, context, interpretation can be simple or complex. Words can be manipulated to simplify or complicate. Words can be withheld to simplify or complicate. Peace. Peace for my heavy spirit. Peace for your heavy spirit and her heavy spirit and their heavy spirits. Today it was peace for my insecurity. Peace for the child who thinks he is bad for taking a pill. Peace for his father who wants to die due to suffering from physical pain. Peace for the child who doesn't understand social cues. Peace for the parents who love each other but are both depressed and struggling. Peace for my feelings of failure. Peace for the child who continues to cuss out his parents and run away. Peace for my feeling inadequate. Peace for the parents who experience a rehash of their own trauma every time they discipline. Peace for the mom fleeing from her husband. Peace for the husband afraid for his child. Peace for my tired mind. It's just not that simple.
I went camping for a few days this past weekend. And came back in all of my campfire smoke-smelling-bug spray covered-still wet clothes in bags-sunburnt forehead-refreshed spirit glory. I could write an entire blog on camping, but for now, I just want to mention the stars...numerous, beautiful, flickering, awesome. He knows them all by name. His Sovereignty is not confined to circumstance. It's just not that simple.
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