When I was seven years old, I thought my Case Worker at the time was a movie star. She had reddish brown hair and a big smile. When moving between foster homes we were often on long drives together because the state of Maine is the size of the rest of New England put together. She wore leopard print sunglasses (which I thought were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen) and bright red lipstick. We listened to the radio loudly and sang along. Though she was only my Case Worker for the first couple of years in care, twenty years later I still remember how much I adored her and how things were easier because of her. Maybe it was the first time I realized that life could be fun. She was important to me and always will be. To this day I love leopard designs though I now know not many other people do.
No Case Worker was ever like her and no one else ever managed to make me feel as comfortable as she did. One Case Worker, the one that over saw my adoption through Lutheran Adoption Services, was definitely not out to be my friend. It was clear that her job was to make as many adoptions as possible and kids like me, kids with issues, just made her job difficult. When she visited, she only talked to my newly adopted parents. It's not that surprising that this adoption did not work out in the long run. It's also not surprising that I grew up to be a counselor at a runaway shelter and then a Case Manager with Big Brothers Big Sisters of America. When we are kids, our hero's, our villains, and our best examples are often Case Workers. The most sincere form of flattery is often mimicry. We go from cases ourselves to being a manager of cases. It is a method of liberation. It is a final step toward healing, a way of declaring ourselves free from the system, while utilizing our unique language and skill set gained from a childhood within the system.
That being said, I am no longer a Case Manager. Though I love mission oriented work, I doubt I will ever be one again. Turn over is extremely high in this field and from my individual perspective, here is why:
1) We often begin as idealists who are motivated by the mission of our work. Having to spend most of our time worrying about budgets, fundraising, meetings, office politics, and endless paperwork is a slow form of spiritual death.
2) Many of us would rather be doing direct service work. Direct service work is where we are able to really spend time with the people we are honored to serve. It usually requires college education and yet barely pays above minimum wage and often without benefits. One word: Student Loans. While a life of poverty is noble, one should not be mandated to live in poverty if they are willing to work and have a skill set to provide.
3) We are often paid just enough to survive with little hope for advances, retirement, or eventual benefits. This is more true in private nonprofits which are largely without union representation. Which leads to...
4) We are often expected to take care of others in a myriad of ways without having the proper resources to take care of ourselves. This is complicated. The nonprofit and social service field was already operating on a shoe string budget when the economic crash happened. Years later and several budget cuts later (across the entire sector), we are now chronically under staffed, under paid, and over worked. We often have to wear many hats due to downsizing, like office work, cleaning, or fundraising in addition to our case work. We are now handling case loads that increase each day with little hope for change or resources to cope with this continued stress. Even worse, it means that we can not do our jobs as well as we want. It means the very reason we started this work, the mission, is no longer applicable. Now we are martyrs without a cause. Motivation is the first thing to go once idealism has been kicked in the face a handful of times,then office morale, and finally, any sense of working as a team. We are now all operating on autopilot. We are holding our collective breath and waiting for five p.m. to arrive each day and then...
5) We hit the wall. When we realize that our misery is not helping anyone. That we no longer have the capacity to care about the people we serve. That we are numb to our mission and we've forgotten what brought us here in the first place. We are tired spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Working to bridge the gaps that are only growing is not helpful to anyone and we are not really getting anywhere. We never witness the product of our work or see the good that may have been done. We just work each day and constantly adapt to policy changes due to high management turn over or politics. Though we are mission focused, we spend more time with computers and paper then we will ever spend with another person. Each person becomes a file, a case, and data.
What can we do with this? I believe that we can do something and that the social service field does not have to be like this. We need a comprehensive monetary investment into social services including preventative services. We need preventative services. We need to invest in maintaining healthy, diverse, family units and communities. Across the board, this is proven to lower the cost and the need of social services over time. Band-Aid's and Emergency Room tactics are expensive. We need to recruit new graduates into a large and robust social service program which allows for their enthusiasm and idealism and accounts for their human needs so they may meet the needs of others.
Operating social services as a business is not sustainable and is pointless. We put our mission second to profit. This is a waste of everyone's time and energy. We burn through people like cash instead of cultivating the leadership necessary to meet the growing and changing demands of our time.
It's time for comprehensive social service programs which empower families, children, communities, and providers. It's time to cultivate programs which build community, which reflect our voices, and which work with people instead of against them once they have fallen so far they end up on our case load.
Or, let's call a spade a spade at least. Let's just call it quits right now and stop pretending that what we are doing is working. Let's admit that social services has become mostly about paychecks and making it through the day like any low pay office job. Let's stop pretending the current system is working as it falls apart with budget cuts. Let's advocate for our work to be taken seriously again and for our human needs to be just as much a priority as those we serve. Let's advocate quality care for those we serve.
Step one: Call your representative and write letters to the editor of your local paper. Step two: Join Foster Care Alumni of America and take part in the conversation. We begin by reaching out to each other. Movements are built on this.
After having the best Case Worker a kid could ask for, I know how powerful we can be. I know how important our work is. I know how amazing the people in our field are. But if we are not given the proper tools for our job, quality leadership, and fair pay, how can we hope to provide well for others? I loved my Case Worker because she made me feel safe and at ease in a world that was not safe for me. She gave me stability and comfort because she was stable and comfortable. Our jobs were not meant to be a constant state of emergency and tragedy. The best Case Workers show us how to trust ourselves, love life, and over come because they love life too and they trust the system we are placed into. I would like to think that she is still out there doing great work but how realistic is that? Not very. It's a shame. She deserves better. We all do.
Owner/Editor - Chris Chmielewski