VI. Biscuits, Tough Choices and Breaking the Cycle

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VI. Biscuits, Tough Choices and Breaking the Cycle

Working with Brianna was trying.  Now she was pregnant with a baby that belonged to a stranger.  Literally.  She never found out who the father was.  She didn’t know his name or a way to get in touch with him.  A distant carnal memory.

She wanted to discuss her options.  Up to this point, she was a surface client.  Very guarded.  She never allowed me to be deeply therapeutic with her- it was part of the defense mechanisms she’d learned surviving.  The pregnancy changed that.  

We sat down, ordered biscuits (she always wanted to try a particular place) and talked about options.

“I want to give the baby up for adoption.”  She was teary eyed, avoiding eye contact.  Ashamed.  Shame because of the idea.  Shame because she was emotional.

“Okay…what are you thinking?”  Open-ended questions are always a good approach.

“I…I don’t want it to end up like me.”

I didn’t know how to respond to the statement.  On one hand, I wanted to comfort her and provide positive regard.  On the other, she was showing great insight.  She understood her child had a better chance with better circumstances. 

She continued. “I know I’m fucked up, Vic.  My bitch mom shit all over my life.  She tried to burn me…she fucking pimped me out for crack…my child needs better…

I sighed, nodded, “Okay… we need to figure out what the process is.”

We sat, in silence, eating our breakfast.  We observed the traffic of customers come in and out.  I finished.  I drank coffee while she ate.  She spoke to break the tension.

“This shit is good as hell, Vic.”

I laughed.  “Yes, it is.”

-RMV

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V. "That ni**a better pay child support."

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V. "That ni**a better pay child support."

They did a sonogram.  It was an intimate moment.  She cried.  I had mixed emotions.  After all, this was a beautiful moment, to see a child on the screen, but at the same time, I knew this child was being born into a terrible environment.  It was a quiet moment.  She finally spoke, looking at the monitor the entire time.

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IV. You Do Not Talk About Fight Club (Unless you have to)

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IV. You Do Not Talk About Fight Club (Unless you have to)

I was flabbergasted, “What do you mean ‘shit got crazy’?  It looks like you tore down half the house.”  In this field, it is frequent that the client is infuriating.  Their decision making is usually impaired, and our job requires us to help them understand consequences and forethought.  I was whoosah-ing internally.

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III. "I'm gonna be your Sugar Daddy, give you honey and all my money."

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III. "I'm gonna be your Sugar Daddy, give you honey and all my money."

This would be the point where I educate her on appropriate relationship skills and anger management.  I didn’t get the opportunity because she took off, practically running down the sidewalk at the Walmart. She was peacocking; strutting her stuff, if you will.  She hugged an old man.  Like 70 years old, old.  She whispered in his ear, his eyes were shining, she flirted a bit, he gave her some money.  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  Smiling, batting her eyes at him, she hugged him again, and came back to my car.  She got in. 

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II. It's Not Beer, It's Like a Juice

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II. It's Not Beer, It's Like a Juice

Working with her had proven to be more difficult than I imagined.  I had to simultaneously provide skills training and walk on eggshells.  I had to learn her language and rhythm.  Learn how to avoid triggering her when discussing matters which were difficult for her.  Often, boiling points involved her not getting her way about something.  Like buying beer when I helped her at the grocery store (it’s a big no-no).  

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