Lundyn Bridges Read Free

– why would we teach social skills to adults? And since no one asked, I’ll tell you. These women have spent years functioning irrationally, and for most of them their normal is abnormal. Your job is to help them live right, be rational, change their thinking. They won’t be successful if they continue to function irrationally.” Her eyebrows were raised, and her words were distinctive. “Over the next two weeks, your job is to develop a relationship with your client.You have to earn the right to be heard, and that’s not something learned from a textbook. So ladies, this may seem like a piece a cake, but you’ll see what you’re up against. The success of this research project depends on your ability to establish a good rapport.” Dr. Solis collected her notes and placed them inside the leather portfolio.
    We retreated to the conference room on the seventh floor where we met the medical and psychiatric staff who gratefully enjoyed the donuts and bagels. After introductions, we were assigned a group to co-facilitate. We were then given picture identification cards and office keys. I put my briefcase in my office before heading to lunch with Kiarra. Everything in me wanted to be excited about the opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life. Helping my client was essential to my personal success.
    Kiarra, who was typically effervescent, seemed a little subdued during lunch. Although she attempted to hide it, I was all too familiar with pain and could see right through her. There were no seats in the Originals, so we stood by the window while eating our hotdogs and onion rings.
    â€œWhy the gloom?” I asked between bites.
    â€œOh, it’s nothing.”
    â€œNothing like Xavier?”
    â€œSometimes, I think about ending our relationship.” Kiarra swallowed her food and her feelings. She spoke without looking at me. “Sometimes, I’m not sure he loves me as much as I love him.”
    Kiarra knew I had reservations I couldn’t define about Xavier, but she also knew I respected her relationship with him.
    â€œDid something happen?”
    â€œNo,” she said shaking her head. “It’s not any one thing in particular; it’s just things that he does and says.”
    I allowed her to finish talking while I helped myself to her onion rings. My boyfriend track record was pathetic, which was evidenced by my falling in love with Sam. I made feeble attempts to encourage her to talk it over with Xavier. Then, I reminded her of the advice she had given me – sometimes we realize it’s over before our heart can admit it.
    When we returned from lunch we were given the files for our clients. My client’s file was almost four inches thick and was held together by two rubber bands. Kiarra had a scheduled meeting with her client’s psychologist, and I headed for the empty conference room. After intentionally spinning in the chair at the far end of the granite table, I opened the mega file and began an earnest attempt to decipher the tenuously coded notes of Francine’s mental health history. Although her son called once or twice per month from Atlanta, he never asked to speak with her. Her history indicated two other children, parents, an older sister, an ex-husband and a boyfriend. There was no mention of any prior therapist or doctor ever meeting any of them, and it was repeatedly noted that Francine rarely, if ever, spoke of them. The clinical summary of her admission indicated Francine was non-communicative with an inconclusive diagnosis to rule out depression andsuicidal ideation which were compounded by her addiction.
    As I reviewed the file, the striking resemblance between my mother and Francine frightened me. Both women had fallen in love with drugs, abandoned their children and attempted suicide. Comparing my mother and Francine was against everything I learned in the School of Social Work. My fear of helping Francine was