So I spent the last two days in a suicide intervention training.
Yeah, I had an emotionally intense session with Sid on Monday night. Then an emotionally intense two day training.
Tomorrow, my plan is a whole lot of nothing.
Except, by a whole lot of nothing, I mean I’ll probably do school work. I will finish this class, damn it!
Anyway, I was talking with another participant after the training was over, and she was all, “it was fun!” and I’m all, “……..” “You didn’t think it was fun?” “fun…ish? parts of it?”
It wasn’t until I was driving home that I figured out why I was feeling extra fried. Maybe even crispy.
So, during the training, I’d kind of made friends with the woman next to me. She’s a social worker. Early in the day today, she shows me a text that she just got from a coworker, who is thinking of suicide. So she leaves the room to attend to her friend/coworker. Maybe 30 seconds later I think, hey, no reason she should deal with this alone, so I go out to help. Even a few minutes later, I realize that:
1. We’re at the crisis center
2. We’re attending a training on suicide intervention
So there’s no reason I should be trying to help her alone. I grabbed one of the trainers.
The woman totally had it, so we ended up just being moral support, but even that was important.
Like, we’re at a training for suicide intervention, and here this woman has to use these skills we’ve just (half) learned. You can’t make this shit up.
It’s also possible the coworker reached out because she knew this woman was at the training.
Anyway, so yeah. That probably made today a bit more emotionally charged than if I had just stayed in the training all day.
And then it was a rough night with Emma. I figured maybe 2 hours tops from the time we get her home from daycare, and the time she goes to bed.
Well, a lot can happen in that time. She skinned her knee for the first time, and was inconsolable for a while. She apparently doesn’t like band aids.
Then, I’m trying to make dinner–spaghetti. In between stirring it and whatever, I’ve been playing with her, twirling her around, etc. etc. I’ve done it a few times, and am physically tired. So I tell her not right now. She throws a temper tantrum at my feet… and as I’m stirring the spaghetti, we both get splashed by the hot water. She got a little burned on her neck, and was once again inconsolable.
Ugh. It’s a day.
So I think I definitely need to call it a night.
P.S. I’m not even working in the field yet, and I’m already worried that I’m going to get compassion fatigue. Oy.