The Client

           I sat in my office, nine weeks in working with a man whose been silenced by society’s view of him. An older gentleman, hard on first approach, but soft at his core. He articulates his pains, which impact him daily, a forced marriage, a brutal divorce, flashbacks from the military, homelessness that led to addictions. I see a human, I see someone with a story of courage, bravery, and unprecedented circumstances that most couldn’t survive. This man has strength. This man has story.

            I don’t spend my time with an agenda of somehow making him “cured.” I ask the simple question on arrival, “how was your week, and where are we going in the hour we have today?” I let him lead with what he struggles with daily, I let him speak, I listen intently. I’ve cried with him, I’ve sat in silence with him, and I’ve laughed with him.

            This man had been in treatment for years before working with me. Suddenly he’s applying for jobs. Amazingly, he’s engaging with his family. He’s cleaning up in his toxicology reports. I reflect the changes to him within a session. His response paralyzes me in the relevance that is this profession.

“Steve, for the first time, I feel I've been heard.”

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.” – Maya Angelou

The Sun is Rising

When It's Wrong

           The feeling that comes from hundreds of bad dates, to many bad days, and a lot of miscommunication. It comes with life transitions, goodbyes, and new hellos. It’s weeks of asking the wrong questions, focusing on the wrong things. It’s losing sight of what matters, of who I am, and why I’m here. It’s when a supervisor sits you down with a review, pointing out a few areas where you need improvement, but you catastrophize and shout within yourself “I MUST DO EVERYTHING BETTER!” But in that moment, when we make that choice, we choose to do everything a little worse.

            I’ve been on too many bad dates, internalized to many negative comments, and painted an unpleasant picture for myself. I’ve focused on what I’m doing wrong, what if I’ve made a life mistake, or why am I alone? I’ve lost sight of what matters, questioning the parts of myself that have brought the most meaning to my life. “Why did I choose this profession? I can’t help anyone, I’m a mess…” Sitting across the table for the twentieth (yes twentieth date) and hearing the same numb, unconnected, selfish, story of someone who will never understand who I am as a person, or why I do this work. In that moment, I want to give up my self-awareness, throw out my emotional being, get my MBA, and numb myself with money.

            But then as the world swirls around me, as my immaturity immerges from my own insecurity, something hits. Walking across Washington Square, hands full of books, emotion, and pain, I realize what I’m not letting go of. I remember the beauty in the work I do. I find the value in my unique sense of emotion and quirky personality. I forgive myself for what I’ve done wrong. I let go of what I can’t change.  I remember that I am never alone. I internalize the goal is never to be perfect; the goal is to do the best I can, in whatever circumstance presents. The objective is to know that I will fail, that pain will come, and always choosing to feel it. The aim is to lean in to the discomfort in my person, learn it, talk with it, and move forward.

As the relief washes over me, the tears flowing, I feel His presence of unconditional love, and I let go.

The majority of fights in our lives are with our selves; only you have the power to choose who wins.

The Sun is Rising.

Healing

            My chest raises, air filling my lungs with a deep purposeful breath. It’s evening, the city coming to life with warmth of taxi lights, the distant chatters of evening commute. I walk out of the majestic door of NYU Silver to enter Washington Square as I’ve done many times before; this time though, this time I walk with a sense of feeling, a sense of accomplishment, growth, and joy; a sense of pain, loss, and grief. Five months ago, boarding a plane from Chicago, I left behind a life I always wanted, to find the life my soul needed.

            Landing in New York, crawling into a cab, giving direction to an apartment never visited, to live with people never met. Keys in hand, freshly pulled from a mailed envelope beforehand, I stood at the door of my new home. Opening the door, walking upstairs, pushing open the door to an empty bedroom, placing two bags on the floor, the last twilight beams giving official welcome. I placed myself in the middle of that empty room, I sat, I listened, I hoped. I hoped that I hadn’t made the largest mistake of my life, I hoped for transformation, for joy through suffering, for abundant bittersweet life. “I need you, I need you, I need you,” I prayed, to the subtle responding sensation of “I am with you, I am with you, I am with you.”

            Walking through the jungle of streets aimlessly this evening, I notice change within my being. The frequency of human pain I’ve encountered, the talented intellectual people I’ve met, the subjection to experiences that will leave me different.  Many of us came here alone, in search of like-minded things; forging a new family, my new family, allowing deep love and support from those who surround me. I’ve shared myself, my stories, my reality, boldly with a response of unconditional acceptance.

            Nothing about this new life has been easy. I’ve had many a hard day within my new line of work; I’ve had many a hard self-realization of flaws and negative qualities. But I’ve also found in those moments of deep disappointment, a greater ability to love, to empathize, to advocate, and to heal.

This, more than anything else, is what I've come to know: that I am healing.

That we all are healing. 

My Humanity

A man of white privilege, a citizen of a nation built on the backs of minorities. I am the face of a race that has put billions in their place. Not just a white, but also a man. I am injustice by being born, from insurance coverage that allowed my birth, to the jobs my parents held. Given by the policies of my forefathers, my own success is the result of racism, oppression, and privilege.

A mental health professional, a social agent of change, I’m giving my privilege away. It’s time for drastic measures to fight for my people, to make what has been made inhuman, human. I can’t be blind to the depths of inequality in this land. 17, a number that hasn’t left my mind for the entirety of this day. I passed 17 homeless people on my way to work this morning, not begging, not drug dealing, but sleeping on the train, in the doorway, in the gutter. People struggling with mental illness that never receive treatment. Politicians who dare call the elderly, the mentally ill, the disabled, lazy; taking the sacred scriptures of my faith and using it to justify their atrocities against humanity, my humanity. As churches build million dollar sanctuaries, recreation centers, and coffee shops, pouring billions into the coffers of lobbyists for political action against gay marriage and abortion. It’s all a little embarrassing. 

