Last night, I think I had the "straw that broke the camel's back" moment. I spend 40 hours a week:

-Listening/Trying to comprehend the confusing problems of others

-Asking people to do basic tasks like clean their rooms or wear pants when in public

-Redirect homophobic/racist remarks

-Ignore horrible, demeaning comments like "You're a fucking bitch"

-Ignore sexually inappropriate comments about me

-Assist with the 10 million medications residents take

-Make sure they don't go crazy and take MORE meds than needed and OD on me

-Trying to NOT inhale the 4 tons of second-hand smoke the residents and (sometimes) staff smoke in front of me

-Advocate for clients' rights

-Feel confused on all the different miscommunication mistakes that happen EVERY day

-Be told I am a liar despite trying to advocate for clients AND be honest

-Identify the specific clothing a resident is wearing when they run away from campus

-Write a TON of paper work until my hand hurts

-Chauffeur service

-Personal counselor

-Teacher (when things go right)

-Wonder "What the Hell am I doing?" (this is constant)

I do all of this 40 hours a week, all for OTHER people and not myself, and when I get home I just want to do something for ME. And last night I wanted French fries--because they are delicious and I had a hard week. But we have $1700 worth of work being done to our car right now so we need to save money. So I cried. Not because I couldn't have the fries but because after working everyday to CARE about the residents I work with, to try and get them what they need/want, I know that they don't care about my problems, needs, or wants. After a day of trying to see if they would get reimbursed for half of their movie tickets and then be called a liar because of the same situation by a resident, I had enough. Because on Monday, they won't know I had cried about my week, or that we owe a lot of money on our car, or that they can sometimes make our lives miserable--they probably won't care. And this is why doing the work that James and I do is hard because we are taught as children and adults that we should have empathy for others, especially those who care for us. And when we, as caregivers, don't receive the same respect back from residents that is given, it wears on you.

I know we get paid--I could probably justify my argument better if I were a volunteer. But to be honest, the pay rate vs. the nature of the work we do could be considered volunteerism. However, no matter what pay we were given, our job would still be difficult. People usually do this sort of work because they don't care about the money and truly want to help. That's why I do this work--I wanted to know if I was strong enough to deal with the hardships of being in the social service/field. Last night, however, it seemed like I wasn't strong enough.

Today I realized that being strong means allowing yourself to be human. It would be impossible to work day in and day out without the stress wearing on you. I cried last night because I was tired, because I felt hopeless, and because I felt I needed to be rewarded for all the bullshit I put up with. Today (after a REALLY good night's sleep) I realize that Monday will start a new week and that it's okay if the residents hate me or continue to be ridiculous. I'm living in the present and will continue to do so (and do the job I was hired for).

And that sometimes having a breakdown is okay--I'm human and sometimes shit just wears on you. That's why James and I have each other; he was my rock last night and when he's feeling blue, he knows he can count on me to be there for him.

With that being said, it's the weekend and we're going to have some FUN.