The Helping Hand: One Social Worker’s Journey in the Mental Health Field

By Devin M.L. Andrews

Martin Anderson became a mental health social worker with high expectations and aspirations. He hoped to make a difference and to help the vulnerable improve their life circumstances. He worked diligently in school and obtained his Master's Degree in Social Work--a career that pays considerably less than what the average Master's level career would pay. Nevertheless, he sacrificed much to become a social worker, knowing the rewards he would receive for so noble a position. Though he was prepared for the difficulty of working with clients with many needs and challenges, nothing prepared him for the many barriers, disappointments, and lack of support he would get from others--even those with whom he worked. Still, he always made the welfare of the clients his top priority, no matter what the risks because he truly believed in what he did. His story is his testimony to all social work and psychology students.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387552108

Book preview

The Helping Hand

One Social Worker’s Journey in the Mental Health Field

by Devin M.L. Andrews

Edited by Sandra Love

Disclaimer

First, regardless of the attempts to censor the foul language, it was vital to use the commonly-used language at mental health residences. My apologies to anyone offended.

This novel is loosely based on the author’s experiences as a community support specialist for an agency in Illinois. It is nonetheless fiction, especially the characters with mental illnesses. Any names and/or life experiences one may share with those in this book are purely coincidental.

The views and opinions expressed in this book do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

For more books by Devin M.L. Andrews, visit www.devinmlandrews.net.

Chapter 1: First Day

I always knew I was meant to be in the helping field or something where I am working with people. First, I wanted to be a doctor, then a nurse, then a teacher, then a journalist, then a teacher again before I learned what I was meant to be; a social worker. It was always there, when someone needed advice or just wanted someone to listen to them, they came to me. If they needed someone to speak for them or to help get what they needed, they came to me.

When I told my fiancée that I wanted to go to grad school to be a social worker, she was the opposite of supportive. She insisted that she wanted the life she was accustomed to: a big house in a suburb far away. She wanted the best clothes and a glitzy life. She insisted on me taking a job in her father’s investment company, insisting I could make at least triple the money as an executive than I ever could as a social worker. When I told her that I wanted to help those with mental illness, she laughed and said that they all needed to be locked in institutions. She demanded that I withdraw my application to Luther University. The funny thing is, I had reached a point where I was fed up with her wanting to be treated like an entitled queen. When I refused to give up my plan to become a social worker, she broke off the engagement. I’ve never been happier.

After I had gotten my MSW, I bought a used car and started applying. All I kept hearing that year before I graduated was how the field needed more male social workers, especially of color. Whoever said this did not send the memo to those who interviewed me. It was a soy latte fest and they wanted to keep it that way. Needless, I began to wonder after a while if the money and years I spent in grad school would pay off.

Then suddenly, I received a call from Doorways, the largest mental health agency in Winnebago County, specializing in housing support. They had an opening for a community support specialist, a community-based social worker, in an apartment building they owned called Recovery House. The building had 21 studio apartments for adults as young as 21 and as old as 70. They had all types of mental health issues, including depression, bipolar, schizophrenia, OCD, PTSD, and many others. I was interviewed by Lucien Gotti, the program director, and Miranda Clarkson, the team leader. Lucien seemed obnoxious to me from day 1: he was loud and had a very nasal voice. Miranda, on the other hand, was a petite redhead who was a very pleasant person to be around.

Maybe they were having a shortage, or I impressed them, because they called me the next morning and offered me the position. I did not hesitate to accept, being very excited about finally putting my degree to use. For a Master’s Degree, the salary was quite low, only $33,000, but this was to be expected for an entry-level position at a nonprofit organization. Besides, I did not have an extravagant lifestyle, and I only needed to take care of myself. Plus, as this were a nonprofit agency, I thought they would appreciate my efforts enough to not put too much pressure on me.

On my first day, as I was walking towards the building, I saw a group of clients standing outside and smoking. Sitting next to them was Carolyn, a woman in her fifties--the first client to greet me on the day of the interview. The gatekeeper, I called her. She was wearing the same green hoodie as last time.

It's you again! she grinned. Does that mean you got it?

It sure does, I smiled back.

Well, welcome! she held out her hand.

Thank you, I shook it.

Why you welcoming him? barked a very thin Hispanic man in his thirties. He ain't stayin' long,"

Why you say that, Angel? asked Carolyn.

Cuz' they never stay long. In a year or so, his a## will be long gone! A few other clients murmured in agreement.

"You gotta excuse us, interjected a tall woman in her early sixties with dishwater blonde hair, but every caseworker who comes through here stays no longer than two years. Most of us are tired of spilling our guts to a caseworker right before she leaves. What is your name?"

It's Martin. Martin Anderson.

Mine's Wendy. Wendy Gunther.

Nice to meet you, Wendy. Nice to meet all of you.

Yeah, right, said Angel. He tossed his cigarette into the grass and walked back inside. Wendy shook her head.

It looks like you will be the only male worker here; We rarely get male workers.

You a fag? asked Carolyn. I spun around in shock to look at her. She had not hint of malice in her face.

Well first, I said politely, That is not a nice word to call someone, and that is a personal question. But no. I'm straight.

Sorry, she responded. I only asked cuz' the last guy worker was.

I understand what you mean.

Suddenly, Miranda walked outside, having observed us from the door.

