What They Don’t Tell You About Working With Adults With Disabilities by Jessica Pridemore

 

 web15-equ-disb-drawers-prison-1012x729I don’t remember the exact moment my life was changed by someone with a developmental disability. The memories seem far away, blurry, as if they don’t belong to me. But this is what happens after you’ve been working with adults with developmental disabilities for eight years. You change.

They don’t tell you that when you’re filling out your application. Instead, they tell you about the hours, the health benefits, the 401(k) plan, the programs and the strategies. But they don’t tell you about the fact if you do it right, you’ll never be the same.

They don’t tell you it will be the most amazing job you’ve ever had. On other days, it can be the worst. They can’t describe on paper the emotional toll it will take on you. They can’t tell you there may come a time where you find you’re more comfortable surrounded by people with developmental disabilities than you are with the general population. They don’t tell you you’ll come to love them, and there will be days when you feel more at home when you’re at work than when you’re at home, sitting on your couch. But it happens.

They don’t tell you about the negative reactions you may face when you’re out in the community with someone with a developmental disability. That there are people on this earth who still think it’s OK to say the R-word. That people stare. Adults will stare. You will want to say something, anything, to these people to make them see. But at the end of the day, your hands will be tied because some things, as you learn quickly, can’t be explained with something as simple as words. They can only be felt. And most of the time, until someone has had their own experience with someone with a developmental disability, they just won’t understand.

They train you in CPR and first aid, but they can’t tell you what it feels like to have to use it. They don’t tell you what it is like to learn someone is sick and nothing can be done. They can’t explain the way it feels when you work with someone for years and then one day they die.

They can’t explain the bond direct service personnel develop with the people they are supporting. I know what it’s like to have a conversation with someone who has been labeled non-verbal or low-functioning. After working with someone for awhile, you develop a bond so strong they can just give you a look and you know exactly what it means, what they want and what they’re feeling. And most of the time, all it boils down to is they want to be heard, listened to and included. Loved.

When you apply for this job, they do tell you you’ll be working to teach life skills. But what they don’t tell you is while you’re teaching someone, they’ll also be teaching you. They have taught me it’s OK to forgive myself when I have a bad day. There’s always tomorrow and a mess-up here and there doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. They have taught me to slow down, to ponder, to take the time to just look around and take in this beautiful world and all of the simple joys we are blessed to encounter every day.

So when did I change? I realize now there wasn’t one pivotal moment. Instead, it was a million little moments, each important in their own way, that when added together changed me. And I’m grateful for each one.

http://themighty.com/2015/07/work-with-developmentally-disabled-adults-what-ive-learned/

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Frenemies of the Porcelain Bowl

12963540_10154020044135930_5720860586057029369_nMy on- going struggle has been with this seemingly new invention that, by the looks of it , was put in place to be eco-friendly . Too many times though I find this obnoxious green handle to be asking me more than if I just want to flush? Or if I want to just eliminate a mass to press down or fluid pull up. But rather it is asking me how much force, energy and water do I want to use? How wasteful do you want to be? Then the reasoning behind my decisions becomes much more complicated as my means of measuring are, at this point, limited to visual assessment. The theorizing that if I press down every time I assure that the task at hand will always be completed, but I’m left to questions that perhaps the extra water to assure completion was an oversight and, I, have in fact, wasted water and energy, the very reason this little handle was put in place to prevent. On the other side, I could error on the side of pulling up on the handle therefore ensuring I use as little water and energy as possible. But what if it doesn’t execute the task completely? Then I’m left with the options to leave my eliminations for the public to see or proceed with flush down for the 2nd time , in which I will have, for sure wasted and endangered the planet because of my over conscious effort to preserve water. So alas, in my struggle to make sense of the world I live in or in this case the stall I have so careless chosen to briefly reside in I resort to the fact that there is no right answer , as I see it, and as I pull the handle sideways I allow the porcelain bowl to play a game of roulette with itself and leave it up to the decision of the toilet gods to make the decision for me.