Indifference is no longer an option.

I started classes last week, and while sitting in class for 8 hours twice a week is draining, the week was an incredibly affirming one. I realized that this IS where I should be right now, despite the bumps and difficulties this decision brought with it, and I began to think that social work, as a field, is much more fitting to my personality than academic research settings would ever be. I think I may have found my "people." Whatever that means.

My experience last week was somewhat defined by the "welcome to grad school" lecture one of our professors gave us on the first day of his class. His intent was to give us a broad explanation of how the values and objectives of social workers define our practice, and he did this in a way that won't leave me anytime soon. A lot of what he said was obvious, but the way he said it really woke me up a little bit (okay, a lot). He explained that, as social workers, we are primarily advocates. We are advocates for the poor, for the disabled, for the physically and mentally ill, for the oppressed. We are also advocates for the sex offenders, for the violent husbands or mothers, for the alcoholics, and for the criminals...because the primary, overwhelming goal of social work is to preserve and advance the dignity of human life. To see the dignity in every one who walks through our door. (Does this sound like what Christ meant about the least, the last, and the lost? I certainly think so).

He warned us that a lot of what we will discuss, research, and read will make us sad. It will make us angry. We'll feel guilty. We will want to throw in the towel and give up before we even start. But, he said, all of those reactions are good. "The reaction that terrifies me," he explained, "is indifference." He went on to say that the minute we decided to become social workers, the moment we set foot in that classroom, we had effectively promised that we would no longer be indifferent. The decision to enter his classroom, he said, was essentially a commitment to care, and to act on it. A commitment to not taking no for an answer when no one else will help these people. A commitment to no longer reading or hearing about a problem, saying, "how sad," and turning the page. Indifference is no longer an option. 

Ack. 

It made me think about how often I have been indifferent, and how easy it is to fall into that trap. It's sneaky, and it creeps into us slowly, without us knowing. But we can't let it stay there.

I know getting rid of the indifference disease is most likely a life-long process, but I'm excited, in an absolutely terrified way, to let it start now.