Justice

As I drove home from work yesterday, I had a feeling of relief followed by something else that I couldn't identify - until I could. It was deep validation that what I had gone through was real, and justice had come. 

I'm talking about my former place of employment closing its doors after months of rumors that this was coming.

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When I started there several years ago, it was my first almost full-time job back in mental health after over 13 years of being a homemaker. I was both excited and nervous to begin.

It was a rough start with little hands-on training and being moved from lodge to lodge. I hung in there because I loved the work and I cared about the residents. I felt called by God to be there and trusted Him to work through me.

As time went on and circumstances at home changed, I picked up additional hours. I felt secure as I made friends with the colleagues I worked alongside, and I became more bold in sharing my faith, praying with countless residents, and experiencing treasured moments with them. 

Ever so subtly, and I didn't realize it until I was in it, I began to feel a shift in how things were being run on campus, and consequently how I was moving along emotionally.

I wasn't reviewed and hardly ever supervised. I was moved from lodge to lodge often at the last minute, or mid-shift. I found residents being admitted who were actively suicidal and dangerously self-harming. 

I would pray on the walk from the parking lot to my assigned lodge for God's protection and help during the day. I called on friends to pray for me and the residents. I started driving home in silence, feeling emotionally exhausted. 

That emotional exhaustion turned into numbness and I started to wonder if there was something wrong with me.

On a daily basis, there was not enough of me to go around. Gone, was the grounding support we used to start each shift with. It was replaced with being charged at by residents with multiple needs as I stepped through the door. Often, my coat didn't even come off until those needs were attended to.

The amount of residents who required close observation increased to an alarming rate. Where once there were five to six staff, there now was one or two, and three on a good day. This became the new normal.

And, it only got worse. 

I saw increased violence, rage, and despair on the lodges across campus. I felt a darkness there that can only be described by those who felt it, too. 

It was "those" who became my lifeline. They were my comrades. They were the ones I shared looks with across the room, who I huddled next to in the office, who made me laugh, heard my fears, and who overall shared my experience like no other.

The restroom became the place where I could breathe, cry and pray. In those moments I fought the lie that this was all normal. That it was good. That I should be complacent. Work harder. Adjust my attitude. Suck it up. Be tough. And, not complain.

Every day, and I do mean every day, I made a promise to myself that I would stay positive no matter what. 

By mid morning that promise would be forgotten as I fought against, and then gave into, impossible working conditions. 

I saw unspeakable tragedy.

Police officers and EMT's became familiar faces.

I was set up to fail, and then shamed and criticized when I did - C'mon Dee, get with program. This is all normal. We aren't the problem. You are.

When I spoke my absolute valid concerns to top leadership, I was both ignored and belittled. 

Interestingly, despite my increased anxiety and wounded self-esteem, when I went to leadership, it was with bold confidence. I knew exactly who I was and what was right.

It wasn't until much later that I realized I was up against a group of mostly good people who had become delusional under the influence of fear and greed. There was disease and decay trickling from way up high into the lives of amazing staff, and residents who deserved so much better.

I stayed because I cared about the residents and believed in the work I was doing

Yet, in truth, I stayed because at that time in my life, leaving felt like a hurdle I didn't have the strength to overcome. I had come to believe that I was old, washed up, incompetent, and not valuable.

I remember exactly where I was when I made the decision to quit. It was a sunny Friday morning in April of 2023 and I was speaking with a colleague on the phone in my car. She said a few things that resonated deeply with me.

I hung up and sat there for a moment. A weight lifted from my shoulders and I was flooded with peace about my decision.

Without wasting anymore time, I composed a short and honest resignation letter right from my phone and hit "send."

After eight years, effective immediately, I would never have to walk into that workplace, again. I felt set free. Joy bubbled over and I went into the afternoon and evening feeling downright giddy. I was unemployed, had no prospects, and didn't care.

Multiple times in my life my faith had stood strong while standing on the shore of the Red Sea with no way through. That was one of those times.

God was going to find me something new and better. He was going to see my through.

However, that process involved me getting rest and recovery. I had no idea how much of a toll that work environment had taken on me until I was out of it. I had a hard time getting rid of the hyper vigilance and intrusive thoughts. 

My self-esteem had taken a dive. I believed I wasn't worthy of a job that would both challenge and encourage me. I felt like I didn't have skills. I saw myself as old and increasingly irrelevant. I believed in myself, but I didn't. 

I continued with counseling, sharing with my husband, talking with friends - including former coworkers, and seeking God. I spent a few hours each day networking with friends and acquaintances I had made at my former workplace and those I knew in the mental health field. The rest of the time, I took opportunities to smell the roses and do the work necessary to get a semblance of self-esteem back.

A month later, I was offered a job working on a mobile crisis response team in Orland Park. Two weeks into the job we were called out to a crisis by the Palos Heights Police Department. It was their first time using us and it was my first time on a call. Given my 8 years experience at my former workplace, I was able to walk into this call as a leader with confidence. 

Since then, I have received raises, bonuses, and a promotion. We celebrate each other's victories and care for one another during the hard times. We have birthday and holiday potlucks, weekly supervision, regular trainings, awards, and a boss who checks in and is always available. Feedback is asked for, considered and respected. Soon, I'll be joining a small group with colleagues that will meet weekly.

I don't regret the time at my former workplace. I have books saved that residents wrote in with warm appreciation of how I helped them. I met amazing nurses, doctors, therapists, dieticians, safety drivers, secretaries, kitchen staff and beautiful behavior health associates - my people (insert many heart emojis). I learned more there than I ever could have in a classroom. It was an experience like none other - the good, bad, and ugly. 

I learned about myself, too. I learned my triggers (a word I've come to despise). I learned my weaknesses and areas of particular woundedness. 

I learned about lives that were different than mine. I left the protected streets of my upbringing and entered places of raw, unthinkable pain, and trauma. I sat on the floor, literally, countless times with those in despair, and those who bared secrets through tears. 

I got to see the inexplicable beauty of strength and courage poke through wastelands. I was privileged and humbled to be a part of so many people finding healing and restoration. 

And laugh - man, did I share good laughs with so many funny people during moments where humor kicked in to keep us from losing our minds.

I learned about resiliency, hard work, and how people are so much more than what they present with.

Some people are not good. Most at least try to be.

Lies are real and sometimes what becomes normal in an environment, shouldn't be.

I learned that I was, indeed, traumatized from a chunk of my experience at my former workplace. Even writing this, while healing and empowering, has put knots in my stomach.

I am perfectly okay with sharing my voice in regard to my experience.

I was ignored, shamed, and abused. Yes, abused. 

It then makes sense that no longer hiding that abuse, gives shame the kick in the ass to get lost that it deserves.

In addition, it makes sense that an institution which lost its mind in pride and greed, also get a hard kick in the ass.

It is many things, but due justice is high on the list.

May there come a day when those who are suffering with mental health get the care they need and deserve without any sick and twisted agenda.

On a smaller and more personal note, may I encourage you my friends, with the truth that you are valuable. If your "normal" has become something that is making you miserable or changing you into someone you don't want to be, there is hope for change. You are worthy of that.

"Justice."

This is me using my voice to say how good it feels.

Written by,

Dee M. Kostelyk