It’s a good thing to have a nag in your life. Disclaimer: I am not referring to my dear wife. No, my nag of late is my friend Mitch. He recently retired after a lengthy and noble career in social work, and he apparently has more time on his hands, particularly for nagging. Lucky me.
I worked with Mitch for several years at an AIDS service organization. He was a case manager, and I was the executive director. So, in theory, I was his boss, but I’m fairly sure I took more orders, okay suggestions, from him than the other way around. That was probably a good thing because Mitch certainly had the harder job.
Case managers are the heart and soul of any social service agency. They are charged with assessing a client’s needs, developing a care plan, connecting them with available services and support systems, and monitoring progress.
One of Mitch’s greatest strengths as a case manager was his persistence. He was a relentless problem solver in the face of regular disappointments from clients. He was an encourager but never a hand holder and he was all about accountability. I always knew he was an excellent case manager, but lately, I feel like one of his clients.
Here’s the thing – I haven’t written anything for my blog since the inauguration in January. I’m fairly certain Mitch is the only one who has noticed that. He has emailed me no less than half a dozen times in the past seven weeks asking when I’m posting something. He started out gently by sending me things other folks had written about organizing and resisting under the new regime. Mitch is a radical left lunatic like me and has always made me feel good about my writing. He also knows that writing is how I process the world.
I wanted to write, and I needed to write, but I felt like a bag of wet laundry mildewing in the corner. I was so immobilized by disappointment and grief that I didn’t even look at my laptop for weeks. Then Mitch started emailing more often and less gently. I replied to one of his emails by thanking him for the needed nudge. He wrote back, “Remember, I was a case manager for a long time – and a big part of the job is to be a professional nag.” That made me smile and open my laptop.
So, here we are. This post is not going to win Blog of the Month, but it’s a start. And it’s a good reminder to check in with your people if you haven’t heard from them in a while. These days are long and chaotic with a pulsing undercurrent of anxiety for all of us alternately dismayed, worried, and terrified about what’s happening in our country.
I feel so thin these days. No, not in an Ozempic way, but like an onion – my emotional reserves have been peeled away day by day. I’ve always cried easily – more often at happy things. I got that from my dad. His mantra was “Only cry in victory, never in defeat.” I thought I was going to need an IV after the Christmas episode of All Creatures Great and Small and I really needed a cuddle with Mrs. Hall. I want to feel safe, but I can’t ever remember feeling so uncertain about my country, and I’ve been trying to channel some of my dad’s eternal optimism that might still be floating around in the ether.
And there have been some small victories of late, well, maybe not political ones but moments to celebrate, nonetheless. My nephew and his wife texted me a video last week. My great-nephew Vann, who recently turned one, had taken his first steps. He was a bit wobbly and unsure as he made his way to a little table in his playroom. And when he turned around to the enthusiastic cheers of his parents, he was the picture of pure unbridled joy.
I’ve watched the video about thirty-seven times and I’m not ashamed to say that I have moisture in the eye area every time. I’ve been wobbling since the election, but I’m taking some unsteady steps to find my way back to joy. You know they say joy is a form of resistance and it certainly sounds a lot better than a bag of wet laundry.
So, I promise I’ll share a better blog soon, but for now, I’m following Vann’s lead and bravely moving forward. Besides, I really need to get my case manager off my back.
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