Category: 30 Stories from 30 Years

  • Thirty Stories from Thirty Years: Story Number 3

    Thirty Stories from Thirty Years: Story Number 3

    30 Stories in 30 Years. A Career in Child Protection. Blog.

    By Tammi Pitzen, Executive Director of the Children’s Advocacy Center of Jackson County.

    This is story #3 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    Change Can Build Resiliency

    Right about now we could all use a little more resiliency with COVID-19 stealing our 2020 spring.

    Thirty Stories from Thirty Years is a look back over a career in child protection and the small things that helped the work continue.

    Many of you know that I grew up in the Deep South and began my career in child protection there as what was called a Crisis Intervention Worker, CI for short.  It was my role to investigate child abuse reports on behalf of the state of Louisiana.  It was my first “real-world” job and continues to be the basis of many of the “real-world” beliefs I hold true to today.

    If you aren’t from the South, let me explain some of the culture around raising children with values and beliefs.

    In the South, really good people use corporal punishment to instill “goodness”, “integrity”, and good old-fashioned values in their children. It was difficult at best to decipher what was abuse and what was “culture”.

    The standard line was then, and still is today, “You can ____ (insert your favorite word – hit, whip, beat, knock, slap) your child as long as you do not leave a mark.”

    This was still the litmus test back in the early 90’s.  In fact, in Louisiana it was not uncommon for teachers or principals in public school to hit children with ping-pong paddles or homemade paddles, without getting parental permission before hand. 

    Some of the more tenured school employees had really unique and well-thought-out decorated paddles that were a testament to fine craftsmanship.  They might have holes drilled in them, have a high lacquered shine or very artistic handles.  Some were fondly named by their owner.  I have no idea if this is still the practice in schools.  I suspect it is still the practice in homes.

    Early on in my career I got many physical abuse reports assigned to me that were, what some would call, “discipline gone too far.”

    I used to keep a list of objects that had been used to discipline children that came to my attention during investigations.  I still remember most of these: hairbrushes, combs, wooden spoons, spatulas, electrical cords, bamboo shoots, switches (basically, small thin tree limbs), paddles – as described above, wooden chair legs, yardsticks, rulers, broomsticks, fists, open hands, socks with a bar of soap (yes, true story), rope, belts, shoes, flip-flops, slippers, baseball bats, etc. I could go on but I think you get the gist of it. 

    Those of you not from the South would see this list and be incredulous that anyone would ever think using these items would be anything but abusive.  But Southerners react in the moment, swiftly and quickly, with whatever they can get their hands on.  AND they do so out of love for their children and out of fear of their children growing up to be irresponsible or worse yet a “thug.” 

    In the beginning part of my career, parents would usually get a “pass” the first time a report was made of bruises being left as a result of discipline — depending on where the bruises were, how severe they were and a few other measures that seemed reasonable at the time in that place.

    In the mid 90’s that all changed.  It actually was the unintended consequence of new policy that was passed through legislature.

    Or at least as I remember, it was more than just policy written by a social service employee somewhere in a higher up position.  It was pretty much forced out as a “no choice” new policy.  In the state of Louisiana at that time, as a result of this policy, no record of any unsubstantiated report of abuse could be kept for longer than 2 or 3 years.  At the end of the time frame, they would be shredded.  The reports, the notes, the medical exam etc.  The unintended consequence was that no longer would there be unsubstantiated abuse in cases where marks, either intentional or unintentional, were left on a child as a result of discipline. 

    No one wanted to be the case worker that unsubstantiated a case with a bruise, that later escalated to “real” abuse.  Reading that now seems absurd.  Of course it was abuse all along. There are too many stories and too many bruises to even begin to write about here. 

    I could write a whole book on bruises alone.  Sad but true. 

    You read this and wonder how is this about resiliency? For me, this passing of a new policy was a pivotal moment in my career and in my desire to look for alternatives to give parents regarding discipline methods.

    It was no longer my discretion.  No longer was it part of accepted culture. 

    It doubled my paperwork because I had more founded cases than I had before the policy.  It challenged my beliefs around culture.  It also made me come at my job with more compassion and empathy than before.  The intention behind the abuse was no longer the deciding factor but was only a consideration in how to move forward. 

    The challenge to learn more about the impact of physical discipline on children became real and now there is actual research out there to address this issue.

    The resiliency part comes in the way to move forward with change.

    Change is the one constant in the field of child abuse.  Some change is good.  Some change is bad.  Some change is not the expected change but the unintended consequence of some other change. 

    Resiliency comes in being able to adapt and move forward. 

