Public Practice

1. The miracle is not that we do this work, but that we are happy to do it.
   - Mother Teresa
   
   I met another social worker at a gathering recently. I told her where I worked and she said, “I’m in private practice.” It’s like I said I worked at Target and she said, “I work at Saks.” Or whatever. Don’t misunderstand – some of the social workers I most admire work in private practice. My own dear clinical supervisor, one of the truly important mentors in my life, works in private practice.
   
   I’m a little envious, I suppose. I think it takes a lot to rent some office space and have enough confidence, courage, and self-discipline to go it alone. I don’t think I’d be good at it. I don’t know if I’d have the patience or focus.
   
   I guess I’ll start saying, “I’m in public practice.” That’s right, I deal with whoever walks in the door. Old, young, immigrant, bigot, alcoholic, meth/crack addicted, rich, middle class, shockingly poor, wheelchair bound, untreated mentally ill, angry, in denial, chronically depressed, perpetually victimized, troubled, hopeless, and absolutely amazing and inspiring. Those are my people. I often have “just when you’ve heard it all” moments.” Some days I might trade it for scheduled appointments and routine visits. I must like all the crisis and trauma because I keep coming back. I look forward to going to work on Monday mornings as much as I run out of there on Friday afternoons promptly at 5:00.
   
   A social worker friend of mine worked in a non-profit residential treatment program with children for many years. Her, I admire tremendously. Can you imagine an 8 year old in residential treatment who asks to call you mommy? She says that we are “secular clergy.” Sounds like an oxymoron, yes? But, an apt description.
   
   Next time I’m at one of those functions, “Oh, you’re in private practice? Well, I’m in public practice.” Should be fun.