Eleven Months in a new career

Some weeks after receiving my MS in Counseling, I set off to find the perfect job. The one that would help me accrue all the hours (3000) I would need to become licensed. Undaunted by the doom and gloom marketplace that was forecast by a professor, I set out to prove him wrong. Damn, I was going to get a counseling job and I was going to move forward.

I quickly discovered that the very act of job-hunting had significantly changed. A lot of years had passed since I'd actually applied for a job. I scanned the papers. Mighty thin pickings. Someone suggested I go online. For me, "online" was where you went to shop, or play games or send emails. Not to job hunt. So I ventured into the murky waters of Monster, Career Builder, and a host of other online employment sites. It felt odd. I had to learn a whole bunch of new things. (I will discuss online job searches in another blog) There was something wrong about converting my beautifully arranged resume to "text" and sending it off into cyberspace. But I did it. I hated it. And I got a nibble. Yea me!

I was invited to interview at a clinic located 30 minutes from my home. They had a part time opening in drug and alcohol - working with juveniles who were being monitored by the local social service agencies (actually most were being monitored by probation officers). I would be a "mentor" (another not-me job?) In addition, I would be conducting a drug and alcohol group at the juvenile detention center as well as a daily adolescent group at the clinic and an adult group at night. Oh well, I said, it was just an interview. I didn't have to take the job.

I took the job. To this day I don't know why. Although I was more than honest with my soon-to-be supervisor about my low interest in working with kids -especially adolescents - he was unmoved. He loved my personality. I would be a "great fit". Plus, he added, other internal jobs were always popping up. (Note: There is always a reason for this...)

Initially, this job was hell. I spent several afternoons a week literally babysitting teenaged kids who were so "out there" even I couldn't relate. At best they were charming and manipulative. At worst they were sullen and unresponsive. I had to socialize with them - be a 'buddy'. I had to take them places - bowling, burgers, shopping, arcades (EGADS what was I doing here???)they didn't want it and I had to do it and they had to be there. To this day I cannot imagine who conceived of a program like this. I fail to see how it did these poor kids any good. They were miserable and unhappy. They especially hated the part where I randomly pee-tested them. (I didn't exactly like this part either). Eventually this part of my job faded away. The grant that funded it ran out. Whew.

That left the drug and alcohol group at the jail and the daily groups at the clinic. The jail was the most challenging...and the most intimidating (at least at first). Each time I went there I imagined myself taking the final walk down the long corridor that would lead to my untimely death. I got frisked and scanned by guards. The groups were monitored on a closed circuit system. And if I needed help (gulp) all I had to do was knock real hard on the bullet proof glass and someone would come. Eventually. (I only had to do this twice)

I quickly learned that my group time was the only time during the day that the kids were allowed to socialize - or even talk to each other. You can imagine how wound up they were. It took me weeks to get any kind of rhythm and approach that would reach them in any way. Forget about getting through to them about the evils of drug and alcohol use. Most of these kids were long time users. They knew everything. They had no intention of quitting or changing their ways. Many of them confessed to having parents who either a) smoked weed with them or b) didn't see what the "big deal" was about drug use. (And we punish the kids... They spoke lovingly of drinking bottles of cough syrup, smoking sage (yes, sage), swallowing cold pills and raiding their parents' medicine cabinets. They did it to escape from lives they said were "boring". They didn't mind being in jail. For many it was a way of life and it beat being at home.

My clinic group was not much better. We shared three hours a day, four days a week. It was grueling for all of us.

In the evening I ran a group for people who had been arrested for drinking and driving. These groups were great. Not perfect, but so much better than the kids' groups.

The bright spot was a group I co-facilitated and later facilitated by myself. Men. Domestic violence perpetrators. These weren't the run-of-the mill wife beaters. They were basically guys who in a moment of anger yelled too loud and scared their wives, or threw their spouses cell phone against a wall...stuff like that. Coming to the domestic violence group was an alternative to jail. It may seem odd to put a woman in charge of a group like this but it worked. For them and for me. (Really, I so didn't like working with kids that these guys were a treat!!) It did not take me long to figure out that their basic issue was that they simply did NOT UNDERSTAND WOMEN. I spent thirty minutes of every group teaching them about women. They brought questions...they had so many. It would have been a great reality show.

I had settled into this routine. I was content and I was racking up my hours. Then it all fell apart. My boss left and in his place - the bitch from hell. It was her first management job (it showed) and she had a lot of ideas about how the clinic should be run. She had no people skills, a bad attitude and no ability to compromise with anyone. We hated her. (I think I still do). I tolerated her dictatorship, her outrageous demands and her smugness. (Oooo I detect some bitterness here). She got angry each time a client said something nice about me. And twice she went ballistic when clients who were being discharged brought me goodbye gifts (accepting gifts is flat out unethical,not allowed, not encouraged. But they liked me, they wanted to give me something and they refused to take the gifts back. I gave both gifts - one was flowers and one was candy- to my supervisor. Each time she lectured me about the "policy". I knew the policy...the gifts were not my fault) Did I need this crap from her? Hell no.

Adding to this unfortunate turn of events was a long daily commute on two-lane dark country roads (in all kinds of horrible weather), getting home at 11:00pm (on a good day), and working far more hours than I was being paid for. I weighed my options. Was it worth staying? Could I get my hours somewhere else - maybe closer to home? I resigned.

That was the last time I worked as a counselor. Two years have passed and there haven't been any more opportunities. My professor was right. Itishard to get your 3000 hours. I put in 1184 hours. They aren't good for much.

And so it goes. My big plan for reinvention was cut short..and for all intents and purposes is dead. I guess I won't be supporting my husband and myself in this "dream" retirement job. Another stab at repurposing myself that didn't quite work. I guess I have to keep trying.
But what to try?

The life lesson here: Ask yourself what you are willing to endure to achieve a dream. If you find yourself waffling when the going gets tough - maybe you don't really want the thing you are pursuing.