    Self-care comes with learning what changes are not ones you are willing or able to make. 

    Self-care comes in knowing that policy and change in policy helps to create boundaries in this work. 

    Self-care is recognizing there is always something to learn from change and that many policies work because the things we learn from past experiences are embedded in that policy change.

    Ironically, in this particular case as in many before and many after, the change did not come from any particular learning.  It was a political move.  Someone somewhere that had a bit of a reputation to keep clean, who also had “pull”, somehow got caught leaving bruises on a child.

    The unintended consequence was actually the right reason to begin to try to change the culture.

    Instead of having more discretion in the defining of abuse when it came to bruises, it actually, for most workers across the state, defined it more narrowly.  As a result of that, the messaging changed.

    It changed from you can hit your child as long as you don’t leave a mark — to let’s talk about other methods you can use to help teach your child discipline that do not involve hitting.  What are “alternatives” to physical discipline?

    Some of the popular ones are Love and Logic and Conscious Discipline.  These provide guidance and strategies for parents.  They are really more trainings/parenting classes.  Conscious Discipline was developed for classroom management and then began being taught to parents. 

    There are books on both of these methods.  There are online resources, as well, for both of these techniques.  There are others but these are the ones I am most familiar with.

    April is Child Abuse Prevention Month.

    April also seems to be stay at home with your children month as a result of COVID-19. 

    Maybe you have always wanted to learn about other parenting strategies.  These strategies are a lifetime commitment of consistency in parenting. 

    Maybe today is the day you look into it.

    This is story #3 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    #ThirtyFromThirty #30StoriesFrom30Years #ACareerInChildProtection

  • Thirty Stories from Thirty Years: Story Number 2

    Thirty Stories from Thirty Years: Story Number 2

    30 Stories in 30 Years. A Career in Child Protection. Blog.

    By Tammi Pitzen, Executive Director of The Children’s Advocacy Center of Jackson County

    This is story #2 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    For me, this reflection on my journey is more about examining moments in time that helped me to build my resiliency, than merely telling “war stories”.  Things that allowed me to continue and strengthen my self-care skills.

    I want to just acknowledge some things that my training did not prepare me for in anyway.  I chuckle as I think some of this is still missing from general “core” training that many child protection workers are required to complete in order to start “field” work.  In my case my core training was all about Geno-grams, and how to ask questions that motivate families to do better.  All good stuff, but did not prepare me for the nitty-gritty everyday work.

    1. In no way was I totally prepared to recognize and respond to threats against my safety.

    I remember my very first “serious” level two case.  It involved a child with what appeared to be a burn on his arm.  It was in a very rural area of our very rural parish.  It was not uncommon for families out in literally nowhere cow pasture Louisiana to live in shacks made of particle board.  In fact, for laborers who worked on the farms, it was quite common.  It was part of their pay. 

    I had already talked with the child at the heart of this report at school and made my way to the “house”.  When I arrived I was greeted by a very angry tall man cleaning a rifle of some sort on the front porch.  The school had somehow gotten in touch with him to let him know I was on my way out.  I still haven’t figured that one out.  He did not have a phone.  It was light years before cell phones were a common and there were no neighbors for miles.

    I took a deep breath. I got out of my car, stood tall and flashed the biggest smile I could and introduced myself.  I was in heels, pantyhose, and a dry clean only dress, trying to balance my state-issued black Day-Timer and yellow legal pad so I would be able to take whatever notes I thought I might need to take. The dress and panty hose at that time were pretty much the expected dress of any female state employee. 

    He was a large man decked out in plaid flannel, jeans, and worn cowboy boots.  His first words after I introduced myself was, “Do you know that I can hit the bullseye on that target 100% of the time?”  I turned around to look at a target that was pinned on a tree a fair distance off.  Without skipping a beat, I smiled and said “Wow that is impressive! Maybe you can show me after we finish talking?”  I looked him in the eye and stood my ground.  We went inside completed our business and as I was leaving he offered me some iced tea.  I politely declined, even though I had “cotton mouth” from what I probably would recognize now as anxiety. 

    The whole time I was in this shack, I was trying to plan escape routes.  I had made the mistake of going in and allowing him to enter behind me.  There was one window and I was hoping against hope that I could run and jump out if I needed to, as he had positioned himself between me and the only exit.  When I returned to the office to staff the case with my supervisor, she asked me why I didn’t leave.  She said you should have left.  I sort of laughed and said, “No one told me that was an option.  I assumed I was going to have to get some answers about what happened.”   I did not want to have to work with this family and he think I was scared of him. 

    Which leads me to:

    2. In no way was I prepared to have to leave kids in situations where I was pretty sure they had been hurt by their parent.

