Today a mum asked one of her young ones to be careful of her tummy. She let me know she had just come out of hospital, because “I got sterilized”; she is 23 and has five children, the oldest being eight. Her children look neglected at times, and she herself looks tired and hard. Her own mother lives around the corner, but doesn’t often provide support. Generations of stress and poverty, cycles of exhaustion and neglect.
Today was a “leaving day”, as some of the children finish up their time in our program. There is deep sadness, which is masked by flippancy, angry outbursts, confusion, and extreme silliness.
The staff are often left wondering if what they do is helping; if they are able to stem some kind of relentless tide. They are not mental health care professionals, but are on the front lines of a mental health crisis, using limited resources and exercising only personal knowledge of their community. Some visit homes of former families, to do a “wee check”, and then report back to their colleagues, all on their own time. They try and find ongoing programming, responsive schools for children, and help the mums to find connections outside of this program. They have mums returning with each new baby, and now daughters, nieces and granddaughters returning, after having babies of their own.
I wonder how my coworkers keep from becoming debilitated and burnt out. They have all been working here for long periods of time. “I am a different person now, than I was when I started” one told me. “I’ve had my eyes and mind opened. I get to be with people I normally wouldn’t have known. I’ve learned a lot. I’m more patient, I know more, I don’t judge people as much” she said. She is proud of herself, her colleagues, and the work they do.
We have tea together every morning. We set up cups, a pot of tea, carafe of coffee, toast and bits. We sit together and talk about work, or the tv shows we’re watching, or someone’s last holiday trip. We congratulate a recent graduate, we marvel at someone’s new shoes, we talk about weekend plans, and what we’re making for supper. We’ve even started talking about finishing up our Christmas shopping. It’s all of 15 minutes, but it grounds us all, and binds us together in a shared and nurturing experience, before we head out to listen, navigate vans through the streets of Belfast, wipe bums and noses, and hold emotions.
Brooklyn to Belfast 