A year away
One of the weirder things I have noticed since losing my job at the women's shelter is that I am much more emotional, more prone to tears, than I have ever known myself to be. Tearing up at TV or movies used to be a reliable marker for getting my period, it was so unlike me. Now, I get teary quite easily, at unexpected things. Yesterday's Dear Abby included a description of a woman who asked her family to bury her with a fork in one hand. As a child, right before dessert, her father would exclaim, 'hold onto your forks, the best is yet to come!' So she wanted to be buried with a fork, as a sign of anticipation of the best. I could not even tell you why, but that made me cry.
While I worked in domestic violence counseling, it was popular to have 'vicarious trauma' workshops and discuss the impact the work had on workers. Personally, I never had any sense of the toll it was taking. It was the work; you did your best not to internalize it or take it home with you, you dealt with it when a case hit too hard, you moved on. I had no sense at all that it was blunting my sense of wonder or joy, my ability to be moved to tears by other things.
While I worked in domestic violence counseling, it was popular to have 'vicarious trauma' workshops and discuss the impact the work had on workers. Personally, I never had any sense of the toll it was taking. It was the work; you did your best not to internalize it or take it home with you, you dealt with it when a case hit too hard, you moved on. I had no sense at all that it was blunting my sense of wonder or joy, my ability to be moved to tears by other things.