    In this particular case, the child was unwilling to tell me what happened.  The school was not cooperative with my investigation, but was very protective of Dad.  No one single person was able to tell me that the round spoon shaped burn on his arm was caused by anything other than an accident.  Even though I had followed every avenue to get that story.  Even though the child told me that he would get in trouble for talking to me.  I remember sitting in my supervisor’s office sort of flabbergasted that we were closing out that report as unsubstantiated with concerns.  I was equally surprised that no other reports came in on that family.  At least not while I was working there.  It could have been that it was an accident.  It could have been that having me on the front porch was as scary for the Dad as it was for me and that was enough of a deterrent.  I will never know which it was. 

    Which leads me to the caveat about learning self-care and building resiliency. 

    When working in such a volatile and trauma filled field, you need to always do the best that you can.  You need to always follow all the information to the end.  You need to always do your best work.  But when you have done all of that, and you are told there is nothing else you can do, you need to accept that and move on.  It’s harder that you think. 

    I never did the moving on part easily. 

    Part of how I dealt with that helplessness for a really long time was to hold my cases open past the permissible 60 days.  I argued a lot with supervisors regarding what I thought needed to happen.  Sometimes I got to move in the direction I wanted and sometimes I did not. 

    The best way to care for yourself is to know your lane and stay in it.  When you drift, you need to ask why you are drifting into someone else’s lane.  It may be vicarious trauma. 

    3. My core training never prepared me for the courage and integrity needed when working as an investigator of child abuse.

    You have to be able to do what is right even when no one is looking.  You have to be able to let the record be what the record is, even when that does not lead to the result that you feel is necessary.  This work demands that you not be afraid to see something all the way through and that you do so with grace, compassion, and empathy.  Anything else leads to global failure of the system.  You also have to do what is scary and right, even when it means you are working more than a 40 hour week, even when it means your paperwork is three times as much as it could be, and even when it makes you face things that are both personally and professionally hard.  To do anything else leads to global failure of the system.  The risks are high.  The rewards are beyond what you can imagine.

    4. My core training never prepared me for the amount of politics that are at play in the child abuse field.

    I am leaving number four as it is for now.  The story behind the lesson learned will wait for another day. 

    The thing I hope that those who work in this field take away from this…is that it is okay to take care of yourself. 

    Not only is it okay, it is required.  You need to set and enforce boundaries that are reasonable.  You need to recognize that sometimes those boundaries will result in you changing employment maybe even leaving the field.  The truth of the matter is the work is the work.  It isn’t for everyone and that is okay too.  There isn’t much that can be done to make it easier.  Organizations, state departments of social services, and other agencies that provide a service or intervene in child abuse are not at liberty to not respond because they are over capacity.  Recognize that.  Recognize that it is okay to say no.  Recognize it is okay to say yes. 

    In the end only you can decide what is okay for your own health. 

    If you are a supervisor working in this field, the thing I hope you take away from this is to always respond with empathy.  When your staff messes up, help them learn and move on.  Sometimes staff needs to hear from you what safety means because like me, they may not fully recognize what unsafe is. 

    Set a culture in your office that allows for self-care. 

    And…remember the work is hard.  The work is what the work is.  We can’t make it easier.  We can help people take care of themselves.

    Lastly, if you are a regular Joe, a regular citizen, recognize the system is flawed. 

    But also recognize that it isn’t something that one person working in your local child welfare office will be able to resolve. Recognize that, as in all walks of life, you have really good workers and sometimes not so good workers.  Do not paint everyone working in the system with the same brush.  Recognize that sometimes those workers you are trashing on social media are the good guys.  Sometimes it is a system failure and not an individuals’ failure.   

    Sometimes that person that you are raging against is just as frustrated as you are.

    This is story #2 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    #ThirtyFromThirty #30StoriesFrom30Years #ACareerInChildProtection

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  • Thirty Stories From Thirty Years: Story Number 1

    Thirty Stories From Thirty Years: Story Number 1

    Thirty Stories From Thirty Years: Story Number 1

    30 Stories in 30 Years. A Career in Child Protection. Blog.

    By Tammi Pitzen, Executive Director of the Children’s Advocacy Center of Jackson County

    This is story #1 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    I quietly celebrated the beginning of my thirtieth year of a career in child protection a few months back. 

    I get asked a lot about how I have stayed the course so long in such a heart-wrenching field. 

    I used to think it was a rhetorical question and would flippantly answer, “If not me, then who?” And then all the studies and articles began coming out in “flooding” proportions on secondary trauma and compassion fatigue and I realized maybe they were sincerely wondering how I have continued and remained emotionally and mentally healthy. (Although I think there are days that some would debate this being true.)

