Yesterday started out like any other. At least any of the others since I took my work hiatus. I spent a few hours in a coffeehouse, slowly plugging away at my book. Since I've been on work hiatus, I've managed to add roughly 500 words a day. Not too much, but certainly making progress, since a large body of the work is already done.
I sat in the coffeehouse, seriously considering that it may be time to leave social work for good. I'm burned out. I'm great with people and clients, but on an administrative level, I just can't seem to get a good leg up on it. Between adding words to my book, I occasionally looked online for any other positions that I felt would suit me. Suddenly it was time to go. I walked outside and saw a gentleman sitting on a brick wall. "Hello," I greeted him, walking in the direction of my car. The gentleman then stopped me and explained that he'd previously been on a MARTA bus when he began having a panic attack. The man had a blood pressure cuff on his arm and breathed heavily in and out.
I stopped and asked the man to identify 5 things that he saw around him. Then I asked him to tell me 4 things he felt. Followed by 3 things he could hear. Then two things he smelled and one thing he tasted. I explained to the man that was called a grounding technique to help calm him when he feels himself getting overworked. Then I explained to him what box breathing is and encouraged him to utilize box breathing to remain present. Then I told the gentleman that unless he has an absolute medical reason to have a blood pressure cuff on his arm, focusing on is pulse and blood pressure was more likely just going to trigger more anxiety.
The guy said "you're right, it probably is, thank you." Then I encouraged him to take a few minutes and slowly begin walking toward his home. "You can do it, I have faith in you," I told him. "How can you have faith in me? You don't know me" he responded. I ended up saying to him, "I'm a social worker with 10 years experience of working in mental health. I've seen it all and I know for a fact that you can do this." I explained to him that I had to leave, but I have him the Black power fist, and walked away.
*Sigh* I swear I feel like social work is like the mafia to me. Every time I think I'm out, I'm pulled right back in.
I got home and decided to call an old girlfriend of mine. I caught her up on my life, telling her about the recent passing of my cousin, in addition to my temporary work hiatus and my goal of finishing my book and cementing some creative endeavors before I stumble back into the work force. She, in turn, told me how she's now seeing clients as a coach. She began telling me about how she'd kind of stumbled onto it, and how she's now building a practice of it.
The amazing thing is that she's not even a licensed social worker or therapist. To her credit, she has done a lot of work on herself and participated an a lot of retreats and self-help activities to get clarity in her life. She's probably the only non-master's person I'd trust not to completely fuck up working with someone. But it occurred to me that if she can do this, I possibly could as well.
I detest the term "life coach" because they are largely a group of barely certified people with no educational or governing board, so basically any asshole can call themselves a life coach and do all kinds of damage to a person's mental health or act in an extremely unprofessional manner and there is no degree of accountability. On the other hand, as a licensed social worker, if I do something egregious in my field, I risk having my license revoked. One of many reasons that I'm careful with how I engage with clients. I'll probably sound like an elitist bitch when I say this, but I'm kind of burned up when someone with just a life coaching certificate has the gall to act as though we have the same training. (We do NOT!)
Anyway, my friend was telling me that all I had to do was select which modalities I'd prefer to work with, which was easy for me, as I already work with modalities in my field. I'd utilize CBT, ACT, and mindfulness as a coach. It all started to come together for me. I immediately began to think about a former client of mine who I felt could use my services. I got off of the phone with her, but before hanging up, she encouraged me to try to get two clients before she and I meet for coffee next week.
That night I went home and compiled a list of things that I would need to work on the following day, including creating a description of the services that I offer in addition to a bit of written information about me to advertise my services and the benefit of working with a coach who has actual mental health education as opposed to one with a basic certificate. It was all starting to come together.
The next day (a.k.a. today), I decided to take my last Vyvanse so that I could focus fully on my extensive list. Because of some running around that I had to do, I got to my coffeehouse kind of late, but I opened up my book and I plugged away at it for nearly 6 hours. For 6 hours, I did not move, not even to go to the rest room. When I first started working on my book again, I had just over 16k words. Today, I finally passed the threshold of 23k words. I couldn't believe it. I looked at the word counter on my laptop hit 23,002 and I started beaming. The fact is that I knocked out over 2k words today, alone.
My goal is roughly 25k-30k words, which means that I'm finally starting to bring things together. Once I finish this book, my next goal is to submit it to some people to get feedback before I reach out to one of the publishers that I've had circling.
Once I made it to my car, the date sunk in. *sigh* This weekend is roughly around the anniversary of Andrea and Pete's deaths. Actually, before I even realized the dates, I took a whiff of the night air. It was familiar. Slight hints of grass, a mild, slightly warm night. It reminded me of the night that I learned that Pete died. I recall how I sat outside on my car, staring up at the stars. I knew he was one of those stars. I got into my car, and coincidentally, each of the 3 songs that played managed to remind me indivudally of Pete, Andrea, and my aunt. What are the odds? I started weeping. I was angry. Why the hell are the people I love dying at the same fucking time every year? And what surprised me the most was that at some point, I didn't even know which loved one I was crying about. Adding my favorite cousin to the list only makes it sting that much more.
I got home this evening and called my father to ask the best way to start obtaining some clients. My dad immediately expressed fear about my lack of full-time work at the moment. I assured him that I actually have some irons in the fire in terms of full-time jobs, but explained that while I'm working full-time, it's hard to work on the creative aspects of building a company. I assured him that while that part is on the back burner, I'd rather be creative now, while I don't have to work 9 to 5. I also told him that financially, I'm quite possibly in the best shape I've been in a while and that my money is not an issue at the moment.
I feel like this is my "Up to Bat" moment. For the first time ever, the money, the creativity, the time, the desire, and the courage are all working together to align me to build something. I don't know quite what it is yet, but I'm seeing it shape up. The fact is that I've had a major idea of mine stolen in the past by a well-known figure so I'm playing this one close to the vest. But I see it. I feel it. I taste it! It's finally here.
