Working in any helping profession often comes across a thankless and underappreciated. After working in the mental health field, I’ve learned that it isn’t to be expected. You don’t usually get to see the end result of your work and need to celebrate the small wins. However, once in a while, you get a reminder as to why you do the work you chose.
This past week started a new semester. This is my eighth semester as an adjunct psychology professor, and I’ve gotten into a good rhythm by now. The first day consists of going over the syllabus and setting course expectations. It doesn’t take long, and everyone gets to leave a little early.
After teaching my second class of the morning, the students cleared out. A couple stopped on the way out to introduce themselves or ask a quick question. Again, nothing out of the ordinary.
One student who I spoke to a little before and during class was this senior computer science major. He stood near the front of the class waiting for the other students to walk by. I could tell he was a bit quirky, as he stood there in his roller blades. He stood up tall though wearing his black t-shirt labeled with the software company he now works for.
As the last student of two packed up, he finally approached me. “Do you remember me?”
I had to think for a second. I thought that maybe I had him for a different class I taught or that he attended one of my guest lectures. I took a closer look at his face. His jet-black hair and beady eyes were a dead giveaway.
I was staring at the face of a former client, and . Nall I could mutter was his last name. The name left my lips with a hanging question mark.
This youtryng man was someone I worked with over 6 years prior. When I first met him, he was 14 years old and going through one helluva family situation. His parents had long been divorced by the time I got to him. His mother was remarried, and his father was in a long-term relationship. The kid and older brother primarily lived with their mother and stepfather (who was a big improvement). They spent the weekends with their father, his girlfriend, and half sister. His father was not the greatest guy. Heavy drinker. Tendency to get verbally abusive.
An incident took place where this kid couldn’t go to his dad’s or see his sister (who he cared about). It caused so much anxiety in this poor kid. Add in the fact that he was on the autism spectrum. Anything emotional often caused him to shut down. After this incident, he even refused to go to school.
At the time, I worked as a community-based therapist for kids and adolescents. My job with this one was to help this kid readjust, accept the situation, and reduce his anxiety. To say the least though, he was difficult.
There were plenty of sessions where he refused to come downstairs from his bedroom. He wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t engage. He would even walk away from me mid-comversation. This behavior came to a head when one night I arrived, and he was in bed. I told his mom that I’d give it a shot. I went up to his room, and he was curled up under his blankets. For the next 45 minutes, he continually said the same phrase over and over again. “Get out.” Sometimes he said it. He spoke over me a bunch. He even screamed it at me a few times. However, I came back the following week. I wasn’t giving up.
I worked with him for about nine months, and the relationship did improve. Eventually, he got back to school and got back on track. He even got to see his sister again.
About six months after that first discharge, I got a call from my boss. The kiddo was being referred back to me. Something else had happened with his dad’s substance use. This time child protective services were involved too. It sent this poor kid spiraling backwards.
When I saw his mom and him again for round two of counseling, mom disclosed something funny to me. She informed me that when everything happened, this kid specifically asked for me. He went from telling me to “get out” to wanting me there to help him.
I worked with him until he was about 16 years old and in a good place again. He was discharged from my care and doing well.
Fast forward back to last week. Here I am looking into the eyes of the same kid. Well, now young man. He told me a little about how his family and he were doing. Just catching up. Then, he dropped a bomb on me.
“I wanted to thank you for everything you did, and you’re part of the reason why I’m where I am today.” My heart melted, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. As a counselor, it was the ultimate compliment. It also helped to see him doing so well in college since I last saw him.
I saw this kid at his worst. I knew what he had been through. I knew the pain and trauma he endured. Add in the fact that I was in the trenches with him and not just sitting all comfy in an office. It made it that much more real. I was proud of him and truly appreciated what he said.
You don’t get many moments like that, especially as a counselor. It is definitely one I’m going to hold onto for a while. This is why I do what I do.
The Caring Counselor
The Caring Counselor 
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