Something is simmering within my profession, the lines are uniting, the injustices coming to daylight.

My job isn’t about patients or cases, these are people, my humanity, your humanity, and they deserve the right to be treated as such. We are nothing without each other, criminal or not, disabled or able-bodied, homosexual or heterosexual, woman or man, minority or majority, Muslim or Christian, agnostic or atheist.

The filters through which we view people must be taken down, to first see the person; only then can we begin to comprehend anything about anyone. It’s time to stop treating humanity as a concept.

“Jesus, friend of sinners, open my eyes to the world at the end of my pointing fingers. Let my heart be led by mercy, helping me reach with open arms and open doors. Jesus, friend of sinners, continually breaking my heart for what breaks yours.”

And this surely does break my heart, every moment of everyday, driving me forward with greater purpose. I will not rest. 

London

The tingling goose bumps that rise on my skin as I think about how mystical, how serendipitous, my life is at times. I sit in reflection of a week spent in London, a place I never dreamed of loving, but yet finding it hard to leave. The people who have shown unconditional kindness, dedicating time, and the sharing of their stories has touched my heart in profound ways, ways I believe won’t allow me to live the same once I return to New York.

Monday evening I phoned a good friend back in the U.S. asking the same question that comes every time I take risks within my life. “What purpose do I subject myself to such vulnerability, why do I choose the more difficult road when the easiest of paths is looking me in the face?” She always gives the same answer, “your life is beautifully lived, spontaneously, with purpose and meaning that not even you yourself understand. We all expect great things from you Mr. Pokorski, and you often deliver in unexpected ways that are beyond expectation. Not without fault, but always with resilience, power, deep love, empathy, and greater ability to understand humanity. Your life has purpose, and every decision you make seems to fit into a larger story than yourself. So live your life, share your stories, love ever deeper, and do it for us, as you do what we, those who deeply love you, can not.”

How is it that a spontaneous mistake of malfunctioning technology over a year ago (leading to the meeting of someone in the UK, while in Chicago) would have extreme effects on this trip? Hours after landing, I found myself amongst a group of New Yorkers’ Brits’ and others, having an incredible night out. Meeting American friends as they flew in, sharing stories of times passed and present. The celebration of a new friend’s birthday, the spectrum of new and old friends ever present within her party. The afternoon spent with a new friend who graciously walked me all around London, sharing her life stories and opinions. Meeting the man who never should have existed within my life, leading to a great dinner, political discussion, and an incredible tour of London while it rained, finishing up at British pub.

Learning from each individual as they came and went within my trip, each with their own personality and life experience. I listened carefully, attempted to learn as much as possible, seeking to put the puzzle of interconnected life together, seeing the beauty within humanity as we all move, feel, and breathe.

There is meaning in everything, a purpose unseen. My daily fight against anxiousness and fear is ever waging, but my soul wants to be brave, to share my story with courage, to take risks and live boldly. I have accepted that I will never live an easy life, but that I stand to gain much more from the one I’ve been given.

The Sun is Rising

Becoming Whole

          Being embraced, feeling my tears fall, lessening my grip, still being held tightly, the tears of my professor hitting the back of my neck. I stayed late tonight, for the purpose of speaking to someone that has opened windows into my soul. Learning deep concepts of my own flaws and insecurities, I have become more whole. Living a life where I find myself paralyzed in moments of attempting to gather, “is this really my life?”

          My days are encircled by these moments of learning, confronted with opportunities that few individuals will ever receive. I find myself humbled greatly by what I’ve been given; those who have helped me arrive here, and the continued propelling love from individuals who walk with me.

          Reaching a pinnacle, the ability to give up shame, and become vulnerable, to move from a place of certainty, to uncertainty. I share my ever-growing story more boldly. Declaring loudly, I am not illegible, I am not invisible, I have something to offer the world.

I am healing.

We are healing.
The world is healing.

Fight of My Life

No one tells you becoming a social worker is the fight of your life. You feel the weight of societies weakest individuals on your shoulders, and you watch as the systems placed to help them fail. You fight for the rights of the weakest. You holistically see people in their individual environments, declaring people are more than their illnesses, their more than their disabilities, their more than their problems.  Social work is the declaration that every person counts, and part of that job is making sure everyone is accounted for. Two weeks into my new job and I feel this weight, I feel the burden of society weighing, and this is just my beginning. Two short weeks has brought me face to face with the mercilessness of mental illness, extreme poverty, failing medical systems, and strained families. I wouldn’t be in my right mind if I said that I haven’t had moments of wondering what the hell I’m doing.

As my patient walked toward me this afternoon, as I readied my questions and preparations, it struck me: no one has the opportunity to change this persons life as much as I do, no one has the opportunity to give this person voice, fight for them, declare that they are loved and part of our society, as much as I do.  

It’s incredible how the little victories of my patients push me to keep going. Today a simple smile, from someone who hasn’t smiled in years, propelled me with enough energy to go for months. The unwavering support and creative teaching methods of my supervisors, allowing me to see the world through a different perspective. The study of how policy is effecting individuals, and being part of the process that makes change. Understanding the leaps that we’ve made in mental care, and how it can be improved. Learning how social environment structures health, stability, and overall wellness.

I sat at my desk late tonight, as everyone left for home. Clarity of the world and its problems rushing into my mind, I saw the world through clear eyes. I have found my Calcutta; I have found my Popeye moment. I have had all that I can take and I won’t take it anymore.  

And in that moment I knew, I was born for this.