    I am setting out to answer this in a series of posts by telling stories from my career that were pivotal in moving me forward, timidly at times and forcefully at others, through the murk of the stagnating swampy waters of vicarious trauma. 

    My career began before I realized it had begun.  It is almost like this “thing” — greater than myself — picked me and here I am. 

    Picture this…(If you are a Golden Girls fan from back in the day, you totally get this reference. If you are not…skip over it—indulge me in my 80’s reference and read on.) It is 1988, in the fall semester of my second year of college.  I am sitting in an auditorium waiting for the first installment of my Child Abuse 101 class to begin.  Yes.  It was called Child Abuse 101.  There were about 50 students in this class.

    It was an easy elective for Social Work or Sociology majors.  There was lectures, lots of discussion on social issues, and many, many slides of abuse related pictures and graphs.  My entire framework on which the foundation of my life so far is about to be turned upside down, only I didn’t know that yet. 

    I was raised in a very conservative, very religious family in a very small community.  I was sheltered from a lot of the bad in this world throughout my childhood.  In that very first class, as I heard the statistical information on the rates of child abuse in this country and drilled down to my own state, I remember looking around and wondering why no one seemed shocked by this information.  I remember thinking, “How can this be true?” and “Why had I never met anyone who had been abused?” 

    I also remember looking back and putting the pieces together of stories I had heard in high school about classmates who no longer lived with their parents, and the reasons used to explain why were being shattered like glass hitting the ground.

    That may all seem a little dramatic, but in looking back, that “awakening” was THAT dramatic.  From that class on, most of my course work was weaved around child abuse and system interventions.

    And…so comes STORY NUMBER 1

    I completed my Social Work Internship in 1990 on a very cutting edge, as in maybe the first in the state of Louisiana, child abuse team at the Ouachita Parish Sherriff’s Office.  (That is pronounced “Washitall” for nonnative Louisianans.) 

    On my very first day on this team, I realized I was an adrenalin junkie and was hooked on the art of providing safety for children. 

    I had a very smart, strong, female detective as my role model of what I thought my career would look like.  I was sitting at my desk for only about 20 minutes before loading up in an unmarked police car to head out into literally the unknown areas of the parish to pick up a sex offender accused of molesting a young female child.  He took off into the nearby woods and all four officers, guns drawn, took off on a foot chase.  I did not participate in this chase, but quietly got back into the car and locked the doors.  This act was the source of much teasing and ribbing for the entirety of my internship.  However, I must point out that I was the only unarmed person there—even the offender was brandishing a fire arm.  Those two female detectives I was with came back out of the woods dragging that offender with the other two male cops “covering” them and I knew I had found “my people”. 

    I learned more about listening to children and understanding dynamics of child abuse in those four short months than I did in any of my social work classes.  I learned more humility, more compassion, and more empathy from that team of detectives than I did in three and a half years of college courses. 

    I also learned my first lesson in self-care.

    Never take yourself too seriously and always find something to laugh about every day.  Not at the expense of victims or even at the expense of perpetrators, but just something…anything.  Laughter is the best medicine. 

    I did not end up being a law enforcement officer as I had thought I would be.  I instead started my career as a Crisis Investigator with the State of Louisiana’s Office of Community Services in the very small town I grew up in, investigating, in some cases, parents that were my classmates in high school.  

    I literally graduated on a Saturday and started on the next workday.  There was a holiday or something in between.

     I took with me every lesson learned during my internship.  I never interviewed a child in those beginning days that I did not think of the soft gentle voice of my supervising detective reminding me of how the picture will be made complete if we pay attention to the little voice helping us to find the next piece of the puzzle. 

    Back then we were in the very early days of interviewing protocols. It seems odd to think there was a practice before there was a protocol.  It also seems odd to think of these protocols, and the dramatic change in how we do our work, happened in my career span.

    I always try to end my post with some call to action or some profound reflection.  Today I simply want to acknowledge that intervening in cases of child abuse is hard work. It takes a toll.  Self-care is not a luxury but a necessity.  For me it has always been about humor—not at the expense of others, but generally at my own quirky behaviors.  

    There is no special magical potion that provides you armor against all the hurts.  Find what works for you and build it into your life.

    29 more stories to go!

    This is story #1 in Tammi Pitzen’s series of 30 stories from her 30 years working in child welfare.

    You can read all the stories here.

    #ThirtyFromThirty #30StoriesFrom30Years #ACareerInChildProtection 

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