Weary from many long hours of
assessments, treatment, travel, and training, I went with my family to see the
new Star Wars movie. I’m a dreadful Star Wars fan; most of the time I smile my
way through these movies because I don’t know what’s going on. They are
pleasant to look at though, and remind me of when I waited in line for an hour
or more to see the very first one in the theaters in the late 1970s, probably
wearing the fashions of the times: an oversized down jacket and light-colored
Frye boots.
Four decades on, I found myself
resentful. Why are these characters considered heroic when my colleagues
aren’t? After all, the people I work with may occasionally make mistakes or
become misguided, but every one of them puts their all into a shared mission of
healthier lives and safer communities. As many have observed, the beneficiaries
of our work will never know to say thank you because they won’t have been
abused. My colleagues are not, as one defense attorney in Wisconsin once said
to me, the “Death Star.” The vast majority of people working from all
perspectives towards the goal of eliminating abuse are all over-worked and
under-paid. Maybe it’s that our costumes and transport aren’t as cool as the
Star Wars characters. I’m quite certain I would not look as lithe climbing up the
ladder of a spaceship as some of the figures in the movie.
Then I realized the difference:
These characters don’t have to do case notes. They don’t know from DAP and SOAP
formats, and couldn’t formulate a SMART goal if Princess Lea’s life depended on
it. To my knowledge, there are no ethics-codes considerations around the use
and misuse of protocol droids… or any robots for that matter. These characters
have never done paperwork, nor worked with someone whose job involves cracking
the whip on therapists to submit their documentation. It’s no wonder they’re
all so attractive and confident. They’ve probably never had to write or review
an incident report after a long shift!
Meanwhile, while we are working, no one who
observes us is moved to eat popcorn. When we solve problems, we don’t know if
they are actually solved until the researcher (probably from Canada) with the
statistical-analysis package says it worked. But that is only 15 years into the
future, and even then the final report will say that “more research is needed.”
It’s deeply unfair; Star Wars doesn’t have a meaningful control group… and I
don’t even get to have a John Williams soundtrack! All I get is the occasional
Survey Monkey request for a research project studying PTSD symptoms of professionals
in our field. And worse, no one is studying the dirty little secret of our
work: the most piquant symptoms of trauma often come not from vicariously
reliving the worst moments of others’ lives, but from our interactions with
state licensing audits.
Although I have known some
professionals who might be deserving of an award for their ability to bring
drama into the workplace, I have to conclude that my colleagues are people whom
few know to thank for their efforts. My neighbors and family long ago learned
to be very careful about asking me how things are going at work, as the answer
might cause them to dissociate. As I have joked many times, describing our work
to an outsider often “makes their face go straight to screen-saver.” Indeed, we
often forget how much work goes into protecting the sensitivities of those
around us. Thanks to our professional boundaries and ethics, there is no room
for anything that sounds like “Rogue One” in our field.
We may give up some dreams going
into the work of eliminating sexual abuse, but I would argue that our dream is
better and in some ways already coming true. The ordinary heroes that work in
our field can point to a track record of reduced violence across the time since
the first Star Wars movie came out. We can’t always prove that it was our
efforts, but we are definitely part of the trend.
I hope everyone has a wonderful
Holiday Season… and then gets back to this excellent, meaningful work.
David S. Prescott, LICSW