Juvenile Justice Can Be A Heavy Burden

One of the hardest things about working with juveniles is that chronic nagging questions in the back of my mind asking, “Am I really making a difference? Is anything I’m doing actually matter?” These questions grew out up from under the main questions I asked in the beginning, “What am I doing here in this situation? How am I qualified to stand in this helper/advisor position?” Although that still crops up, the questions about the effectiveness of my work has become much, much louder. All of us who work with children, whether in patrol, child welfare, juvenile justice or social welfare find ourselves faced with some of the most complicated cases. We read through files after files outlining neglect, abuse, substance use, criminal behavior and dysfunction. It’s amazing we can look at those words without completely throwing our hands up in despair and running to the nearest cave. Then we stand face-to-face with these juveniles looking at real people with real problems often knowing that if we don’t do something to help them down a better path, no one else will and that will lead to lifetime incarceration or even death. It’s a heavy burden. Those who work in areas where they are doing immediate crisis intervention like patrol and crisis workers don’t have the luxury of just saying, “Let me get back you next week.” We have to come up with something and we need to do it on the spot and fast.

A Heavy Burden

In my work with juveniles, both in justice and mental health this heavy burden often weighs on me as I reach for the next file or I take a deep breath before stepping out of the crisis van into the fray. My heart and my head are so far into this job, like so many of us, I feel failure is not an option. But as everyone who has ever faced work with other people knows, it is most definitely an option. We have to try to hold on to the fact that the failure is not ours to carry. We’re often working in systems that are broken. Children are not getting the support they need at home. They are being raised in unimaginable situations. This is all they’ve ever known. When they get a chance to glimpse that outside their home environment might offer a different experience, often they are faced with obstacles, many of which, are unfortunately due to their past and present choices. Then when we as juvenile justice workers get involved, we are often handcuffed by systems that are broken, underfunded, understaffed or just non-existent. We can read peer reviewed journals with research and pilot programs across the world that are amazing and offer appropriate solutions, but that won’t change game day when we’re on the street with a suicidal teenager who doesn’t see any hope and you know there are no resources in your local toolbox that can help. It’s amazing we keep our sanity at all.

Let me be the first to say that you are not alone. We are all in this crazy, mixed up world of trying to help children together. I’ve found that being able to debrief, either to others in this profession or even in my journal when I really can’t find the strength to say the words out-loud is extremely helpful. Being part of forums and task groups that brainstorm and support solutions also helps. If we can keep adding tools to our toolbox it makes the work feel less hopeless. My biggest sanity keeper comes from the same place all my angst and frustration comes from-the children themselves. I hold on to those moments when I glimpse that even if I cannot come up with a rock solid solution that has guaranteed successful outcomes, in this moment, in this time and place, I’m making a difference. Let me share an example.

My Story

Recently, I was up before dawn at the youth site of our local warming centers. These sites open when the weather drops below 30 degrees and allows those who are un-housed to sleep in a warm, dry place. These centers came about when a well-loved, un-housed military veteran died from exposure in our city. People from all walks of life and from all the various social service, non-profits and public safety came together and said, “Never again.” So the centers were born. At these various sites, we feed, shelter and offer basic mental health and medical care. Because we don’t want to deny anyone the right to survive, there is a separate youth site for juveniles ages 16-21. It was at this site where I was making breakfast for about 6 kids that I got a glimpse of how continuing to work in the trenches was worth it. A young man who had a story typical of un-housed children was eating his breakfast and chatting with another young man at the table. He said, “Isn’t it nice to feel like a child again.”

I’m not sure he knows that I heard him. I know for sure he has no idea what those words meant to me. I was doing a simple, basic task for another human being, one of our society’s thrown away children, and it made a difference. After we were finished, the kids had to go back to the streets. He had a plan to utilize another social service agency to continue working towards a home caring certificate so he could take care of the disabled grandmother who tried raising him. He encouraged the other young man to access the computer services there to look for a job. He mentioned a safe place to hang-out in the city where the officers were kind and looked out for them. He proved to me that what we were doing was working. I hold his words close to my heart now. It helps me continue to move forward and continue trudging through this complicated, often devastating work. I thank him for that every day. I’m sure each of us can pull out moments like these. The ones that are written on our hearts-band-aids keeping us from shattering into a million pieces.