I see you met Martin, she declared.

I think this one will be great, responded Wendy. Make sure you keep him!

I'll do my best, Miranda smiled at Wendy. If you guys don't mind, I need to borrow Martin a while. You can come with me, Martin.

Talk to you guys later, I waved, following Miranda inside.

I heard what Carolyn said out there, she announced, "but I commend you on how you handled it. She usually says the first thing that comes out of her mouth. She never means any harm, though."

I thought as much.

So, how was training? One week of it can be brutal.

I survived. It wasn’t too bad.

Glad to hear. She led me to an office and opened the door.

Inside, sitting at their desks, were three women. There was a short, obese woman with thick glasses and swarthy, curly hair. Next to her was a tall, thin brown-skinned woman with very long hair in a ponytail who looked a little older than the three women. Then, at the end, was a voluptuous woman with a short skirt and blond, layered hair.

If I can have your attention for a minute, said Miranda. All three women stopped what they were doing and looked up. This is Martin, the newest addition to our team.

Welcome! said the brown-skinned woman with an Indian accent. My name is Jamila. Jamila Kamalwala.

I'm Emily Karlov, smiled the blond.

The brunette with the glasses just stared at me up and down. Miranda looked at her intently. I'm Carrie Velazquez. She then gave me the fakest smile I ever saw.

Nice to meet all of you, I smiled at them. I look forward to working with you ladies.

Uh, we're women, Carrie spoke up. Not ladies. Got that right. You're no lady. A real lady would understand I was trying to be respectful.

My apologies. I gave her an equally fake smile. She returned to her work on the computer.

Here is your desk, Martin, Miranda directed me to a desk next to Carrie.

Thank you, I went over and placed my satchel inside one of the drawers.

Well, I have an appointment soon, so I need to leave. The rest of the team can show you around, but text me if you need anything.

Thanks, Miranda, I smiled.

We are glad to have you! Miranda then left the office.

Hey Martin, Jamila called, You will be shadowing me today. Go ahead and log in, and I will share my calendar with you.

Sure thing. I turned and logged in.

I saw on the schedule that we were taking someone to her medical appointment, and there were four counseling sessions.

Jamila?

Yes?

Is this how the schedule typically looks?

On most days. When there are no appointments, we see up to 6 people a day.

Sounds like it gets pretty busy.

We have to see at least 3-4 a day, interjected Emily. We are supposed to do billing for 5 hours of service a day.

Lucien doesn’t like it when we call it billing, barked Carrie. He said to call it documentation. At this, Jamila rolled her eyes while Emily just stared at Carrie.

And we have to get it done within 4 days of service, continued Emily, still staring at Carrie. I can see how popular Carrie is.

Suddenly, the phones rang. Emily picked it up first.

"Recovery House? Hello Melinda. I see. Joey stared at you as he walked by? No, he did not say anything to us. No, you’re not in trouble…you have done nothing wrong…Some people stare for no reason. You’re not in trouble…no, I am not trying to trick you…okay…so, what are you planning to do today?...That’s good…yes, I am sure you’re not in trouble…okay Melinda…okay…I need to go now…Yes, you’re not in trouble…okay, bye." Emily hung up and exhaled deeply.

Melinda again? complained Carrie. Why won’t her psychiatrist put her on Clozaril or at least give her a PRN?

Because we can’t solve every problem with medicine, Jamila spoke up. She needs to practice her coping skills. Taking too much medicine is harmful.

But she calls every day! Sometimes every hour!

She needed hospitalization every month in the past, but she has not been in the hospital for 6 months, Carrie, insisted Jamila. If calling all the time keeps her out of the hospital, it’s a step in the right direction. Carrie just turned away, frustrated.

So Martin, Emily turned to me, What school did you go to?

I went to Luther University, I answered.

So did I, she replied with a smile that could stop a man's heart. They say it has the best social work college in the state.

I also heard that. If that is true, I am not impressed with the state then. Some of the professors are great, but there was this Professor Cherry that I had to work with.

That female professor with the beard? laughed Emily. I had her too. Isn't she the worst?

I'm shocked they let her teach. She kept canceling class at the last minute, she never wrote her own syllabus, and she kept skipping chapters. At the end of that semester, all of us wrote very lengthy reviews.

My class did too.

At that moment, the office door opened, and in walked this younger woman wearing a newsboy cap, golden wrist bangles, and torn jeans.

Good morning, she greeted everyone as she headed to the kitchen nook to make coffee.

You're late! barked Carrie.

Carrie, Jamila spoke up, That is not up to you to say.

And I did give Miranda notice, added the young woman. There was a delay on the road because of a car accident.

You don't owe us any explanation, Jamila smiled at her.

Thanks, the woman smiled back. She turned to me. You're the new guy, right?

That I am, I answered, extending my hand for a shake. Martin Anderson.

Fantine Rochelle. She shook my hand.  I'm the receptionist. The coffee will be ready in 5 minutes; I'm going up front. Call if you need anything.

Thanks, Fantine. She smiled and nodded as she headed for the door. She gave Carrie a brief glare and then exited the office.

Miranda needs to do something about Fantine always being late! Complained Carrie. It's not right!

Carrie, Emily spoke up. She can't help it if there is an accident.

But she needs to plan for that!